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capslocked · 6 months

Text

KINKVEMBER DAY: 5

[prompt: face sitting]

male reader x ahn yujin

3.5k words

Yujin is giving you shit when it happens.

It’s been a little over an hour since she turned to you, bored and pouty about it, and asked if you wanted to fuck again.

She gives you shit in the way only the prettiest girls can get away with. Perfect smile, like she's innocent. And all low and breathy in her throat. Hitched around the vowels of your name. Threatening enough that you thought about just immediately capitulating. It was tempting.

"Or you could stay on the floor like a lame loser bummin’ around in your pajamas." She leans up on the arm of the sofa. "Either way."

Yujin stretches and her sweater is huge. One of those cozy campus crewnecks that everybody seems to have, oversized and inviting and right. Her shorts are ridiculously small, just enough of her stomach peeking out over her waistband for you to want to feel it, touch it, have the pleasure of sinking your tongue into the shallow groove.

She's teasing you because she never quite knows what to do with her energy. Lacks an outlet big enough, really, but is also selfishly delighted in getting any response at all, no matter how halfhearted it might be. You stare at her. You watch and don't speak when she runs her fingers up her stomach to pull her sweater up with it. You groan. She grins. She is pretty, her lips full and eyes soft. The laugh that follows her is because it's always obvious when she's won and you wish your body wasn't so prone to giving away your weaknesses.

"Hey." She blinks slowly, lifting one leg up. Her bare foot, warm, toes flexed, against your thigh, nudges against you once, and again.

"How many orgasms until I feel a little more forgiving towards my good friend who, I know, is super super sorry that he can't afford the pizza money because he chose to use his own allowance to do something as silly as pay rent, I wonder?"

"I paid half last time."

"Doesn't make sense because you ate it all.

"You said you weren't hungry." You start to object because you do have an objection. A list, actually, prepared, of instances you think you're owed. But Yujin arches, and when a separate but related complaint rises swiftly to the foreground, your throat goes dry -

"Orgasm tax."

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” she asks, and you’re struggling to answer truthfully, honestly.

She rolls over, lets you see everything she has, the tiniest shorts in the world tugged even higher, the generous curve of her ass and thighs in silhouette. You didn't ask for this but you weren’t about to die without it, you think, looking up from the floor and staring, wetting your lips, absolutely sure. She does it all on her own and it takes an absurd amount of effort to peel your hands off the ground.

"Stay where you are," she snaps, seeing it too - and in a second of deliberate slowness, hooks two fingers into her shorts, tugging them aside before looming over you. "Or you're not fucking me today. At all."

You let your head thud down against the rug beneath you. "That's not fair."

"You've gotta come up with something better than that. You could suck up, beg, maybe I'd forgive you if you just told me how much better I was than the cash I could use on literally whatever."

Your eyes cut down.

Part of you wonders if you've always been such an easy mark - whether being here has changed you, if all these months of dangling carrots in front of you are paying off or if you're just a willing accomplice to your own exploitation.

Part of you isn't stupid. Yujin's taken an almost disturbing amount of pleasure in flaunting herself since the first night you drank too much, said too much, resisted too little - you can tell the way it starts, a smile toying in the corner of her mouth, before she taps the band of her bra, waits to hear you swallow - to hear how hot you get - before she casually asks what it would take, "to convince you", to change the conversation from whether she wants something from the vending machine, or she just forgot it was laundry day, or where the hell that note from Wonyoung had gone, to what she'd like the answer to be. What would you let her do if it got you another chance to get under her shirt, see her all bared, eyes dark and hair like a veil across her collarbones, pretty nipples and swells of her breasts pushed up, until you put your mouth on her.

Yujin tilts her hips so it's easier for you to follow, her hand snaking beneath her body as she speaks. A gentle grunt gets muffled in her sweater, her toes curling into the space between your knees and it hurts, stings a little, the desire you're holding back, and then it goes right through you like fire, sharp.

(Part of you is incredibly stupid - but you think the truth is it doesn't matter.)

Yujin's kneeling over your chest, and her bottom lip, plump and lush, catches between her teeth. "Can you think of anyway to be useful?"

"A lot," you choke. It's true.

Yujin makes a noise. "Proof. Evidence. Put up."

The movement she makes - twisting of legs and stomach flexing and the fabric of her shorts down off her ankles - is one single, fluid motion and for a second you're distracted by how quickly she's gotten you there. Thighs resting over your shoulders, the only thing your lungs seem to remember how to do is want.

"Come on." She bounces her knees a bit. "Dick or mouth, get going."

You should really say something smart, show her how clever and charming you can be, how you've actually got a lot to show the hottest girl in the world - and sometimes Yujin giggles like she's shocked about it all herself, but right now her eyebrows are raising, expectant and challenging and it makes it difficult to think when there's an open invitation inches away for you to bury yourself in. Your lips feel like sandpaper when you kiss the inside of her thigh. Her hips stutter and drop an inch as your tongue works its way out, thick and obscene and it shouldn't be so thrilling to hear her so low, so urgent when you have no say, really, in how this is going to go -

"Take care of me, yeah?" she practically whispers the words - all while your fingertips drag along her outer thighs until her spine straightens, gets her shoulders pushed back, her breathing louder, somehow, as if you couldn't feel her need without knowing already exactly what you can do for her.

And the most honest thing you could say in the moment, because Yujin has her panties stretched to the side, revealing the inviting creases where her long legs meet her hips - for god’s sake, her pussy is right fucking there, inches in front of you; glistening slightly in her own slick and looking so, so pretty - the words get kissed right into the curve of her thigh: "It's not fair."

The look she gives you makes it worth it. "Excuse me?"

"You asked, didn't you. It's not fair that your pussy's so good that I can't think about anything else."

She huffs, her thighs shaking just a little with the effort of staying put. "So, what," and your mouth closes in, kiss deep, your nose pressed in right at the peak of her folds, her entrance, and you try not to drool as you inhale and drag the flat of your tongue in, hard, where she's desperate for you, "you think this should all go in reverse or something, like I should worship your dick until you stop being a useless perv - "

But the insult dies in her throat. A moan comes out instead, harsh, deep, loud and enough that Yujin slaps her palm over her own mouth before throwing an impatient scowl down at you.

Here's what you'd tell her, if you weren't busy licking circles into the ache leaking from her core, eating her cunt like a starving man, if you had the audacity. Yujin can't control herself. Doesn't help that she's sloppy. When her orgasm hits she will get louder and she doesn't even like the things that come out. That's the thing about Yujin, really. She says all this shit, and really, in the end, she wants a good fuck so bad she can't keep her mouth shut, but the noises she makes are exactly the same as the sounds that you choke on -

Because as pretty and easy and fun to kiss as she can be, the absolute best thing about your relationship is that the more orgasms she gets the less she can breathe, much less control what the fuck she's saying to you. It's cute and hilarious and beautiful, when she forgets, when she gives everything up because in the end it's never any competition, the way she fucks, is so desperate. Her hips work themselves into your grip, over and over and over again, like they are meant for this.

For getting off on your mouth alone.

All you know right now is that with the way you have your hands on her - one still holding her panties open and the other squeezed tight around the muscle of her outer thigh - it's like her clit's directly in line with the back of your throat. If you press your lips around her pussy and hold them firm, just like the way her knees are starting to tighten around your face, she's going to come. It will hurt her and it will leave her completely boneless, and you've fucked this much to the point where you have learned, well, she can never complain.

Not that she would. The slick dripping down your cheeks and throat and down to the front of your shirt - it's fucking everywhere - makes it obvious: any ability to talk is replaced with her just grinding her pussy against you, bucking and shouting, riding and writhing until you decide her pretty little pink slit can have another taste.

Her only other option, really, is clenching and throbbing and cumming as hard as she can all over your waiting tongue.

"Hey. Get your fucking mouth back down," she breathes, taking her fingers out of her cunt and then promptly pushing your head back in, "and - uhnn, I - yeah, exactly. Mmmnghh - "

You smile, muffled and hot against the fabric of her thighs, her fingers twisting in the hair behind your ears and tugging firmly. "Oh."

"What did you want again?" she asks - except her body tells a different story, all flushed and keening and, fuck, absolutely soaked from your touch - she rocks against the base of your chin, slumping and dropping down and letting gravity do its work. You work your tongue over her throbbing clit, again, again, and Yujin moans loudly. So pleased.

Just this mess she's made of you. The smell that coats your nose, and chin, the way it feels when she ruts her whole body against the place where she's worked the hardest. Her breath stalls where you start to breathe in, and looking up at the cinched look in her face you press further.

It’s every little circle lick and lave and gentle nudge of the tip of your nose, where the feeling makes her cry out, where the sensation, overstimulated, is close to that perfect balance between too much and not quite enough, all while working your fingers into the swell of her ass, and finally her hips make small, greedy, selfish thrusts into your mouth.

She sobs for you. You sigh, contented, because you don't even need to ask.

"You're so fucking good," she murmurs, heel of her palm pushed into her eyes like she's struggling with a headache. "God, fuck, do that again."

It's so wet on your chin already, but you do it again, just for the way she bucks into it.

You give her the closest thing you have, your thumb riding the rim of her ass, tongue rubbing, stroking her pussy faster. Yujin's teeth work against the insides of her mouth as her hips shift forward, and she is clenching and begging for the cock you know would make her scream if you just stood her on her hands and fucked her from behind - it's such a cruel way of making her work to feel so fucking amazing - but you're here to indulge, and really, when she shivers and pleads the exact way she does, your mouth still full, how are you supposed to do anything besides fucking obey.

Yujin reaches up to grab onto the edge of the couch, anything to brace herself as her cunt sloppily gets wetter. The thickest part of your tongue is good enough for this. Everything about her clit is just this dull, swollen throb. Begging to be worked over the way you're licking at the entrance to her pussy, inside and all, kissing, sucking, kneading, pulling, - fucking her just right - until she starts fucking cursing up a storm.

"Oh god, god, oh fuck fuck, fuck," her hips shift until she's the only one riding, the only one fucking. Until you just get to lay there with your lips slack, drooling open, hands a frame for her entire body while she works your face, and nothing could be better - "yeah, oh, fuck, fuck yes - yeah - fuck, hahhh. You're going to make me fucking cum-"

And you almost say it: that's your line - it's not enough, you'll never have enough of her cunt - her clit or the slit, where she leaks, thick and sticky. Her slick tastes heavy on your tongue, and you can't swallow fast enough. Your fingers are so deep into the pliable skin of her ass - digging and needy and reaching for where she's tightest. Her hands pull sharply at your hair. You feel her, tightening her ass around your finger, cumming wet across your cheekbones and -

It goes on, her body pressing into you, until with a sudden snap of a cry, she cums.

“God, fuck-”

If Yujin doesn't have to see the look on your face after getting her off this hard, it's only because the pressure in her body has her knees across your eyes forced shut. A spasm clenches, almost rhythmic, through her thighs, and god, Yujin just cums her brains out. It's pretty hot. You make it count: pushing your fingers just as deep into her pussy, working, exploring - right as her whole body is tensing and coming apart and your other hand circles, two fingers, dipping down and through the cleft of her ass and into her tightest, hottest hole -

You know better than to rub at her entrance once the ripples and waves start - instead, it's more pressure.

Pushing up as deep as you can and your lips mouthing at her folds while her hips squirm for something harder, something stronger and with intent - like, maybe, if she thinks she is trying to push away, she will start to believe that the mess running from her hole isn't hers. It's yours. All that liquid heat pooling below her and what could ever make sense other than she needs more? She needs the way she trembles and shakes, the way her pussy weeps as you wring it for the pleasure that's well on its way -

You always feel like an idiot after, stupid with how much you enjoy this, what she gives you, but how could it be anything but fantastic, your vision dizzying when it swims from lightheadedness and the lack of oxygen to your brain. Yujin's holding you right where she needs, right between her thighs and next to perfection, just tight enough for you to groan, to make a low whine build in the back of your throat and that gets her, too.

There is the rush and a wave, the heat, of something that crests and breaks in her that has to match the absolute loss of control she seems to have all along - the only part you feel you are sure about is that Yujin always rides her cunt - all dripping lips and aching holes, swollen and flaring and practically begging to be fucked harder and more thoroughly - into every orgasm she's taken from you, until there's no where to run.

Even through your nose, and you're suffocating, her legs trembling with the rush of it all. You're gasping and shaking but she's shaking apart and you need that: to feel her melt from where her body collapses all its weight onto you and the way the aftershocks have to make it seem, at least for a moment, that she’ll never, ever recover.

"Fuck," Yujin sighs, "I fucking hate you."

(Translation: she can't fucking live without you.)

"Any time," you murmur and her entire body falls into you, straddled across your chest and slumped there, sweaty and spent. Your heart beats the moment, trying to remember when it was you could stop feeling this way about your roommate.

A part of you believes that, once upon a time, before all of this started, that your desire, your lust was rooted in seeing a friend who was beyond hot and simply unavailable.

A bigger part of you knows that asking for clarity isn't the point - because maybe, right now, in the way your hand has started massaging the soft skin under the curve of her spine, you should realize you can't live with it never happening again.

"What's my balance," you ask, rubbing your thumb into the crook behind her knee.

"Mm?"

You exhale.

"Two. I think you're good for two."

You laugh. "For real?"

She stretches.

"Or I suppose we can go for four or five, but that means you're paying for dinner, too." Yujin does this thing with her hair when she's excited. Swings it back, smiling wide.

Which is fair, you think, given the pulse between your legs throbbing and twitching as you picture it: the curve of Yujin's waist and the drop of her lower back, her bare ass. Her soaked little slit that can't help but beg to fucked and fucked and fucked, until she's trembling and quivering and leaking-

"Then I'm gonna eat," you promise her, "every last inch. Going to taste you and swallow."

Yujin shifts, sitting astride you.

You hum. "Still interested."

She simply kisses you - breathes you in - tasting herself on your lips and tongue, before leaning back with her palms flat against your chest and taking it slow as she starts to ease you into the kind of sex that doesn't leave either one of you with a throat quite so raw and dry.

So it's quiet in your apartment, just for a little while, when the afternoon starts to settle in and she rolls back onto her heels, not able to support the rest of her. You fuck her deep and it's amazing how quickly you both fall into rhythm. Yujin's clutching hard on either side of your hips. Folding herself back. Trying, by the end, to bury you where her fingers have been.

By the time she gets herself up on the couch, belly flat against the cushions and her hips arched back as she fucks herself with the length of your dick, you're just desperate. Aching in a way you know will happen any moment and even so, you can't even bring yourself to consider stopping because this is perfect - it's everything, really. To push her down, hold her still, and fuck her so thoroughly that she cries and shudders as you spill into her.

To have her.

Yujin holds a part of yourself so tender, something you have kept close for far too long, and watching her with her arm reached behind herself, clutching blindly with her fingers, as her moans go quiet with just these whimpery, little things, a thought occurs to you, of exactly how dangerous your roommate is -

Because with you fucking into her like this, this is more than sex ought to be. More than it’s ever been.

(More dangerous yet is thinking: maybe - perhaps - it is exactly what Yujin wanted, from the start.)

#yujin smut #ive yujin smut #ive smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

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ooffies · 1 year

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Could I request headcanons of Jamil and Vil walking in on their female s/o bragging about them to the first years?

: I had so much fun writing this! Thank you for the request anon! Sorry for long wait I had mid-terms 😭. Also I added all the blot-buddies(?) because I felt inspired, I hope you don't mind! Hope you enjoy them!

❥─➤ Jamil, Vil, Leona, Malleus, Azul, Idia and Riddle x reader (separate)

❥─➤ warnings: none!

Jamil Viper (flustered)

He’s never been this flustered before, like ever. He hears Kalim sing him praise for his talents all the time but that only makes him feel slightly annoyed. But hearing you talking so highly about him? His heart feels like it’s about to break out of his chest. He’s blushing from ear to ear for the rest of the day. Makes sure to invite you over once classes are done. He wants to express his gratitude to you and show how much he cares for you.

Vil Schoenheit (proud/flattered)

Of course, you're bragging about him, who wouldn’t? He’s used to people singing him praise and boasting about his talent and beauty. But never has he felt so giddy from hearing someone talk about him. he’s got butterflies in his stomach hearing you talk so highly of him to your peers. He’s got a smile stuck on his face for the rest of day. Next time the two of you hang out he makes sure to pamper you with compliments and kisses.

Leona Kingscholar (smug)

He’s already got a shit-eating smirk on his face as soon as he overhears you. His herbivore singing him praise is a massive boost to his ego. He’s attached to your hip for the rest of your day. He’ll try to get you to skip class to be with him. He’ll have his tail lightly wrapped around your thigh or hand, letting everyone know for the millionth time you're his. It’s kind of his own way of bragging about you.

Malleus Draconia (falls in love all over again)

He practically falls in love with you all over again anytime he hears you speak a single good word about him. He’s all over you for the rest of the day, giving you as much affection as possible. He’s trying so hard to hide the fact that he overheard your bragging but after five minutes of being with this overjoyed man it’s pretty obvious what happened.

Azul Ashengrotto (blushing mess #1)

Acts all smug when he confronts you and the freshmen but once they leave he’s blushing from head to toe. He can barely form a sentence as he tries to give thanks to you for being such a great partner. But he can’t help but ask if you actually think that highly of him. Once you reassure him he’ll become a blushing mess all over again. Will treat you to a special dinner at lounge that night to make sure you know how thankful he is to be yours.

Idia Shroud (over the moon)

On the outside he was an absolute embarrassed wreck after hearing you brag about him to Ace and Deuce. But on the inside he’s kicking his feet and giggling. His s/o bragging about him? Him out all people? God he doesn’t deserve you. He’ll make sure to show you more affection than he usually does next time you come over.

Riddle Rosehearts (blushing mess #2)

Bright burning red as he scolds you and the Heartslabyul duo for “loitering around”. It’s very easy to tell that he’s flustered from overhearing your high praises of him. He drags you away for the troublesome duo, ranting about various things. Once you two are alone he thanks you for the kind words while still being as red as a rose.

Please do not repost or translate my work without permission and credit. Thank you!

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ghostboneswrites2 · 2 months

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Hello! First of all I love your stories so much💖 and hope you're having an amazing day. I wanted to ask if you could write something with this, feel free to decline if not 😊

I have this idea of Daryl and the reader being a thing before the apocalypse, Merle hated his girl and left her closed in a place with loads of walkers around without D knowing(something similar to what happens to him in Atlanta) but she manages to escape and survive thanks to what D has taught her. The group at the prison helps her after finding her tiredly fighting some walkers close to there. D and M are in the woods and the scene of D's back comes and says that the reader was his saviour for staying with him even after that and that they were planning to escape and get married. They arrive at the prison and she punches M in the face and well says to D everything that happened. M gets to see how D gets around Reader and before leaving the prison says to reader to take care of his bro and "sacrifices" himself going to fight the governor, D and r found him already turned and they both cry, promising to take care of each other.

I love the detail here! Plz forgive me, this turned out way longer than I intended. Nearly 5k words! I hope I did your vision justice! It was getting pretty long so I had to cut and tweak some things but I tried make sure to include all your key details!

Separated

Summary: You and the Dixon brothers are on your way to Atlanta to find that refugee center you heard about on the radio before they stopped broadcasting. When your journey is interrupted and you and Merle get separated from Daryl, Merle impulsively leaves you trapped and stranded in fear Daryl would choose you over him if it came down to it. When you're reunited with your love, you face tragedy together.

Note: There are some time jumps here. They're labeled to hopefully avoid confusion. Also some canon dialogue <3 A lot of your backstory with the Dixons wasn't totally necessary but I was trying to create a ~vibe~

18+ MDNI || Warnings: profanity, TWD typical violence, canonically moral deficient character, death and dying, mentions of alcohol and pills

the way he cowers and shrinks away from Merle's walker makes me cry every time omg

Then:

Things went south so fast. The three of you were traveling relatively trouble free. The guys could hunt, and Daryl had taught you a thing or two yourself, so food was never an issue. Finding water wasn't as hard as it would be later down the line. All the supplies left in homes and stores hadn't been completely ransacked yet. It was the beginning of the outbreak. With Merle's truck, Daryl's bike, some weapons and supplies, and the general survival skills you were learning from the two of them, fleeing to the city to find that refugee center had been as easy as something like that could get, until the water ran out.

It should have been an easy pit stop. The town was small. Your grandma would have called it a 'blink of an eye' town, because when you passed towns so small on a trip they'd fly by in the blink of an eye. There was a general store right on the corner, so that was where you decided to start the search. Just some water, maybe first aide and booze. Who knew what you'd find? The truck was parked right outside the store. Daryl wanted a smoke. He said he'd meet you and Merle inside. Then the growls started. Daryl could hear them from a distance, so he knew it was a big herd.

None of you had had much trouble with the big groups of them yet. So far, maybe ten or fifteen at a time. You killed the ones that got too close and fled as fast as you could. No unnecessary risks, that was the rule. Merle always said if he died it would be from something cool like a police shootout or a bank robbery. He refused to go out the way those things took people out. Daryl always said he'd shoot himself before he let them get the chance to eat him alive or turn him. He'd never be a walking corpse. You? Daryl always said you were too pretty to die. You just said you were too much of a badass.

Daryl popped his head inside. There were only two freaks inside and they were easy enough to take down, so you and Merle were just looting by then.

"Incoming. We gotta head out." Daryl announced.

"Just a second, baby brother. I'm lookin' for the whiskey." Merle said.

"Ain't got time for that. I can hear 'em comin'." Daryl insisted. You zipped your bag up with everything you had found so far, including the water, and walked toward your broody boyfriend with a half smile.

"There were exactly three waters left. How's that for good luck?" You said to him.

"Why'd'ya think I keep ya 'round? You're my good luck charm." He winked before slapping the window to get Merle's attention. "C'mon, man! No unnecessary risks!"

You slipped past Daryl and stepped outside, throwing your bag in the bed of the truck. You could hear the moans and groans. You turned your attention in the direction of the noise and you could see the heads peeking up over a hill. Your eyes grew wide as your heart sped up.

"Uh... Guys? We gotta go!" You called out, not taking your eyes off the herd that was slowly coming into view. You had never seen so many of them.

"Merle, come on!" Daryl was growing more aggravated and impatient as the seconds ticked by.

Daryl jogged back to the truck just as Merle was emerging from the little shop. With no sense of urgency in sight, Merle just looked over the bottle of Jack he had found as he casually strolled over to the driver's side. You scooted into the middle seat and Daryl hopped in the passenger spot and slammed his door shut.

"Hurry up, man!" Daryl urged his brother.

Merle grumbled some smartass remark about being afraid of 'a few dead bodies' as he cranked the engine and hit the gas, speeding away.

Now

You were so sore. So exhausted. So ready to just give in, but you couldn't. You refused to give in that easy. Someone told you once that you were too pretty to die, and you took that to heart.

You kept swinging your machete at them as they closed in on you. You were cornered between a building and a fence. What the hell were you supposed to do now? You had no idea, but you were determined to figure it out. You had gotten yourself out of worse situations.

Then

"Gon' have to circle back somewhere to get back on the interstate." Daryl informed, looking at the map.

"I don't need a second driver." Merle waved him off. You rolled your eyes. You were glad to be surviving something so scary with the man you loved, but the third wheel was getting hard to live with.

"Whatever, man." Daryl huffed, turning his attention to the window instead of paying his brother any mind.

You kept your attention on the rearview mirror, relieved to see the herd fading away as the truck rolled forward. Those things really freaked you out, especially when they were all together like that, stumbling and bumping into each other carelessly.

A mile or so down the road, you heard a loud pop and the engine started to sputter. "Ah, hell." Merle sighed.

"What?" Daryl asked, leaning forward to see his brother.

"Gas is empty." He replied, looking down at the dash.

"Are you kiddin' me?" Daryl asked incredulously. "Ya didn't think to check before?"

"I did check, but I thought we'd be back on the interstate by now. Plenty o' cars to siphon a li'l fuel from back there." Merle defended.

"Hate to raise the stakes even higher here," you interrupted. "But, that herd is gonna be catching up soon, so we need to figure something out."

Merle shot you a sideways glance. If it was up to him he would have just left you back home and fled with his brother, but Daryl insisted on picking you up. Now, he couldn't even hop on his bike with his baby brother and sail away to safety because there wouldn't be room for you and Daryl would never agree. He wasn't the greatest brother, but he wouldn't leave Daryl behind either.

"Wha's that?" Daryl suddenly asked, breaking the tense silence as the three of you considered your pressing circumstances.

You both turned your attention to what the archer was pointing out. Just beyond the treeline was a small wooden structure. Some kind of shack.

"A house?" You wondered.

"Nah. Shed or somethin'." Daryl figured.

"Maybe we can hide there and let the freaks pass by. They're pretty stupid, right? Maybe they'll just keep going straight if we don't draw their attention." You suggested.

"Won't even know we're there." Daryl agreed.

"Well then let's quit the yappin' and get over there before they see us." Merle drawled as he pushed his door open. Daryl got out and offered you a hand while you stepped out of the truck. Your posh parents never liked him much, but they never saw what a gentlemen he could really be. You had cut ties with them long before the dead started roaming.

Now

You were beginning to think maybe this was really the end. It really wasn't that many. Seven at the most. But you were just so tired. You lazily swung the blade into a skull and struggled to yank it out. You had climbed on top of a dumpster, so at least they couldn't reach you, but you were still trapped until you could get rid of them. You wondered how stupid it would be to take a quick nap. Surely one of them would reach you eventually. You decided against it.

Then

Without any spoken agreement, the three of you grabbed any supplies you thought you'd need and jogged over to the dilapidated structure. It was vacant and smelled faintly of mildew and rotting wood.

"It'll do." Merle sighed.

"Do? This is a mansion compared to the truck." You remarked, stretching your body. You were stiff from so much sitting.

The three of you watched silently through the cracks in the door as the herd stumbled by with their swinging arms and dragging feet. The smell was something you couldn't get used to, and with so many of them, it was strong. You gagged quietly. Daryl rubbed a hand up and down your back when he noticed.

The three of you really thought you were fine. You outsmarted the dead ones and soon you'd be on your way again. You had never been so wrong about anything before.

Merle got a little too comfortable given the situation. He went and dug through his duffel for his whiskey. He had been drinking so much you wondered if his piss could get someone drunk. The entire time you'd been on the road with them, the man had managed to find liquor everywhere he went. There wasn't a single day he hadn't been drunk, and if there had been, you were sure he'd have a stash of pills to keep him feeling nice. You guessed you couldn't blame him. Shit was rough nowadays.

When Merle found the bottle he dropped it and it shattered. After giving Merle a look that could kill, Daryl turned his attention back to the herd. A few of them were veering off. The sound had caught their attention. Only a few heard, but as they started walking toward the shed, more followed.

"Shit." You whispered.

"This place ain't gon' hold." Daryl added.

"My Jack." Merle complained.

"Hell with your booze, man." Daryl scoffed as some of the dead started to claw at the outside. "We gotta go."

"Go where, baby brother?"

"We could take down the few that are at the door and break for the truck." You thought.

"Nah, too many on the road. But we can run off that way." Daryl nodded toward the back of the shed.

"Okay." You nodded, throwing your bag over your shoulders and readying your machete.

Merle haphazardly hooked his duffel and cocked his pistol.

"No guns. Too loud." Daryl reminded him.

"Relax. It's a last resort." Daryl shrugged, tucking it unto his belt. With a nod to each other, you and Daryl kicked the door open and took down two walkers. Merle was right behind you.

Now

Tires screeched from ahead. You looked up and saw a car. A woman and a man got out of the vehicle and rushed over, taking down the walkers with ease and precision. Gee, you thought. Bet it's nice to have someone that has your back.

The couple walked over to the dumpster and eyed you cautiously, glancing at each other. "You okay?" The man finally asked.

"Could use an espresso." You quipped.

"What's your name?" The woman inquired.

"(Y/N)."

"I'm Maggie." She introduced. "This is Glenn."

Then

Only using your energy on the ones closest, the three of you darted deeper into the woods. They followed, because they saw you and now they wanted you.

Only, there were more in the trees than you anticipated. Usually the woods were pretty clear save for a few stragglers here and there. These woods were not. You wondered why, but there was no time to guess. You just kept running.

Eventually there were just too many. Daryl got pushed further and further away as more and more emerged from behind trees. When you realized you couldn't see him anymore you called for him.

"Quiet girl! He can take care o' himself. You're drawin' more to us!" Merle hissed. You reluctantly obeyed, because you knew he was right. Daryl probably evaded them somewhere and would meet you both back at the truck.

When the running began to take its toll and your chest started to burn, you put more of a focus on searching for somewhere to hide. To your advantage, there was an overgrown cabin not too far ahead. erle peered over his shoulder.

"We're losin' em. Let's get inside an' wait 'em out. Daryl 'll meet us back at the truck when it passes." He strategized well for his inebriated state.

"Okay." You breathed, just grateful for a chance to stop and rest.

Now

"Need some help? Maggie asked, offering you a hand as you slid off the edge of the dumpster.

"Thanks."

"You have a group?" Glenn wondered. Maggie gave him an unsure look. You noticed Glenn looked pretty beat up. You wondered what happened.

"No." You said lowly. You did have people, but you were left behind.

"Well.." Glenn trailed off, looking to Maggie as if to silently ask what they should do with you.

"You can come with us. Can't promise you can stay though." She spoke up.

Then

The cabin had been vacant for a long time. Some of the old dusty furniture remained so you both sat down and just breathed. You handed him a water bottle and sipped on one for yourself while you waited. It felt like hours had gone by. It had grown dark out. Merle peeked out of the window. There were a bunch of them all around, but they had no idea the two of you were in there. It seemed like they lost their lead and just stopped, staggering around in the same spot.

"There's a lot of 'em, but they ain't payin' attention. I say we leave out the back an' sneak back toward the road." Merle suggested. You thought for a second.

"Yeah," you nodded. "Okay."

Just as you passed it by, Merle suddenly shoved you in a closet and shut it behind you.

"Merle, what the fuck, man?" You complained, banging at the door. It wouldn't budge.

"Quiet, now. Don't wanna draw in any unwanted attention." He taunted. You sighed.

"Merle, c'mon this isn't funny."

"'Fraid it ain't a joke, Darlin. Truck's outta gas an' my bike only carries two."

Your heart sank.

"Daryl isn't just gonna leave without me." You reminded.

"He won't have a choice when I tell 'im 'bout how them dead ones took ya down." He mockingly lamented. "It was just terrible, ya know? They grabbed her. I couldn't pull'er away in time before they got to chompin'."

"The hell, dude? Don't do this!" You begged, banging at the door again.

"Look. Ya got your bag in there, got your weapon, got your wits. You'll figure it out." He reasoned.

"Not if I'm trapped!"

"I'm sure you can kick that slab o' wood down if ya try hard enough." He was getting further away by the sounds of it. "Jus' try not to be too loud. Don't want 'em hearin' ya."

Now

"I'd be grateful." You admitted. "I haven't had anywhere to rest in a while. I have some medicine here I'd be happy to share in exchange for a good night of rest."

"Watcha got?" Maggie asked.

"We actually came out her for medicine." Glenn added.

"Some antibiotics, some Benadryl, some stuff for pain. Oh, and I found an EpiPen. I'm allergic to bees, so."

"Antibiotics is what we need." Maggie said.

"Yeah, whatever you need. Thanks again."

They still hit a few stores while you rested in their car. Maggie made sure to grab the keys just in case you tried anything, but you were too tired to try even if you wanted to. When they had found everything they thought they'd need for the prison, they drove you back. Rick and the others were apprehensive, with everything happening with Woodbury and recently losing one of their best fighters. Daryl was also their hunter, their tracker, and generally someone they all relied on.

You explained to them that you were traveling with some people to Atlanta but they left you behind and you'd been on the move ever since. "I'd be glad to sleep outside if it makes you more comfortable." You said to Rick. "I can leave in the morning. I just really need somewhere to sleep."

Rick studied you for an uncomfortably long time before he asked, "How many walkers have you killed?"

"Walkers?" You asked. You'd never heard that term before.

"The dead." He clarified.

"Oh... I don't know, really. A lot."

"How many people have you killed?"

"None." You said honestly. "But there is one person I might beat to death if I ever see him again."

"Why?"

"He left me stranded, surrounded by the dead."

The Next Morning

Rick let you sleep in a separate cell block. He let you know you'd be locked in for a the night but that he'd come get you in the morning to talk. You didn't really care. You just wanted rest.

When he came and got you that morning you were offered a warm meal, which you gladly accepted. You made sure to give them the majority of your antibiotics as a show of gratitude.

Meanwhile, deep in the woods, two rednecks were hashing it out. Name calling, shoving, whatever it took to unleash all the pent up frustrations they had between each other.

See, in all that time Daryl spent with Rick and their group, he began to find a side of himself that was suppressed with his brother around. The only person to ever make him believe he could be good was taken from him before they made it to the quarry. Merle, on the other hand, only represented everything that Daryl was trying to put behind him. Merle was capable of hurting good people or looking the other way instead of helping someone in danger. If only Daryl knew some of the things Merle had really done.

"There was a baby!" Daryl defended as Merle laid into him for risking his own ass to save a family on a bridge.

"Oh, otherwise ya woulda just left 'em to the biters." Merle retorted.

"Man, I went back for ya. Ya weren't there. I didn't cut off your hand, neither. You did that. Way before they locked you up on that roof. You asked for it."

"You know what's funny to me? Hmm? You and Sheriff Rick are like this now." Merle said, locking his two fingers together. "I bet you a penny and a fiddle o' gold you never told him that we were plannin' on robbin' that camp blind."

"It didn't happen!" Daryl snapped. "And we woulda never had to if ya didn't let the truck run out o' gas! And my girlfriend wouldn't be dead!" Daryl's chest was heaving as his eyes stung, threatening to spill fresh tears at the thought of her. Merles eyes flashed something Daryl couldn't quite decipher.

"It didn't happen 'cause I wasn't there to help you!"

"When we were kids.. Who left who then, huh?" Daryl frowned.

"What? Huh, is that why I lost my hand?" Merle rasped.

"You lost your hand 'cause you're a simple-minded piece o' shit!"

"Yeah?!" Merle lost it. He grabbed Daryl by the shirt. "You don't know!"

When Daryl fell to the ground, his shirt ripped down the back. Merle froze. His chest felt tight as he stared down at the gruesome scene left on Daryl's back from years of abuse at the hands of their father. "I -- I didn't know --"

"Yeah, ya did." Daryl's voice cracked as he pushed himself to his feet. "That's why ya left. But (Y/N), she never left. She was always there, man. Always. She was the one who saved me. She protected me. Not you, man!" He wiped a tear as he took a breath between heated words. "We were gon' run away, gon' get the hell outta that town and get married, maybe start a family. I don't know, and I never will thanks to you!"

He did blame his big brother for the loss of his love, but not in the way that he should have. He blamed Merle's clumsiness, carelessness, and negligence. He had no idea that Merle trapped and abandoned you.

Later

Daryl went back home to the prison. Merle couldn't stand too watch him leave, so he followed. Guilt was starting to eat at him, gnawing away at his insides, mouthfuls at a time. He almost felt nauseous hearing about you and what Daryl had planned with you. He tried to imagine his battered baby brother in a nice little house with a wife and kids. Hell, he even tried to picture it for himself, but the image wasn't clear enough for it to seem possible. All either of them had ever known was violence and loneliness. That was why they needed each other. That was why he had to get rid of you.

You had just finished a tour of the prison. Rick told you that you could stay for a while, but he didn't know if he trusted you as one of them. He shared a little about a rival community with a crazed leader. You understood. You never expected to stick around, even if they offered. You couldn't see yourself trusting anyone after what Merle did to you.

You were sitting in the cell you slept in the night before, sharpening your machete and thinking about the things that you couldn't change. You heard distant voices echoing from the other block. It was some sort of confrontation from the sound of it. You snuck over to the cellblock where everyone stayed and peeked around a corner. Glenn and Maggie were blocking most of your view, but they seemed to be the most pissed off. Rick was off to the side trying to mediate.

"You can't let him stay. Not after what he did to Glenn!" Maggie demanded.

"He goes, I go."

You stopped breathing. That voice sent chills up and down your spine.

"Okay." Rick held his hand out, attempting to set forward a solution but the room fell silent as you stepped into view. Merle noticed you first. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

"Well, I'll shit bricks." He murmured in disbelief.

"(Y/N)?" Daryl breathed, almost inaudibly. Your eyes were welling with tears as you stood just feet away from the man you loved.

Daryl dropped everything and ran over to you, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you up. You couldn't even hug him back because your arms were trapped under his. All you could do was let out something between a giggle and sob.

"Daryl." You whispered. Your body felt so perfect against his, just how he remembered. Then, it dawned on him. He set you down and turned to look at Merle, a blend of betrayal and fury flooding his eyes.

"You said she was dead!" Daryl growled.

As everyone around you watched the scene before them unfold, they felt clueless. Daryl had never mentioned you because it hurt too much to bring up. Your feet began moving before you could even think. One second you were standing beside Daryl, then you blinked and you were inches away from Merle, rearing your fist back and striking his jaw with a force you didn't even know you were capable of. Merle stumbled and dropped to the ground holding his face. He moved his jaw around a little before he glared up at you.

"Okay. I deserved that." He accepted.

"Yeah, you did." You spat.

"Hold on. Someone care to explain what the hell's goin' on here?" Rick spoke out.

You turned to Daryl, as if it was he who answered the question. You didn't care to share with the class. Daryl needed to know.

"When we got separated in the woods.." You began, taking a breath. "Merle and I found a cabin. We hid there, waited for shit to blow over, and we were supposed to meet you back at the ruck. Merle figured you'd wait for us there."

"And I left her." Merle admitted from behind you. You glanced back at him momentarily. You were surprised at his accountability.

"In a closet." You added spitefully. "The place was surrounded. Took me forever to get out of there and even longer to get back to the truck. By then, you two and the bike were gone."

Daryl's nostrils flared with rage. His fists were balled up so tight his knuckles turned white against his tan skin. His shoulders rose and fell with each heavy breath he took. He was so pissed, so hurt. The weight of the revelation had weighed him down so heavily that his boots felt like they were nailed to the ground. Otherwise, he would have lunged at his brother and beaten the teeth out of his skull. All that time Daryl spent in pain, mourning the loss of someone who wasn't gone. All because his brother didn't like her.

"Why." Daryl growled.

"The bike only fit two, man."

That Night

You sighed contently as Daryl traced little circles over your shoulder. Once it was decided to leave Merle in a cell, and everything had been explained to Rick, you and Daryl retired to his own cell to enjoy your reunion in private. He was laying on the bottom bunk, one foot crossed over the other as he stared into space, enjoying the feeling of your head on his chest and your arm and leg draped over him.

"I missed you." You whispered, breaking a long, comfortable silence.

"Mm." He hummed. "I mourned ya every day. I shoulda gone back."

"Don't do that. We're together now. Don't blame yourself."

"Shoulda never believed 'im. I knew how jealous he was. Thought he'd get over it." He confessed. You smiled softly and nuzzled up closer, taking in a whiff of his sweaty scent.

"Me too." You agreed. "But he left me with my bag. He didn't want me to die. I think he was afraid if only two of us fit on the bike you'd leave him behind."

"Nah. Woulda had your sweet ass ride the handlebars." He teased, twirling a finger through your hair. You giggled, then you paused.

"Wow. I think that's the first time I've laughed since we got split up." You realized.

"Sure ya didn't find no boyfriends along the way?" He joked. He always did that when things felt too heavy between the two of you. You rolled your eyes, not that he could see it.

"You say that like I've had a lot of those. We've been together since we were like, twenty." You laughed.

The Next Day

Merle and Michonne had disappeared. You learned that the leader of the opposing community -- the Governor, as they called him -- wanted Michonne in exchange for peace, but Rick refused. Merle had likely taken her as a peace offering since he knew what the Governor was capable of.

You and Daryl left to search for him. He took you to a spot where they had previously convened for negotiation. The two of you did a brief sweep of the area before stumbling across some walkers. You each took one down after another until you were left with only one. You froze when you registered what -- or who -- it was.

A sob immediately escaped Daryl as he fell backwards. You blinked back tears as you crouched down behind him and pulled him against you, rocking gently as Daryl wept. Merle's dead body clumsily pushed itself off the ground and onto its feet. You stood first, hoping to put it down before Daryl had to do it himself, but Daryl was quick to push past you. He violently shoved the corpse. It sumbled back, but it walked toward him again. Over and over Daryl shoved what was left of his brother as he cried. Tears were freeling spinning down your cheeks.

When Merle's body fell on its back, Daryl crawled on top of it and plunged his knife into its skull over and over and over until he collapsed.

You wanted to intervene, to console, to be his rock, but something told you to let him get it out. He needed to. So, you waited until Daryl's blind rage simmered down and placed an assuring hand on his shoulder.

"Wanna bury him?" You whispered.

Daryl shook his head.

"Okay." You relented. You glanced around your surroundings and noticed a patch of wildflowers off in the distance. "I'll be right back." You squeezed him gently before jogging over and gathering each and every flower in the patch. When you walked back over to where Daryl was hunched over Merle, he looked up at you with wet, red eyes. When he clocked the flowers, he gave a single nod and stood up beside you. You split the flowers in half and handed Daryl a bundle. The two of you placed them each individually around Merle's corpse.

You thought back to a conversation you had with Merle the night before, when you couldn't sleep and went out of the cell to get some water.

"Take care of my baby brother, will ya?" Merle's voice echoed through the quiet block.

"I always have."

"We'll take care of each other." Your vice cracked as you spoke. "Promise."

"Promise." Daryl whispered.

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tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow

#daryl x reader #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl x female reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl x y/n #daryl x you #daryl dixon fanfic #the walking dead daryl #daryl twd

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fanon-canon-idfk · 8 months

Note

Ehemmm..... Jealous Dazai??

Hint of yandere dazai? Or full yandere dazai? Up to you! ;)

Genre: Fluff!

Main Character : Dazai And Male Reader!

MN = Male name/reader.

MN is just like kunikida, hard working, diligent, serious and easy to be fooled. Because of that, the two — MN & Kunikida, get along well. Everyday he visits kunikida to tell him his new ideas for a healthy work environment. The two when together never seperates from each other, whenever people are partying or having fun the two are in the corner scribbling on their notes sharing ideas. MN and kunikida grown to each other and because of that yosano and ranpo makes fun of them being the Parents/Star Couples of the ADA because the two are always on watch and scolds dazai whenever he has quote on quote funny ideas that results on being harmful towards the others. The two cooks, looks after the younger detectives (aka. Atsushi, kyouka, tanizaki, naomi and kenji) how beautiful and lovely no?

"No." Said dazai. Why is that?

Well duh. MN is dazais boyfriend! And only his!

MN was supposed to pamper him, look after him, talk with him, BE WITH HIM!

But nooooooo!

He goes to kunikida and writes their stupid ideas on their stupid notebooks! Dazai gets irritated when yosano and ranpo jokes around saying they're (MN & kunikida) is like a married couple.

So, dazais plan is :.

- get MN & Kunikida separated, how? Make the other on get busy on something so they won't be together and dazai will have MN with him all the time.

- do something stupid to attract MN attention. How? Make atsushi do something stupid . Forcefully.

- gaslight MN because he looks like kunikida's boyfriend not his.

- kill kunikida— (NO THAT WONT HAPPEN!)

-kidnap MN (DEFINITELY WONT HAPPEN!)

Dazai is abit.... Co co Ca Ca about MN

(Translation: A yandere for MN, run kunikida.)

Dazai whines to gets MN attention no matter what. And he still doesn't get his attention. Dazai will cry so MN would kiss him and pamper him.

The perfect plan.

(But the perfect plan was to kill kunikida—/NO! /)

I’ve had this one in my inbox for like almost a year and now I’m finally prepared.

Dazai Osamu x Male Reader

Content subjects: Jealousy and kinda yandere-like thoughts from Dazai

Let’s start at the beginning of Dazai and your’s relationship:

Dazai always had his eye on you, he couldn’t quite understand why but he was just so drawn in by you.

By this time you two had been coworkers for about a year, constantly on missions together because of your compatible abilities and planning.

You had also always been with him and Kunikida on these missions.

Dazai never said it, but he hated when it wasn’t just missions with you. He hated that Kunikida would join and work so well by your side, getting so much of your attention.

By that time he never showed it but on the inside he was screaming, crying and pouting all at once.

One night, after yet another mission with Kunikida and yourself, Dazai was rolling around in his bed hugging his pillow angrily.

He was cursing at the world for not only making you so easy to love, but for the fact that it meant others can love you too!

“And of course it’s Kunikida! They’re so alike and compatible!!” He screamed as he shoved his face into the pillow roughly.

After yelling into his pillow for a good 10 minutes, Dazai came to a conclusion.

There was one benefit he could get out of Kunikida and your’s likeness..

Your gullibility.

The next day was pretty simple, not too much paperwork and no missions at all. What a peaceful day.

You had felt more satisfied than you had all year. All your work done, no issues in the workplace, no missions. Everything was the perfect atmosphere you could only dream of.

And then Dazai pulled his chair next to yours, against your desk.

“M/nnnnnnnnn~” he giggled childishly as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“What are you up to now…?” You asked hesitantly, almost not wanting to know the answer so you could preserve your peace.

“Nothing! I just wanted to let you in on a fun fact I just learned!” He beamed at you.

“Hm and what’s that?” You question, turning your focus to him fully to listen to him.

“Did you know, it’s apparently really good for work morale and motivation to have acts of intimacy with your peers?” He pulled off an innocent, believable smile.

“Ah really? I haven’t heard of that before. Are you sure that really works, Dazai?” You took the bait so easily.

And just like that you fell right into his trap.

“Well, let’s see.. wanna try it out with me?” He smirked softly as he looked up into your eyes with pure desire.

“Hmm..” you pondered “well I don’t see why not.” You agreed. Perfect.

He chuckled softly then delicately wrapped a hand behind your neck “Alright then~”

He then finally leaned in, pulling your head towards his at the same time and closing the distance.

You both interlocked, he kissed you softly and you reciprocated without a doubt in mind.

Then you both pulled away, looking at each other fondly. Dazai’s eyes could’ve held hearts in them with how love struck he was.

You then spoke up “I see what you mean, that really did make me feel a lot more positive and motivated.” You said with a nod.

Dazai looked at you blankly before breaking out into laughter. He laughed so hard he started tearing up!

“Hm? What’s so funny?” You asked obliviously.

He grinned up at you before leaning in once again, grazing your lips with his own but not kissing you.

“Just kidding~” he whispered against your lips, his broken breaths from laughter fanning your face.

After processing exactly what he’d said, you felt your face heat up immediately.

A long talk after work later, and you both had finally confessed and made it official.

You weren’t getting married and yet Dazai was already the happiest man in the world.

And now that brings us to the current times:

Dazai was sitting on your desk, slouched, arms crossed, and a big pout on his face as you scolded him like a child for a prank he pulled on Kunikida this morning.

He whined and groaned at every “No, Osamu” and “that’s not safe, Osamu.”

God, you were just like the parent Yosano and Ranpo joked about you being.

The “dad to mother Kunikida!” as they would put it. It made Dazai so annoyed.

After you had finished scolding him, Dazai turned his head away from you looking down as he began to pull off a few fake teary eyes.

You felt your heart ache at both the saddening look of defeat on your boyfriend and how cute he looked doing it.

You gently placed your hand under his chin and pulled his face up to look at you.

“I love you, Osamu.” You reassured to him softly as you pressed your forehead against his own and gazed into his eyes lovingly.

His pout quickly turned into him fighting a smile at your loving acts, trying to stay mad at you.

He finally gave up and just wrapped his arms around your shoulders tightly and gave you a few strong and loving kisses all over your face.

He placed one last kiss to your lips before responding “I love you too,

M/n~”

You both stared into each other’s eyes lovingly, getting lost in your own world and letting yourselves forget about everyone else in the office.

Until Kunikida called out for your attention causing you to turn your head to look at him.

This made Dazai’s eyebrows furrow slightly in annoyance before he shook it off and walked with you over to Kunikida.

Kunikida then let you know that tomorrow you were to accompany him on a mission.

Alone. With Kunikida.

On the outside, Dazai was listening blankly. However, on the inside he was trying to calculate every possible way to make sure this would not happen.

Maybe he could sneak out tonight and anonymously solve the case??

Maybe he could turn off your work alarms so you sleep in??

Maybe he could tie you down and keep you home forever..?

Maybe he could remove Kunikida from the equation-

No no! He shook the dark idea away quickly.

But that didn’t stop him from all day, trying to figure out a plan to stop this mission.

Then he finally got it.

The next morning, you woke up to your work alarm like usual, but your boyfriend was nowhere in your bed with you.

You got up from the bed to go looking for him.

You walked to the kitchen, and the closer you got the more you heard this sound of.. coughs and beeps?

When you made it to the kitchen, you saw your boyfriend sitting on a counter top with a thermometer in his mouth and sweat on his forehead.

“Osamu? My love, are you ok?” You walked towards him quickly, lifting his bangs and putting your hand to his forehead.

Sure enough he was burning up.

“Oh, my love.. you have a fever. Let’s get you back to bed, ok? I’ll bring you some soup soon.” You spoke softly and sweetly as you picked him up from the counter and walked him back to your bedroom.

After tucking him into the bed again, you went and quickly made him a warm soup he usually enjoyed when sick.

When you came back, you set the bowl onto the nightstand delicately before turning to your miserable looking boyfriend.

You caressed his head softly. He then spoke up “Are you.. staying with me today..?” He questioned with soft puppy dog eyes and a cute frown.

“Yes, my love. I’ll call in and let everyone know, ok..? I’m here to be by your side all day.” You reassured him as you held his hand in yours and whispered into his knuckles.

With that being said, Dazai quickly changed into a soft, blissful smile.

Waking up early, taking a boiling shower and holding a hand-warmer to his forehead until you woke up was so worth it.

He spent the whole day in bed, getting fed and cuddled by you. He spent the whole day bathing in your love knowing nobody else could ever get this love, you belonged to him alone.

Plan successful~<3

#male reader #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd scenarios #bungou stray dogs scenarios #bsd x male reader #dazai osamu #male reader blog #dom male reader #top male reader #sub dazai #dazai osamu x male reader #dazai x male reader #x male reader #bungou stray dogs dazai

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harfanfare · 11 months

Text

Rollo Flamm x Reader || Rhythm

Warnings: Understated jealousy (?), Reader can’t dance (wants to, though), provisioning of unrequired love, female reader.

The girl that dances atop the stage is really pretty.

It’s not you, and with some kind of regret, you concede you’ve never properly learned to dance.

The girl is more beautiful than the starry night above the City of Flowers because she feels like a dream. Stars will be tomorrow too, but her? No one knows, so all eyes are on her, to balm each’s heart with her sight.

Her steps are graceful and the way she moves is enchanting. It’s not an easy choreography either - with so many jumps and twirls and turns - but she makes it seem so because a smile never leaves her face. The fabric of her dress follows her faithfully, and you imagine she will look incredible in every photo taken of her.

“She’s so… beautiful,” someone next to you breathes with awe.

You believe Rollo thinks so too.

Even if the thought of never being looked on like that stings, you can only blame yourself as he didn’t want to come here at all. When you suggested checking out the show that is being held in a Topsy-Turvy Event Hall, Rollo scolded you for distracting yourself. It might be a Friday evening when most of the students are already headed to the dormitory, but the work of student council members is never done. Before the weekend, at least.

Your whingeing has been guerdoned: Rollo agreed on taking a break. He was hesitant while doing so, and almost annoyed at the cheery smiles that appeared instantly on three faces, yours, the vice president’s and a school treasurer’s. The papers and cups of cold tea were left instantly, and in the next few minutes, all four of you were heading down the staircase.

…

A square is crowded every season with tourists, so neither you nor Rollo is surprised that the two other students got separated from you before even reaching the main stage. You are thankful for their attentiveness because it allows you to be alone with Rollo.

“They are selling enchanted drinks again!” You exclaim, pointing to a stall with indigo macrame hung around a tent. Some attractions were opened at certain seasons a year, and you remember the elixirs being a hit last year.

“It looks like so,” Rollo states flatly. “I wonder why people are so fixated on this kind of never-lasting things.”

Knowing Rollo is a man of harsh words, you brush off his comment.

Blue potion with edible glitter — you are sure it’s edible glitter because most of the useful mixtures are rather lustreless — catches your eye. It looks like a piece of starry sky tucked into a glass bottle. It’s also supposed to help you with your studies if you drink it, so it’s even more magical.

“Would you like to try one? This one helps you focus… But, yeah, I guess you already can do that perfectly,” you pick up the next vial. “Oh, after drinking the yellow one, you should be able to sing more professionally! And the green one is for rhythm… I would need that one. Yet, the most interesting one here is-”

- a love potion.

Even the vial is heart-shaped. The mixture inside is either pink or purple, you can’t really define it because of the amount of bubbles that constantly stir the mixture. You might not be the best alchemy student ever, but even you know that that potion has some enchanting aroma that might bind your senses.

Maybe that potion is your only chance ever to get with Rollo. Your heart is heavy at the thought of enchanting him to love you.

“I have no intention of buying anything,” Rollo’s curt voice slings you from your thoughts. He takes vials from your hands and puts them back, any moment ready to push them out of his mind. “Anything but croissants. I can treat you to one of those.”

…And that’s how you get free food, dear students.

“Will you? Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You would love to hug him, Rollo is… Rollo probably wouldn’t appreciate this kind of gratitude in the middle of the street. Or wherever. It’s hard to imagine Rollo being happy about a hug as he seems unused to physical contact, yet that might be a reason why you should try to open him up.

For a last moment you think about the enchanted concoctions, but Rollo turns around and you need to catch up to not get separated from him.

Way to his favourite bakery Rollo knows by heart. He guides you through the crowd and it’s easy to follow him as he stands taller than most people, the distance being even larger when you count his hat. He glanced over his shoulder to check if you were still beside him after you get out of the most crowded area.

“We’re here,” Rollo announces as if you hadn’t been accompanying him to the bakery whenever you had a chance. He strides to the counter, where several types of croissants under a glass cover are creating a delicious exhibition. “Choose whatever you like.”

It's a very tempting offer, and you decide to take it once you glue yourself to the glass of a counter.

“I…” You start, pointing at two specific desserts. Two croissants with your favourite fillings are too delicious to pick between them. “Can I get two? I will treat you something in return, once I'll have money on me.”

“You’ll get a stomachache,” he says curtly but slides his card to a lady behind a counter that picks up another baking for himself, halfway dipped in chocolate and topped with cut-dried strawberries. “Be careful. They’ve been just taken out of the oven, so you’d better don’t burn yourself.

“Thanks.”

You let yourself bite into the device, as you take another turn, this time the way leading into the main square. There is a grand scene that is always used for music performances.

There is one being held, a solo.

You glance at the dancer, and they look around the crowd. You think there are your two missing clubmates, and beckon Rollo over.

“Hey, there are—”

…

Your surprise silences you.

Rollo stays planted on the ground, eyes on the dancing girl with something like awe. You know that look. You caught a glimpse of it many times on the surface of the glass in student consul’s showcases; your face, so desperately stretching in a soft smile, not to look suspicious.

For the first time, you didn't like the idea of love at first sight.

…

You know where it’s time to step out. Many negotiations you held with people on behalf of students of NBC sensitised you to their expectations and what you should do.

You smile weakly, before gently tapping Rollo on his arm. “I… will get going.”

But Rollo, amazingly, has already shaken off from mysterious enchantment. If you could only do so as easily, permanently. “Are you sick?” He asks, and when you avoid his eyes, his tone voice drops half a tone. “What happened?”

“Nothing, it’s… Can… I… just go?”

“What happened?” Rollo repeats. His eyes scan you, the first time quickly, and when he doesn’t find anything visible, he gets more alarmed, actually looking stiff. “Did you actually burn yourself? I told you to be careful.”

You don’t know what to tell him but start with a measurement that doesn’t bring him any relief.

“It’s not that, Rollo. I…”

“Do tell.” He insists, although if you said a word, you know he wouldn’t question you any more about this. But he would find out in some other way, and he might think you don’t trust him enough - and this implication you really want to avoid - and… “Tell me.”

…And you want to believe that he’s worried for you.

You stare at the ground, and clasp your hands behind your back once you notice their subtle shaking. Why are you reacting this way? Ahh… “I just don’t enjoy dancing. I think I will just return to school and finish organizing the documents…”

“You’ve always liked to see people dance though.”

So he has noticed.

“I don’t have a talent to dance myself.”

“You just need to learn,” he says, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard him. And as you’ve been listening to his voice o lot, you think you might’ve imagined it. Rollo glances at his watch and urges you to come with him. “It’s almost time to ring the bell. Let’s go. I will help you.”

…

You don’t like climbing the bell tower, and going up hundreds of steps isn’t something easy even with Rollo as your motivation. It’s the anxiety that keeps you going.

“I didn't buy the enchantment, though,” you break the silence, and Rollo looks over his shoulder. He is one step in front of you, and he probably slowed his pace to let you catch up to him easily. He’s a master of climbing stairs and ladders after all. “To dance. The bell won’t do anything if… I don’t have any magic on me, no?”

“Don't depend on these kinds of things,” he grumbles. “If you do, you will never achieve anything. For example, if you drank the potion, of course, you'd know how to dance. But just for tonight.”

You question his motivational quote. “But isn't the magic helpful sometimes?”

“It makes one fully depend on it.”

And the conversation ends here because you’ve reached the top platform. Rollo opens the trapdoor and holds it for you. As you step out, you’re immediately hit with a breeze of cold air, but it’s more kind of refreshing than freezing.

Once the trapdoor is closed, Rollo awaits, frozen for a clock-measured minute and three seconds.

And then he rings the bell. It takes much force to move it, and you are almost sure Rollo doesn’t even boost his strength with magic. But, what’s unexpected, this one time he uses magic to repeat the movements of the bell and have it ring on its own.

DING- DONG.

He leaves it to ring at the same tempo and turns to you. The magical earplugs in your ears only moderately muffle the sound of the bell. No music from the Topsy-Turvy Event Hall reaches you anymore. You can only hear the rings clearly, and wouldn't hear Rollo if he said anything.

He doesn't even try to, and without even a shred of a smile, he takes your hand in his.

DING- DONG.

His right hand wraps around your waist, and the fingers of the left one intertwine with yours. He stands taller than you, mighty, righteous. His gaze lingers on you as if he judges you.

It’s never a fair judgement, because the slightly offbeat of his heart drives his reason senseless.

He takes the first step to the back, and you follow along.

DING- DONG.

Rollo's movements are fluid and graceful, yet precise and purposeful. He leads you with ease, his body guiding yours. Waltz is a dance that emphasises the partnership, but with you not knowing the steps, it feels to you like some sort of majestic tango.

You’re overpowered within the first seconds of dance.

DING- DONG.

Step, step, DING, turn, step, turn, DONG.

You know your cheeks are flushed, and you blame the height and cold wind for it. Maybe it is a tiring dance, and you believe it’s acceptable to be this tired yet happy if you are dancing for all of eternity. It feels like the bell started to strike the omnipresent tempo a lifetime ago.

Rollo knows when your waltz-tango should end. He stops the chime with a fluid movement of his hand, magic stopping the well-kept rhythm from a bell.

BA-DUM, BA-DUM.

Your heart maintains the tempo. Even if each beat is strong and loud, you worry about how it will come to a halt at any second.

“I’m surprised,” he starts, sounding unsurprised but kind…-ish, “that you aren’t in a dance-related club yet.”

You cock your head to the side. “Is this a… sarcasm?”

“No. I think that musical-related things would suit you better. You could dance on that grand stage we approached earlier.”

“Like that girl?”

Rollo frowns. “What girl?”

…He doesn’t remember? How could anyone forget for a second about a person one has fallen for? You couldn’t. You can’t. You’re dumbfounded.

“A dancer. On a stage. Today.” Rollo looks more confused with each suggestion. “She was dancing to a… fast music in a flowy dress?”

“Ah,” finally, recognition sparkles in his eyes. A wave of relief is followed by anxiety, but Rollo shrugs your both overwhelms off, with a flick of his hand. “Yes, like her or… even better. The piece she danced to would fit you if you only embrace your passion. I think your performance would be more dreamy.”

You chuckle.

“If I would do that, what would you do without me in the student council club?” By this slight teasing, Rollo stiffens a little. You place your hand on your chest. “But as your right hand, you can’t get rid of me so easily.”

You swear you see him smiling subtly, and it’s no trick of light.

“As my right hand, you have the power to do whatever you want.”

“Then I want to stay.”

“Hm,” Rollo ponders. As you notice his gaze, you feel as if he’s contemplating which future holds the best fate for you. He lowers his eyelids, sighing slightly. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you smile. “But if I hold any power like you say, I would like to use it to have you dance with me again.”

“Strange request,” he says curtly but doesn’t deny your request. His follow-up question makes your chest fill with warmth. “Do you know any dances? Except for waltz,” he says as if you could call your ‘waltz’ anything other than pretending to know how to dance.

“Macarena?” You suggest and he looks at you sceptically. In response, you flash him a bashful smile. “No?”

He sighs but takes your hands in his.

“Let me teach you, then,” he says, slowly. “Let’s start with a proper greeting,” but his greeting isn’t proper, because he doesn’t look at you. Because he avoids your gaze, you can have a shameless view on his red face, that must match the temperature with his quickly warming up hands. You always thought Rollo’s hands were cold, until this moment. “An elegant bow…”

He bows and you lift the brim of your skirt in response, trying to copy the fluidity of the curtsy.

He brings your hand up so carefully as if it is made from the thinnest glass, and presses his lips to your knuckles. So cliche, so old-fashioned, but chivalry isn’t dead as it fills you with energy, surprise and some embarrassment that makes you want to live this moment forever. “And a kiss.”

“Now I’m charmed,” You laugh softly, a smile on your face, yet you were mentally prepared to faint. You wonder if doctors would detect you lovesick if your heart actually stopped. “What’s after that?”

Rollo glances up at you, his eyes brighter than ever. He brings you closer to him.

“Let’s talk about rhythm.”

#I finished my last exam today!! They didn't go as well as I expected #but hey! now I will finally have time to write!! I've been dreaming about this for a long long time haha #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #rollo flamm #twst rollo #twst rollo x reader #rollo x reader #rollo flamm x reader #rollo flamme x reader #rollo flamme

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ghostlychief · 10 months

Text

Don’t Blame Me

Pairing: MW2 Ghost x f!reader

Summary: They say love makes you crazy, so can they really blame you?

Warnings: mentions of blood, knife usage (stabbing, stabbing people’s eyes, eyes being ripped out of socket); mentions of combat fighting; hints of torture and injuries from torture; typical MW2 lore

NSFW, MINORS DNI: blowjob, fingering, eating pussy; missionary; creampie; aftercare

WC: 7k+ (IK IT’S LONG)

A/N: hello hello! here is the long awaited ghost fic that’s been in development for quite awhile. Thank you so much for participating in my pole, and i hope you enjoy!!! I really let myself indulge in more of the gore this time around, so please read with caution if that kind of content bothers you.

ENJOY🫶🏻🖤

You didn’t know blood could be this thick.

But, as you cut through the swarm of your opponents, you really don’t care how much of it gets on your clothes, seeps into your crevasses, and splashes on your face. No, you really don’t give a shit. Your only objective is to get to Ghost, and quickly.

All you see is red, literally.

Before you even fully process what you’re doing, the knife in your hand has already sunk into a neck, blood spurting everywhere, drenching you further. You carry on, the one person you’re trying to reach at the forefront of your mind.

Should you have felt some remorse for the lives you ended? Probably, but it was like you brain was turned off. Actually, no, that’s incorrect. It was like your brain was wired differently, like it was wired to focus on one thing and one thing only: retrieve Ghost.

You can’t recall when you two got separated, or when he got captured in your last mission. All you remember is the pain you felt when you noticed he’d been taken.

You could blame yourself for his capture, but you decided to turn your fury towards someone else rather than yourself. You realized over the years that self-loathing wasn’t very efficient. It tends to waste time.

It was easy after all; it’s not hard to hold contempt towards the people that stole your lover away from you.

This was their doing. I’m only showing them the consequences of their actions.

It’s what you had to tell yourself. Otherwise, you didn’t see how you were going to come out of this alive. You had to redirect your rage, your frenzy. You had to channel it through your veins, making sure it heated you, and coursed through in a way that burned.

It had to be this way. It was the only way to help you be relentless against your opponents.

You were pretty proud of your knife skills; it was your favorite weapon after all. You always made sure to carry at least two with you at all times.

Today, you strapped on four and you were lucky, since you lost your first two about ten minutes ago. They were no doubt lodged into someone lying on the ground, pierced through their eye. That was your sweet spot, never failing you to effectively take down your opposition.

By this point, it felt like you had sliced your way through a hundred men and yet you still haven’t reached the door of the facility Ghost was being held in. Hope was on the horizon though because you could faintly make out the top of the door frame, which egged you on further. Your muscles worked tirelessly as your arms continued to swing at the men attacking you.

Occasionally, you would move your arms in a quick jabbing motion, repeatedly stabbing the opponent in the stomach and then you would land one last finally blow to their eye, your signature move some would say.

One of the downsides of this move was that sometimes, it took a lot of strength to pull your knife back out of the eye (hence your missing knives), which resulted in pulling their eyeball clear and out of its socket.

Not the best outcome of this tactic, but it is what it is.

Unfortunately, for your last victim, this very thing happened. You were thankful when his screams died down quickly.

You had a moment to catch your breath, hanging your head, quivering hands resting on your upper thighs. You looked up just in time to see someone charging at you, yelling, and with their own knives in their hands.

You noticed that they were the only one alive left outside.

One more. I can take care of him.

You swiftly moved to the side, but could hear the whisp of his blade cutting through the air. That was no good- he got too close.

Time to fix that.

Since you were so deft in your knife wielding ability, you also had a knack of being light on your feet and quick. Something that certainly benefited you.

While the man was no doubt taller and heavier than you, you were faster and anticipated his movements with ease. Sooner than later he too was on the ground, finished, with a sliver blade in his left eye, your red hand-grip the only thing you could see sticking out of his head.

You decided to leave it there, as a parting gift of course.

That’s where you got your nickname, Red Eye, seeing that your weapon of choice was wrapped in a blood-red grip that blended in with the blood that seeped out of your victims’ eye sockets. You thought the nickname was silly at first, but you just grew to accept it over the years. What can you say, you like the fancifulness of it every once in a while.

While you always had reputation, this name made your reputation grow into something almost bigger. While your peers and opponents knew you as the women with the red soaked blades, this name gave you a more, how should you put it?

Eerie reputation.

After stepping over your last remaining victim, you finally reach the double doors, leading into the building Ghost is being held captured in.

Before you entered though, you heard a voice through your comms. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Red Eye.”

Fuck me.

You hear Soap over the comms, “Wait for backup. We’re detecting three bodies via heat signatures”

You let out a groan, but made sure that your comms didn’t pick up on that.

“We don’t have time for that. I need to engage now.”

“You will do no such thing.” You hear Price’s voice cut through, stopping you from opening the doors.

“It’s a miracle you made it this far without any back up. Don’t test my patience.”

Ok, so you may have left without anyone knowing and got a two-hour head start before the rest of your team caught up to your location.

It’s just- they were taking, what it seemed like, forever to develop a plan to get your boyfriend out of captivity. You get it, logistics need to be air tight. But this was Ghost, Simon. Your Simon out there.

You knew he could handle what was given to him, but that didn’t ease any worry or hurt left in your heart, and it made you see red with anger.

That’s how your more or less ended up here, alone, slicing through about 30 men all by yourself. Not the smartest move you admit, but you had to get to Simon. You knew his time was running down, like a sand timer, each minute gone left him more perilous than before.

You were definitely going to get your ass kicked tomorrow at debrief.

You were just about to go in, thinking to hell with listening to orders, when you hear at least two sets of feet jogging across the gravel.

“Jesus, Red Eye. Leave any for the rest of us?”

You just roll your eyes at Soap, ignoring his comment. “C’mon guys, we need to hurry. Let’s take the last of the fuckers out and get Ghost back home.”

“Roger that.”

You go in first taking point, Soap and Kӧnig flanking you.

This time around, you have your handgun out, but your knife is safely held with your left hand, resting on the underside of the muzzle.

The hallway is dark, but it’s to your advantage. You think you see a light source coming from the hallway on the left that you’re coming up to, so you raise your left hand and point in that direction, signaling to Soap and Kӧnig.

This is where you come across the first person.

We must be close.

You let Kӧnig take him out. He comes up swiftly behind him and locks an arm around the man’s throat. First knocking him out, but then ultimately, finishing the job.

You three continue down the long corridor. They seem to go on forever. Sweat drips down your temple, and you hastily swipe it away, not wanting anything to obstruct your vision.

As you come closer to the end of the hallway, you start to hear something.

You raise your hand to signal Soap and Kӧnig to stop, and turn around so they can see you raise your pointer finger up to your lips.

You listen for the sound again, and you realize what it is this time.

Your blood runs cold, and goosebumps form on your arms, freezing you in place as you listen to the deafening sound that doesn’t seem to stop.

Ghost is screaming.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him be this loud, let alone sound so full of pain. You have to pull it together though, you’re almost to him.

You continue on, making a right this time, and Ghost’s screams become louder. It’s good and bad of course. Good because he’s near you and you’re close, bad because he hasn’t stopped screaming.

You wonder how long this has been going on for.

You feel a heavy weight float down your chest, that takes its resting place in your heart. You find it hard to breath, and it takes every fiber in your being not to go into full panic mode.

You get closer and closer to the room Ghost is in, but you don’t hear him anymore. There is no one outside guarding, so the remaining two people must be inside with him.

Your stomach churns over.

You hadn’t realized it, but you fell behind both Soap and Kӧnig, but without a beat, they took your spot at point, leading you to the door.

They bust in first and immediately go after the two men that were standing by Ghost, who is strapped to a chair. It’s your job to get Ghost free of his confines.

But when you look at him, you freeze all over again.

He’s slumped in the chair, hands and feet bound by thick ropes that are no doubt leaving crude burns in his skin.

His pants have rips and holes in them and from further examination, you realize it’s from cigarette burns and cuts from blades.

You can’t see any damage on his arms but you’re worried what his shirt is hiding on his torso. You realize he’s slumped because he’s knocked out cold, probably from a concussion. But you know he’s alive because you see the slight rise and fall of his chest. It’s ever so faint, but it’s there.

You look around the room and notice a medium size table with different kinds of weapons and tools splayed out along the length of the table. You notice some have dried blood on them, while other tools are still dripping red. Rags litter the table as well. They’re dirty and also have traces of lingering blood.

Once again, you feel the embers burning through you, and you feel like you’re about to explode into a fury of rage.

You turn towards the two men that Soap and Kӧnig took down.

The two bodies lie on the floor and before you realize what you’re doing, you crouching over the first man, and with your blade, you start stabbing both of his eyes, switching on and off between the left and right. While you do this, a blood curdling scream leaves your lips.

It’s both terrifying and heartbreaking; a fine line dances between the two.

You snarl at the now eyeless man before you crawl your way over to his counterpart and release the same anger and revenge onto him. Your screech never faltering.

You don’t realize what you’re doing until you feel strong arms come up behind you and lift you off the dead man.

You start fighting their hold and it’s then when you start crying, your scream turning into a sob. The exhaustion finally getting to you.

“We got him. He’s going to be ok; it’s going to be ok.”

That’s the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

When you wake, you notice you’re lying on something soft. When you come to, you realize you’re on a bed, under a thin layer of covers and your head rests on a firm pillow.

You squint because the lights are overly bright but when they adjust, you notice the infamous florescent glow, meaning, you’re in the medical ward of the base.

You sit up, and you notice no aches or pains outside of your regular soreness you felt after fighting for an extended period of time. Your head also hurts, but you don’t really care.

You want to know where Simon is.

You notice a nurse a few feet away and you wave her over.

“Excuse me, but why am I in here?”

She gives you a tight-lipped smile. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that she’s nervous. She fidgets with her hands before answering you.

“Well miss, you fainted on your last mission. They brought you here to be examined.”

She moves over to the end of your bed and takes out the clipboard that resided in the pocket.

“Here, let’s see.” She looks over your paper before looking back at you, still with a trace of uneasiness.

“Seems like everything is OK. Your vitals are normal, and you have no major injuries, just some light bruising on your arms and hands. You are welcome to leave when you want.”

You glance down and notice the light purple that spans across your knuckles.

Before she can scurry away, you ask, “Wait, where are they keeping Ghost?” You shake your head, “I mean, Simon Riley.”

A look of pity crosses her face before she answers, “He’s in Ward C miss; the intensive care unit.”

She leaves before you can ask her anything else.

What the fuck was her problem?

You jump out of your bed, but immediately regret that decision when your head starts to throb right above your left eye.

Now is not the time for a migraine.

You make sure you have all of your belongings before you rush over to Ward C. Right before you are about to enter through the doorway, Price comes through and stops you with a hand placed on your shoulder.

He looks down at you – you’re really getting tired of being the shortest on the team- and squeezes your shoulder gently.

“Before you go in there, guns-a-blazing, he’s doing ok, alright?”

You just stare up at him and nod. Although it was good to hear Simon was doing ok, whatever the hell that meant, you still had so much anger left in you. So much you were hoping that just the sight of Simon healing would help quell you.

You walk past Price, a determined spring in your step, ready to be reunited with Simon. It’s been so long since you’ve last seen him.

Three weeks.

Three weeks he was gone, and you thought he was never coming back.

The intensive care unit is unusually empty so it’s not hard to find which bed Simon is occupying.

You quietly walk up to the side of the bed, and you are finally by his side.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around me bug, I’m awake.”

Simon’s voice startles you and your head turns towards his. You notice his left arm is in a sling but a lazy smile graces his lips.

If you weren’t in a medical facility on base, out in the open to the prying eyes of the public, you would have immediately burst out crying just at the sound of his voice.

Instead, you let out a breathy, “I thought I lost you.”

Unlike Simon, your face has no hint of happiness. Your lips are slightly turned down, quivering and your eyes start to well up with tears, but you will them not to drop.

Your hands are balled up in fists but you bring yourself back down. You are here for him after all; it’s not the other way around.

You slowly unclench your fists and then gingerly sit down on the side of Simon’s bed, right at his hip.

That’s when you bring your hand up to trace down the side of his face, feeling the familiar stubble that never fails to tickle you when he kisses you.

Your hand comes back up to rub his cheek and you say again, “I thought I lost you, Simon.”

He brings his hand up to cup yours that still rests on his face. “I know, I know. But I’m here, and I’m ok.”

“Are you though?” You can’t fight it anymore, the tears stream down your face, their streaks burning your skin.

His hand that was resting on yours comes up to rub your head. “Promise.”

After that, you and Simon laid in his hospital bed for the remainder of the day. He fell in and out of sleep, but you were just thankful he was alive and breathing next to you.

It’s been about three weeks since Simon’s been back. He’s out of his sling and most of his bruises and wounds have healed. Expect for the deeper lacerations on his thighs. He also has some scarring from the cigarette butts. But over all, you would say he’s doing pretty alright, all things considered.

You’re both currently on base, since you needed to attend multiple meetings today, and you’re eating lunch in the cafeteria.

“So, I heard you went kind of, feral, when you came to rescue me.” Simon has an innocent look on his face, but you see him trying to hid his shit eating grin.

You narrow your eyes at him, “And who did you hear that from?”

He just shrugs nonchalantly, “No one in particular.”

You scoff. Fucking Soap.

You knew he must have told someone, if not Simon himself. He was quite the gossiper.

What a fucker.

“Well, did you want me to ask them to be friends?”

Simon lets out a low laugh. “That would have been funny.” You look up at him and see his eyes are lit with amusement.

You let out a sigh, but a ghost of a smile dances across your lips. You know he’s feeling better since he’s joking around.

Another three weeks has passed and you find yourself in the typical meeting room. The one you all use before a mission. That means this will be your last debrief before you jet off to where ever the location is in a few days.

The meeting goes well up until the part where Price says “And Ghost, you will wait here at the rendezvous point.”

You interrupt him, “Wait what?”

The room goes silent as you stare down Price.

“There’s no way Simon is going on this mission. Nope. Not happening.”

“Well, y/n, you don’t really have a say in this. Do you?”

The trace of condescendence has you short circuiting but you keep your cool. You glare at Price, “If Simon’s going on this mission, then count me out.” You don’t notice the slip of his name. Usually at work you call Simon Ghost or LT, but never Simon.

You storm out of the room and head back to your desk to gather your things to leave.

You hear someone lightly jogging behind you, and you have a hunch about who it is that followed you out.

You feel a hand softly grab your elbow and you hear Simon plead, “Wait.”

You sigh and turn around. Looking up at him you confess, “Look, I need to cool off for a bit. We can talk at home, ok?”

You see Simon contemplate whether to let you go or not, but he just gives you a curt nod. He gives your arm a gentle squeeze where his hand still rests, “Ok, see you at home.” --

You basically scowl your whole way home. Listen, you know you have some slight anger issues, but you’re working on it.

You get home after the long day and quickly make way to the shower, needing to feel the hot water run down your head and back. That will calm me, you think.

Once you step out of the shower, you already feel better. You’re clean, and you smell like your favorite soap. You change and do your normal routine after a shower then head to the kitchen to make yourself a warm cup of tea.

Evening tea is one of your favorite treats and it always seems to quell your nerves. Because that’s what you are right now, nervous.

You don’t want to fight with Simon, no, not at all. But you can’t help but feel frustrated at Price, and subsequently him, for deciding that he’s ready to go back in the field. Because from your perspective he’s not. Hell, it’s barley been a month and a half, and you think he needs more time to cope with what happened to him.

Sure, he’s seeing the base’s therapist, and he’s doing everything he can to keep his physical body healthy, yet you can’t help but the ball of worry that has formed in the pit of your stomach, fester. Something keeps nagging at you, and you don’t know what it is.

You just don’t understand how Simon can bounce back so quickly.

Luckily you didn’t have to wait too long for Simon to get home. And when he does, you find yourself perking up on the couch when you hear him come through the door.

He lets out a soft “Hey,” in which you respond just as softly back.

“I’m going to go shower and wash up, but then we can talk, yeah?”

You give him a nod, but also confirm, “Sure, that sounds good.”

His shower felt like eternity, but you know you only feel this way because you’re on edge. Again, you don’t want to fight with him. You just, you love him so much, you can’t stand to lose him again. No, it can’t happen again.

You hear soft footsteps on the tile as Simon makes his way through the kitchen to the living room where you’re still seated on the couch.

You look up at him before he sits down and grant him a quiet smile, and reach out your hand to his. His large hand grasps yours in his, and his thumb traces your knuckles. He then sits down next to you, and now his fingers are tracing over yours, relaxing you just a smidge.

You can feel his warmth radiating off of you instantly, and it takes ever thing in you to not glue yourself to his side.

You both slightly turn to each other, and funnily enough you each say “So,” at the same time.

You giggle and he lets out a low chuckle that makes your insides swarm. You miss him.

“You go first, bug.” The hand that has been tracing yours pulls you closer to him, and he embraces you in a warm hug as you both sit on the couch.

Before you start, you simply just bask in Simon’s embrace, not wanting to let go just yet. You begrudgingly pull away, but still keep your fingers connected in their little dance.

“I’m sorry for storming out today at our meeting. That was unprofessional, and uncalled for, but I just don’t see why you have to go on our next mission.”

“Aren’t you still hurting from what happened to you on the last one? I guess I just don’t understand why you want to go back in the field so soon.”

There’s a pause before you add, “How do you know you’re ready to go back?”

One thing you appreciate about Simon is that he never interrupts you, and he always lets you finish your complete thought before adding his.

When he can tell you’re done, he sighs and says, “Because, y/n, that’s what we’re trained for.”

“I wouldn’t have this job if I couldn’t put the pieces back together after every mission.”

You guess that makes sense, but you’re still concerned about him.

“Listen, I get that, I really do. I guess what I want to make sure of is that you’re actually doing ok and that you’re working through whatever happened to you.”

He’s told you the gist of what happened, and he confides in you whenever he feels like he needs the extra support, but you know that there are some things he’s still hiding. Which, you’re not going to push him to tell you, but you hope at some point he does.

He gives you a slight smile, “That’s why I love you. You’re always looking out for me, and I appreciate it so much, but I’m really doing fine, ok?”

He shifts so he’s leaning in closer to you, and now it’s his turn to cup your jaw with his hand. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and you nod at his answer. “I love you too.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

You grant him a smile in return and then he pulls you in for a kiss.

The kiss deepens and before you know it, you’re straddling his lap, one leg on either side of his thick torso. You’re a mess as you straddle him, and you wrap your arms around his neck, wanting to be closer to him, if even possible.

He wraps his arms around you and subconsciously pulls you closer to him. His large hands span across your back as he holds you close to him. Your center brushes against his you let out a moan when you feel this contact. You run your hands down his neck and shoulders, feeling the taught muscles underneath his black t-shirt. As you rock your hips against his, you hear him let out a moan, which only eggs you on further.

“Fuck, y/n. Keep doing that again.” His hands travel down to hold you hips, almost as if he’s trying to help you move against him.

Your hands move in tandem and they come to rest at the base of his t-shirt, your fingers playing with the hem. You’re itching to take it off of him, and he seems to understand what you want, because he pauses kissing you to help you take off his shirt.

Now shirtless, you bring your hands up to his shoulders and then trail them slowly down his torso, nails ever so slightly scraping against his skin. You can feel each ridge and bump from his abs before your reach the hem of his sweatpants. Your fingers graze over his happy trail before you start toying with his sweats.

You run one finger along the hem of his grey sweats, then ever so slightly, your finger enters his pants, you run your finger under his sweatpants. You’re teasing him, and you can tell he’s getting antsy by the way he shifts as your finger runs along the band of his briefs.

As you continue to tease him, you trail or lips over his chest. Your lips wrap around one of his nipples, the unpierced one, and you softly bite him before you run your tongue over his nipple, suckling.

He moans out a gentle “Fuck,” and one of his hands comes up to grasp your hair.

You move over to his other nipple, the pierced one to be exact, and you once again softly bite him then suck. You make sure to spend your time here because you know this is one of Simon’s favorite thing during foreplay. Once he’s taken care of there, you continue to trail your lips down his abdomen, and now you’re finally at his center.

You get off his lap and sit on the floor in-between his spread legs. You place your hands right above his knees, and you look up at him with your swollen lips.

“You’re going to be good for me tonight, right?” You rub your thumbs in soft circles on his legs, waiting for his answer.

You see him gulp as he looks down at you, and then his lips quirk, in a smirk.

“What do you say?” Your hands stop their ministrations and you tilt your head, understanding what he wanted.

“Please.”

His smirk deepens, “Good girl.”

At his greenlight, you come up on your knees so that you can reach him better. Your trail the hem on his sweatpants one last time before you start pulling them down off his hips, making sure that his briefs come off too. He lifts his butt to help you, and now you’ve successfully taken his pants and underwear off.

You greedily take in the size of him. His dick is hard and slightly curved as it lays against his stomach. You wrap your hand around him, he’s so thick that your hand doesn’t close around it the whole way. You pump him slowly, as you look at him. His eyes are blown out and he leans his head back against the couch. You smile at him before you lower yourself. You link one strip up his dick, making him squirm underneath you. You then you bring up your hand to start pumping him. As your hand moves up and down, your lips come up to kiss the to crown of his dick.

You look up at him again, locking eyes and then wrap your lips around him. Once your lips make contact, he lets out a low moan. You continue to sink down on him. You move your head up and down, trying to adjust to his size. The part of his dick that you can’t fit into your mouth, you cover with your hand, pumping him up and down.

Your hair falls around you, and at this, Simon carefully takes your hair into one hand, putting it into a makeshift ponytail.

“Fuck, baby that feels so good.”

You continue to suck on him, hollowing out your cheeks. You know he’s close when you see his abs start to clench and his legs start to stiffen.

The moans he lets out has your getting wetter and wetter by the minute, and you squirm, trying to ease some of the pent-up tension you’re feeling.

Your unoccupied hand comes down to play with his balls, gently squeezing them and that is what does him in. He lets out a louder groan and you feel his warm come shoot down your throat.

You keep your mouth on him, cleaning him up before you slowly take yourself off him. You wipe your lips with the back of your hand and you sit back on your heels, smiling at him.

He runs a hand through his hair, and lets out a low chuckle.

“Damn, you really did a number on me there.” You laugh yourself and you come up to the couch, sitting beside him so you can turn his head to give him a lingering kiss.

You give him a few pecks, “What can I say, I’m good at what I do.” Your eyes are bright as you look at him, and his hold the same amount of affection and adoration.

His low voice cuts through you, “Now it’s my turn to make you feel good, alright?”

You give him a brief nod, “Please.”

He pulls you back into him, and then starts to push you back so you’re lying on the couch under him. He’s kissing you frantically now, his tongue entering your mouth.

“Take your pants off for me, would you?” His hands make their way to take your shirt off, and while he does that, you slip out of your shorts, underwear gone with them.

“Thank you, baby.”

He keeps kissing you as his hand comes down to your center. He first cups you, and then brings his pointer finger to rub against your clit. As his pointer is stimulating your clit, his middle and ring finger run along your slit, gathering up all the wetness that formed over the course of the last half hour.

You see him bring his coated fingers up to you. “Taste for me,” he breathes. And without any hesitation, you suck on his fingers, tasting yourself, making sure to look at Simon while you lick his fingers. He watches you with fire in his eyes.

“Good girl.”

You’ll never get tired of hearing him call you that.

He brings his hand back down to your pussy and then enters two fingers in you, stretching you out deliciously. You whine as his fingers enter you; they feel so good inside you.

Luckily for you, your boyfriend has quite large hands, which equated to long, thick fingers, and he always knew what to do with them.

He starts picking up the pace, and the squelching sound his fingers make is deafening, and the only thing you can focus on as they move in and out of you.

You didn’t even have to ask before he’s adding in a third. You feel yourself clench around him, and you’re already losing your mind and he hasn’t even properly fucked you yet.

He’s hitting you right in your sweet spot, and your hands come up to hold him by the shoulders. He moves down ever just a hair, and you’re not sure why until he lowers his head. He spits, and then connects his lips with your clit, moving his tongue around your sensitive bud.

The addition to his lips on your clit has you seeing stars and you start to feel that familiar build up. You tumble over the edge, a bright warmness spreading through you.

Simon removes his lips and fingers from you and you’re both panting heavily. He’s bracing himself with one arm as he looks down at you.

Your hair is messily strewn across the couch behind you, and your eyes are bright. Your chest moves up and down as you try and catch your breath. You smile up at him, this time your teeth showing.

He gives you a peck on your lips. “How was that?”

You sigh, “Amazing.”

Another kiss is pressed on your lips and you can faintly taste yourself on him.

“I want to properly fuck you, and that can’t be done on the couch. Bedroom, yeah?”

You nod up at Simon acquiescing to his suggestion.

“Alright, up you go then.”

He swiftly pulls you up and off the couch into his arms. You squeal at the sudden movement but it turns into giggles as Simon carries you bridal style to the bedroom.

“Wow, my night in shining armor.” You lazily loop your hands around his neck as he leads you both to the room. He just laughs at your statement.

Once there, he gently deposits you on the bed, and wastes no time picking up where you left off.

He crawls on top of you and starts to kiss you up your stomach and chest, finally reaching your mouth. His kiss leaves you burning, and your hands eagerly reach for him, pulling him down further into you.

You wrap your legs around his torso, and feel his dick brush up against your center, hard once again.

He pulls away to look at you, eyes connecting. “Do you need any more prep?” He brings a hand up to brush away some of the flyway hairs that covered your face. His hand lingers, cupping your head, and his thumb brushes your cheek in a soothing back and forth motion.

Smiling you answer, “No, I’m good.”

“Ok.”

Bracing himself above you, his hand trails down to grasp his dick. He gives it a few pumps before running it along your slits, and lightly taps it on your overly sensitive clit.

He then slowly guides it into you, the stretch much bigger than what his fingers could offer. You both let out a sigh as he fully sinks into you, eyes connecting at this very moment. Once he’s fully inside, he gives you some time to adjust, his hand moving to hold your hips, thumb moving in circles.

“You okay?” He asks, looking down at you. You look up at him, “Yeah, I’m good, you can start moving.”

At your consent for him to move, he does just that. He pulls his hips back before he pushes them back into you. He starts off with a steady pace, not too fast, not too slow. You’re surprised he’s not pounding into you relentlessly like he usually does. This time his thrusts are much more calculated, calm, like he’s got all the time in the world. The slower drag of him against your walls makes you roll your eyes back, reveling in the feeling of him.

It’s only him, that’s all you can think about, all you can feel. You let go of the heaviness you’ve been feeling to focus on being with him now. It’s not hard, he makes you feel like you’re floating anyways.

Your fingers run down his face, down his shoulders, taking in as much as you can of him. Then you run your hand down his tattooed arm, mapping the intricate details of his tattoos and running over the protruding veins due to him propping himself up. Simon watches you as you run your hand across him.

He gives you a particular harsher thrust, eyes trained on you when you moan and clutch his arm a harder. He picks up the pace just a little, loving the way you look beneath him, taking his cock so well.

“Fuck. Right there, baby,” you breathe. He hits that same spot again, but this time you move up the bed a little from the force of his hips. Your breasts jiggle as you shift up the bed and Simon’s eyes are travel to your chest. He brings his hand up to up one of them, rolling his thumb over your nipple. Simon keeps this faster rhythm with his hips, slamming into your now quivering pussy, showing you no mercy as he pounds into you with force.

His thrusts are powerful that leave the breath knocked out of you.

He removes his hand from your breast to wrap it around your leg. He positions your leg so it’s resting on his shoulder, now giving him a new angle into you. This position allows you to feel him move even deeper inside you, now feeling the tip of his dick hit your cervix, which makes you whine. His thrusts continue their hard motions, but his pace starts to slow down.

Simon’s hips start to falter a little bit in their smooth rhythm, a telltale sign he’s close. At his praising, you unconsciously clench around him, making him breathe out a silent curse as his hand tightens on your leg that is propped up on his shoulder.

“Si, I’m close,” you whine. You feel so full, so consumed by all things Simon, the only thing you can focus on is him and the building orgasm that threatens to spill over.

“Me too.” Simon removes his hand that’s been propping your leg up and moves it down to your clit, and starts to rub slow circles on the bud, making you squirm. You bring your leg down from his shoulder to wrap it around his torso once again pulling him closer to you. You drag your hands down and up his back as his thumb continues to abuse your clit. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

With a few more thrusts from Simon and the quick movements of his finger on your clit, you feel the coil in you snap, and it snaps hard. Your orgasm washes over you, a blinding white light that makes you feel like you’re going to pass out, and you call out his name one last time.

Your eyes squeeze shut and you see stars, as your pussy clamps down hard on Simon’s dick. He’s a moaning mess above you as he feels your orgasm that’s traveling through your body, your walls contracting around him.

He curses out a soft “fuck baby” and then he’s following just a hair behind you, traveling over his precipice as well, emptying inside of you. You feel his come paint your walls as your pussy continues to clench around him, as you ride out your second orgasm of the night.

He collapses on top of you but is careful not to crush you completely. You’re breathing heavy as you both come down from your highs, both sweaty messes.

He lifts his head to look at you. There’s a soft smile on his face and you smile back.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, bug.”

Your smile falters, “I never want you to leave me like that ever again. Got it?” Your voice is firm, but there’s an underlying trace of tenderness. Your hand comes up to push his hair back, waiting for his answer.

“Never.”

“Good.” You pull him back down to you for a kiss.

He slowly peels himself off of you and whispers out, “Wait here.”

You lay on your back, legs bent as you wait for Simon’s return. When you hear him entering the bedroom, you slightly sit up and you notice a washcloth in one of his hands.

He kneels back on the bed and gingerly pries your legs open so he can clean you up. He delicately starts wiping your center, his first few strokes making you writhe due to oversensitivity. His hand rests tenderly on your knee, thumb stroking back and forth as he wipes you clean. He must have run the washcloth under hot water because it’s wet and feels warm against your skin.

When he’s done, he pecks the inside of your knee and gets up off the bed to go throw the washcloth in the hamper. When he returns to you, he’s in his boxers, and he has a t-shirt in his hand.

“For you, my lady.” You laugh at him and take his shirt, pulling the soft material over your body.

You both clamber under the covers, and are now wrapped up in Simon’s arms.

There’s no place you’d rather be right now, and you’re so thankful the universe allowed you another chance to be with him like this.

If he didn’t make his way back to you, you don’t even know what you would have done. Probably would have gone mental, but who could really blame you?

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drdemonprince · 16 days

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Hi! I remember you talking about doing shadow work (in a reply to an ask, I think); do you have any advice on how to start? Especially for someone who who has a really hard time with consistency/habits? Thanks!

For me it is not an intentional practice separate from my regular life, it is an orientation toward my own most negative thoughts/impulses/reactions. I do not believe that any thought is harmful or morally wrong to have, and so when I experience a thought that is violent, cruel, bitter, pathetic, prejudicial, short-tempered, jealous, whatever else, I accept it, and study it with curiosity rather than self-condemnation.

I notice patterns over time in what I am particularly un-evolved and unenlightened about. What hang ups do I have? What weird bullshit respectability politics or traditional gender norms do I still apply to myself or to others? Who do I fuckin hate and why?

Which of these things can I just kind of shrug at and accept as a feature of my programming and which ones do I see seriously holding back my life? That's probably the hardest part of shadow work for me. I'm very aware of a lot of my flaws and the things i'm irrationally emotionally reactive to and defensive about, but I get attached to my way of seeing things. It can be scary to become more open-minded and uncertain and less spiky. And some things just aren't easy to change even if I want them to. Part of shadow work means allowing oneself to be in an unfinished state.

Another part of it for me is accepting with a dark kind of gratitude that the world would be a pretty terrible place if everyone was like me. There is so much about humanity that I do not understand. I could never be a surgeon. I could never be a good parent. I could never be a social worker. There is so much I am so bad at. Maybe this is the Narcissism and Lack of Empathy talking, but I've had to really humble myself. I used to think I was so much more rational and less of a waster of time and resources than most people around me. Now I realize I have run on self-denial and repressed emotionality for a very long time and demanded that life have some Purpose when it doesn't. So a lot of my shadow work has been acknowledging my ultimate smallness and feebleness and just general uselessness -- i have a lot to be grateful to other people for doing, but also life has no purpose that needs to be fulfilled so i can just exist and suck for every single second that i'm alive if that's what i'm gonna do.

radical acceptance shit is definitely mixed in there, and some DBT kinda strategies. I've finally arrived at a place where I can love my dissatisfaction as a core part of me and accept that life is not meant to be happy and comfortable. we always keep moving, changing our environments to make them a little better, chasing after new passions and then getting disillusioned with them, falling in and out of love, getting lost. we're always lost. we're always making mistakes and being dumb as humans. that's like what we are. silly little freaks that make up lots of pretend games for fun but then get swept up in believing them too much. i kind of feel at peace now with the fact that i'll always be messy and impulsive and have weird beliefs and will change constantly and look back on my past with a cringe reaction every four or five years. i dont expect myself to ever arrive, because what the hell would that look like?? being satisfied and happy sure sounds a lot like being dead.

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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 3 days

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Hey, I've been thinking about James with the reader who's super tall, and she's super insecure about it. Then one day one of James' friends mentions the reader's height, and then she feels bad

(sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language)

hii, sorry i took a while with this one; thanks so much for requesting! and no worries at all! your english is great, but it also wouldn't matter if it wasn't 🤪 even though it feels like it by now, it's not my first language either lol but isn't it just a lovely tool for us all to fantasize together 🫶 hope you like it! wasn't sure if you wanted the comfort after the angst, so i just wrote it in

pairing: James Potter x reader word count: 2.1k tags: angst, fluff, established relationship, insecure fem reader, not proofread sorry

You’re going out with James and the gang, and you’re excited for a fun night out. Until the dreaded dilemma you face every time you dress up: heels or no heels? You know from past experience that all your girlfriends will be wearing them. They range from Lily’s kitten heels to Marlene’s stilettos, but it’s always a little something for the special occasions.

The problem is: you’re tall. Very tall. Taller than all your friends with their heels on. When you wear them too, you look like a giant. You’re also taller than your boyfriend, James, but it doesn’t usually look that off… if you’re not wearing heels. When you do, you tower over him.

But you like the shoes, for some occasions. You’d like to just be able to wear them without its being a big deal. You’ve tried so many times to convince yourself that it isn’t, that you should just do whatever you want and care less what people think about you, but as soon as you’re out, they stare, and you feel awful.

You have a pair you think are really pretty but have literally never worn because of the significant height boost they give. You put them on, take them off, again and again, indecisive. After about the tenth time donning them, you look in the mirror and decide to go for it. What’s the worst that could happen? Short girls probably feels self-conscious about their height too, right? Everyone has something, you encourage yourself as you step out your door.

You’re all starting the night at a nearby pub where you all meet up. When James sees you, he lights up, giving you the warmest hug. His face nuzzles easily into the crook of your neck from the height difference then he kisses you adoringly. “Hello, gorgeous,” he grins. “You look especially beautiful tonight.” He’s always so cheesy. You always love it.

“Thanks, Jamie,” you blush back. “You too.”

“Well, I have to look nice to stand next to my girl, don’t I?” He stands tall next to you, posing, though he’s quite shorter than you. You roll your eyes smilingly at his antics and intertwine your arms. He squeezes your arm in his and leans up for a peck.

You’re all soon standing around a tall table as you catch up, having your first drinks and discussing where the night should take you. Mary brings up another nearby pub, cosier than this one, and Remus seconds the idea. Marlene boos dramatically and argues you can do that any other night. She suggests a rather rowdy club, and Sirius drumrolls the table in excitement.

“I like that idea,” he surprises no one in saying.

“I don’t know,” Mary pushes back. “Last time we were there, we got separated, and it was so crowded, it took ages for us to even find each other again.” “Easy fix tonight,” Sirius begins, grinning mischievously. “If we get separated, we all meet back up at Y/N. She’s like a homing beacon with those heels on! We’ll be able to see her over the crowds.” Your stomach plummets. Some of your friends are laughing, others not so much, but you, you are mortified. You feel clammy and frozen, like there’s suddenly a wide distance between you and everyone else. You want to just disappear, go home and not have to hang out with anyone ever.

Only Lily seems to notice your discomfort, impressive given you’re giving your very best efforts to hide it even though you feel absolute shit.

“He’s an idiot,” she whispers in your ear. “Don’t listen to him. You look great.” You turn to respond but are surprised to find trying to speak raises a knot in your throat. You can’t imagine how much more embarrassing it would be if you started crying at a stupid joke, so you just given her a strained smile and look down, trying to compose yourself.

Everyone else has been caught up in the conversation moving on, so it’s a little while before James turns to you, noticing your quiet, your downward gaze. “Y’alright, love?” he whispers, a hand coming to the small of your back.

“Fine.” You repeat the strained smile, hoping it’s getting more convincing with practice.

“Sure? You seem upset.” “‘M fine.” You don’t sound fine. “Thanks,” you add, trying to lighten the tone.

“Alright,” he says, though he doesn’t sound convinced. “So what do you feel like doing?” “I don’t know… Maybe something where we’re sitting?”

“Sitting?” he laughs, thinking you must be joking. When you cringe, he realizes you aren’t. “Oh, uh, why?” Then, looking like a cartoon lightbulb has just gone off above his head, he asks, “Are your shoes hurting your feet or something? I don’t understand how you lot wear those things.”

“No, I —“ you begin, but quickly realize that could be a good, believable, non-embarrassing — well, at least less embarrassing — excuse. “Um, yeah, a bit.”

“Oh, well we can find places to take breaks whenever you want. Don’t worry, I’ll go with you to sit as often as you like,” he smiles.

You just smile back, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. When he’s not looking, you crouch down a bit awkwardly to be the same height as your friends around you. You try to keep this up, but after a while, it’s hurting your back, so you fall in and out of the pose for as long as you can stand it.

The night goes on, a destination eventually decided upon, a compromise in the end. Most of your friends seem to be having a good time, but you have been quiet all night. You haven’t been able to shake the feelings of discomfort and self-consciousness that joke sparked in you. You just feel sad. Not to mention your back is killing you from constantly trying to look shorter.

“James, I think I want to go home,” you say into his ear. He turns to you, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“What? So early? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m just not feeling so well.”

“D’you feel sick? Have you had too much?” he asks, lifting his drink. You shake your head. “Your feet hurt?” he guesses again.

“A little. Look, it’s fine; it’s not a big thing, I’m just tired, okay?” You’re tense and pained and just want to get out of here. You feel the tears welling back up, and you’re keen to leave before the waterworks. You give James a quick kiss, adding “Don’t worry! Have fun! I’ll talk to you tomorrow!” in an off, fake enthusiasm then bolt to the door.

As you leave, you’re walking so quickly that you bump into some random bloke.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he chortles then starts full out laughing with his mate next to him. You push past him.

You have no idea what he was laughing at. Maybe they had been laughing before you bumped into him. Maybe they were just completely pissed and needed no reason. But your already self-conscious brain immediately feels like they were laughing at you, at how much taller than them you were.

You can’t help it now and start softly crying as you walk a bit further down then lean against the wall. The ease on your back feels nice, but you wish you could just teleport home. You hide your face in your hands, not wanting people to see you crying.

So you don’t notice James approach you until you hear his worried, low voice.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?” He grabs your wrists ever so gently and, holding your hands to his chest with one hand, brings the other to wipe your tears. “Darling, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

You see how scared he is and know ugly scenarios are running through his mind. You want to reassure him quickly but you can’t get yourself together. The guilt of the real reason you’re so upset being stupid in comparison makes you feel even worse, and you sob as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hug him tightly.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, love, it’s alright,” he coos, holding you close and petting your hair. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” You step back a bit, wiping your face aggressively and shaking your head at yourself.

“It’s stupid, Jamie, really I’m fine,” you muffle.

“I just want to help you be okay. Whatever it is, you can tell me.” You look into his beautiful eyes, the worry in them shining through. You love him. You hate worrying him. And talking to him about anything always makes you feel better.

“I’m just too tall,” you confess. “What?” he seems genuinely lost.

“I’m too tall,” you repeat, more softly this time, looking at the floor in shame.

“Too tall? Baby, what’s brought this on?”

“It’s stupid, I know. I just, I can’t stop thinking about it since Sirius made that joke.”

“What joke?” “‘If we get separated, just look for the giant,’” you misquote sarcastically.

“Oh, darling. All night you’ve been upset? I’m so sorry I didn’t do something. I thought you were just a bit tired or something.” “I’m so embarrassed,” you whisper.

“You shouldn’t be,” James says, with more bite in his voice. “Really, you shouldn’t. Not at your height, not at your feelings. Fuck, baby, I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.” He pulls you into a warm hug as you shake your head. He just holds you a long time, till your breathing is even and slow again, then pulls back, keeping his arms around you.

“Hey,” James whispers. “Hey,” you whisper back.

“I hate seeing you sad,” he says through a comforting smile. It manages to make you smile subtly back at him. “My gorgeous girl.” He kisses your cheek, still moist with tears. “Baby, you’re so beautiful. You don’t have to look like everyone else.” “Thanks.”

“I mean it, Y/N. I think you’re ridiculously gorgeous. Tall, sure, but you’re just too perfect to be anything else. You’re majestic.” You scoff but laugh a bit at him.

“Majestic? I’m a mess most of the time.”

“You can be a mess and still look majestic. You do it all the time,” he says playfully. “You, my love, are like a queen.” You roll your eyes, but your face has softened. “You’re my queen,” he says more sweetly and kisses you.

“Thank you, Jamie. I’m sorry I was being stupid,” you voice your dark thought. “Sweetheart,” he chides lovingly. “That’s nothing to be sorry for. I just wish you’d told me earlier. You’re not even a little bit stupid. Only for suffering alone,” he jokes. “We all have things. I get self-conscious about not being tall enough for you to like me,” he confesses, looking nervous.

“I don’t like you, I love you.” He smiles at this.

“And I’ll never get used to my queen loving me back.” His tone is teasing again, still vulnerable but very him.

You both take a deep breath and, eyes meeting, just chuckle together for a moment. You shake off the intense emotions, the charged conversation. You sigh and hug him again, his body eager to receive you.

“What do you want to do, love?” His hand is caressing your back as he looks into your eyes. “We’ll do whatever you feel like.” You have to take a long time to consider it. You’d been so desperate to go home just moments ago, but now you’re unsure. You feel so much lighter and take your time thinking about what would make you happy, everyone else be damned.

“I want to dance. With you. And not crouch anymore,” you laugh. “My back is fucking killing me.”

“Crouching? Y/N, if I catch you crouching, I’m going to be very upset,” he teases. “You wanna dance? Let’s go dance, baby.” You nod, smiling.

“Just help me sneak to the toilets first. I’m sure I look a mess.” “You’re beautiful, but sounds good. Then we dance.” He kisses you. “And then, once you’ve danced all you want to dance, we’ll take you home, and I’ll give you the best massage you’ve ever gotten. Your feet and back are going to be grateful they’re sore.” You scoff lovingly and put your arm in his.

As you head back inside, you stand tall next to James, feeling like you’re floating, happy for now to be majestic mess.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter imagine #james potter oneshot #james potter fluff #marauders #marauder x reader #sirius black #sorry siri i love you #lily evans #marauders fanfic #angst #fluff #established relationship

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luimnigh · 7 months

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Okay, I wanna pitch a Marvel movie.

Now, this is a Marvel movie that will absolutely never get made. They would not allow this. So here's my pitch:

We open on a heist. A group of absolutely Z-list, one-paragraph-on-the-marvel-wiki, single-digit-appearance-count supervillains robbing a secure facility. The villain that hired them narrates the plan as we watch, and while it doesn't go off without a hitch, some of the more bloodthirsty villains cause some unecessary bloodshed, it succeeds.

Our villain protagonists leave the scene in a van, loot inside, and drive off into the countryside to a rural, isolated house in the forest to lay low for a couple days. Everyone's celebrating their success, they're drinking, there's some drugs, a few people sneak off for sex. This is the point where we get to know the personalities of our villains, some are assholes, some are complete monsters, and there's a few people who are pretty decent and are really only in supervillainy because life dealt them a shit hand. We can see factions dividing our group of villains.

Their boss finally arrives separately, sporting some more villains as muscle, and the conversation turns back to business: the division of the loot.

And then someone finds a body outside.

One of the villains has been murdered. Everyone is immediately suspicious of everyone else, accusations are thrown, motives speculated, tensions get higher and higher, weapons get drawn-

A shot rings out. Everyone either opens fire or runs. One or two villains die in the crossfire, others are injured, this goes on until one of the more sympathetic villains calls for a ceasefire.

They're in the middle of trying to talk everyone down when they hear a car engine start, and one of the villains who ran from the fight bursts out of the garage in the getaway van-

With the loot still inside.

A few of the villains fire shots at it, but are soon stopped- they could destroy the loot. The boss explains as the van drives down the road that with his resources, tracking the villain that's double-crossed them would be easy as-

And then the van explodes in the background.

As our main party of villains makes their way to the burning wreckage, flaming dollar bills falling around them, they speculate on who the hell boobytrapped the getaway van-

But are interrupted by a click.

One of our villains looks down to see that nobody boobytrapped the van. Someone landmined the road.

Thankfully, one of our villains is a techie, and after a few tension-filled minutes, they disarm the mine. The villain who stepped on the mine is thankful, and the techie explains that they should be able to clear the road soon enough, right before their head explodes in a shower of gore.

If the landmines hadn't made it clear enough, that certainly sealed the deal: this wasn't a double cross, this wasn't an ordinary murder.

They're being hunted.

This is a slasher movie.

The film continues on, the villains getting picked off one at a time in creative and gruesome ways, some even having their tech stolen and used to kill other villains. But throughout, we never catch a glimpse of the killer.

Right up to the end of start of the final act. By this stage, you've started to root for our supervillains to overcome this. There's a few assholes left you wouldn't mind seeing die before the final curtain, but the killer's will have lost sympathy by this stage, having killed some of the more likable villains. We wanna see them pay for that.

And just as the killer is stabbing one of those likable villains to death, our surving villains, and the audience, finally catch sight of the predator that's been stalking them through the night.

A man dressed all in black... except for big white skull painted on his chest.

And suddenly there's no guarantee that any of the villains you've come to like are walking away alive.

#marvel #mcu

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the-cookie-of-doom · 3 months

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Okay guys, you've convinced me lol, here's the gist of the Kim/Porsche idea!

The Kittisawats are a rival mafia family led by Porsche

When Kim is ~18, instead of running away to college, he sells himself to Porsche to be his sex slave. It's surprisingly wholesome.

This happens bc Kim discovers Tawan's being sketchy. Kinn doesn't believe him, so Kim tries to find more evidence, only to learn Korn is also involved (not directly, but he makes it very easy for Tawan to find secrets to sell, and be the snake he is). Kinn doesn't believe Kim about this either, but now he's angry bc Kim is trying to tear down Tawan and their father, while he's blinded by love and respect for both.

So Kim runs straight to Porsche

The conditions for his deal: Porsche gets Kim and everything he knows, as long as Porsche protects him from his father, swears not to hurt Kinn, and takes care of Tawan. Kim just wants to keep his family safe. But he knows he's just become a traitor, and his father won't let that stand. So. He's stuck with the Kittisawats. (It's not a hardship. He's honestly treated so much better by Porsche, feels more free as his slave than his father's son, and isn't that fucked up.)

At this point, Porsche isn't sleeping with men yet. There's some interest but no follow through. But Kim is offering himself up, so like. That's what he's supposed to do, right?? That seems like the thing to do. Because Kim's his sex slave now. So they should have sex.

Neither of them have any idea what they're doing. Kim's being heavily influenced by Vegas' psychotic stories of his sex pets, so that's what he expects from Porsche, and that's the role he's trying to fill. Porsche is just going along for the ride.

(It ends up angsty later bc neither of them actually want this. Or, they don't want it like this.)

Porsche does think Kim is very pretty, which leads to some... interesting situations. Some dubcon gender. Kim is going to play the part of his beautiful demure mistress because he feels like he has to. And it's easier this way, separating himself from the situation by playing this role, changing every aspect of himself down to his voice. (Until he has an identity crisis and a breakdown about it.)

This actually becomes a central part of the fic, but I don't want to spoil the surprise.

After Kim's break down, they start over, establish some boundaries and expectations. Once Kim gets comfortable enough to feel safe with Porsche, and his place under Porsche's power, he becomes an absolute gremlin. Porsche loves it, he's so fun, he's such a little shit.

Another central part of this fic is that Kim has OCD and slight agoraphobia. The agoraphobia comes after he betrays his father, it's a gradual onset. First he's just in hiding, but then Porsche starts trying to make him go out more. He's heard stories about Kim's eldest brother who never leaves the tower, he doesn't want Kim to end up like that. But Kim resists him at every turn, until it's just. Natural for him not to leave. (Chay will later get him outside, but not for a while.)

The OCD has always been there. But Korn isn't exactly a beacon of mental healthy support, so Kim has no idea what it is. All he knows is that he's Odd, that there are certain rituals he has to perform or else he feels like he's going to die, or someone else is, and he's usually punished for it. I don't want to get into all of them here but !!! I've spent the past few days coming up with self-soothing rituals for Kim and they are so good. It's not the usual generic habits like ~clean freak~ or ~counting things~, they're connected to his specific traumas, and they are so. excellent. they make me so happy.

So yeah! There you go! It starts out almost like an arranged marriage trope, Kim sells himself to Porsche, they eventually relax around each other, and they become excellent friends (who fuck, but don't fall in love). Kim uses family secrets to help Porsche get a leg up on his father. Porsche eventually helps mend Kim's broken relationship with Kinn (DubCon brother bonding).

Oh! And while Porsche isn't particularly kinky in this story, Kim is, so Porsche has to learn how to be a good dom for him. Once again the way that happens is very angsty, but it turns out great for them! Kim just needs someone to put him in subspace and leave him there for a while, get him out of his head. It's as close to therapy as he's likely to get.

#cookie writes #kimporsche #i cannot stress this neough #they remain platonic the whole time #Kim does eventually end up with Chay #and Porsche with Kinn #these two are just fuck buddies lol

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softxsuki · 1 year

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Hello, I have an urgent request, could I request head cannons for Baji and Hakkai and how they would comfort/ help their s/o with anorexia? But like, they never noticed since their s/o is always wearing baggy clothes, but one day they collapse and then the boys go to pick them up to help them and realize how thin they are.

My mental health has been really down recently and your blog has brought me so much comfort, keep up the good work :)

Baji, Hakkai, and Mitsuya (Separate) with Anorexic Reader

Pairings: Baji x Gn!Reader, Hakkai x GN!Reader, Mitsuya x Gn!Reader

Warnings: mentions of anorexia, being thinner than usual, mentions of potential death in mitsuya's (very brief), pretty sure I accidentally used a comma instead of a period somewhere in here, but I'm too tired to look for it :0

Genre: Comfort

Post-Type: Headcanons

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: In which you collapse and upon helping you up, they discover how thin you've become and address the issue of your anorexia

[A/N: Hi hun! I was supposed to write this yesterday, but I woke up not feeling too great, so sorry for the delay. I'm so happy to hear that my blog has brought you some comfort <3 I hope these headcanons are useful to you as well then <3 Take care! ]

Baji:

You were spending the day with Baji at his place

It was pretty easy hiding your anorexia from him–he never pushed you to eat at his place, having already told you that you can just take food if you want it from his kitchen

He was always too caught up in the moment of spending time with you to realize that you never ate while with him

So when you suddenly collapsed after standing up from the couch, he was very shocked, and worried

He’s by your side in a second wrapping his arms around your waist to hoist you up, but what he feels makes him pause

Expect him to be very blunt, he’s not going to sugar coat his way around asking you upfront why you’re so thin

And he doesn’t have the patience to hear you try and weave your way around excuses–you weren’t like that before

Is this why you haven't been so touchy with him lately? You used to love cuddling up to him, but lately you had been pushing him away

He didn’t really think anything of it at the time though; gosh he was so stupid

He picks you up with ease and traps you on his lap as he sits back on the couch, refusing to let you go until you’re honest with him

Doesn’t care if you’re upset with him afterwards, he needs to know so he can help

After everything is said and done though, he’d apologize for being so rough about things

You’re very important to him, and he doesn’t want you to struggle in any way, especially not right under his nose when he could have been helping you the whole time

You’re definitely not getting off easy though, he’s keeping a close eye on you this time, and will try and make sure you at least eat something whenever you’re with him

He’d do whatever he can to make sure you feel better again–tells you that you don’t have to starve yourself

Reminds you of how perfect you are in his eyes, and how badly he wants you to be healthy again

Overall, he is very passionate and a bit aggressive at his approach to help you out, but he’ll soften if you ever crack under the pressure and apologizes for being too tough on you

Just tell him your boundaries very clearly and he’d do his best to not cross them

Hakkai:

You were walking hand in hand with Hakkai back home when you suddenly collapsed, causing Hakkai to freak out

Reaching down to help you up, he could feel how thin your arms were

He tries to wipe the shock off his face though, not wanting to alarm you or make you think that he was judging you or anything–because he wasn’t, he’s just…worried

After reassuring him that you’re okay and just felt dizzy for a moment, he plays along and continues to walk by your side, your hand still held in is

He’s not fully there though as you try to talk to him for the rest of the walk

Truth be told, he was trying to figure out how he wanted to address what he had discovered; would it be rude if he just asked you outright? What if you got self-conscious and closed off from him? What if you scolded him for pointing out when he should have just kept the discovery to himself? He was just over-thinking at this point

So when you finally arrive at your place and kiss him goodbye, getting ready to let go of his hand and walk into your home, his grip on your hand doesn’t loosen

“What’s going on?” He asks nervously, hesitant that you’d take his words the wrong way, but knowing he needed to address it nonetheless

If you do brush him off though, he definitely wouldn’t have the guts to reiterate what he means, so he’d try again another day, but he’d be keeping a closer eye on you

He loves you so much and he’s scared he’ll say the wrong thing and potentially lose you one day, so he’s extremely cautious

However, if he does notice you getting thinner and thinner before his eyes, he would find the courage to go to you about it

He just wants to help you and love you–he wants a long future together with you where you’re both healthy and happy! So he’ll definitely make sure that happens.

Tell him what he needs to do to help, and he’ll do it

Mitsuya:

You were jumping onto Mitsuya’s motorcycle behind him, when the world started to spin, making you stumble a bit, almost falling off the bike had Mitsuya not caught you

He felt it, how thin you had become, but it wasn’t news to him–he had already noticed your face getting thinner and thinner each time he met up with you, but he couldn’t sit by and help from the sidelines anymore, he needed to be more bold with his approach

“You’ll be riding up here from now on until you start taking better care of yourself, darling,” he whispers in your ear as he sits you in front of him, making sure your helmet is on securely before racing off with you leaning against his chest

You knew he had found out–but you didn’t know that he had already known for a long time–as observant as he was, Mitsuya was a gentleman and he didn’t want to address it at first in fear that it would make you self-conscious

His lousy attempts at helping you subtlety weren’t working so he needed to do more–and that started now

The rest of the ride is silent (ofc, you’re not gonna try and scream over the motorcycles’ engine lol) but as soon as he stops at your destination, he keeps you trapped in his arms

“Look, I don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself, and I won’t pry for an answer if you’re not ready to give one, But something has to change. I can’t sit back and watch you slowly kill yourself. I love you too much to see you harm yourself like this, so please…tell me what I can do for you and I’ll do it.”

With having two sisters, he’s used to being the person people rely on, and you feeling like you couldn’t do that, hurt him, but he needed you to know that he was here to help and even after knowing what he knows, he still loves you and will continue to love you through it all

That’s the only time he’d bring it up though. He keeps a close eye on you and makes sure you’re eating well balanced meals, even if it isn’t a lot. But he won’t speak of it ever again until you bring it up first

When you’re ready to take the step to seek professional help as well, he’s right there by your side the whole way

REQUESTS ARE OPEN :D

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thesherrinfordfacility · 9 months

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Longwinded anon again. It's very easy to see where Aziraphale needs to get his act together/get therapy in regards to his belief in Heaven's essential goodness (and it was always very odd to see fans believing that four years would have been sufficient, narrative-wise, for that to happen--four years is nothing to characters who are immortal). Crowley, though, is still doing one of the most toxic things on his side of the relationship: he's being over-protective. In S1, the "damsel in distress" bits, which I know some fans like to romanticize, are harmful to both characters, because they make Crowley feel like he's doing something heroic when he isn't (every rescue in S1 is unnecessary) and encourage Aziraphale to abandon his agency. In the narrative arc, Aziraphale's discorporation, which Crowley fails to stop, is liberating. He does his conscientious objector bit, chucks himself out of Heaven, kicks Crowley out of his depression in the bar, vanishes the soldier, and then has to forcibly remind Crowley at the airfield that /now/, in fact, Crowley needs to do something or there will be irreversible consequences. And then they rescue each other through the body swap.

S2 doesn't have the big swoopy rescue scenes, aside from the 1941 replay, but what it does have is Crowley withholding key information that might well have altered Aziraphale's behavior. He clearly hasn't been forthright about what Gabriel really said at the execution, and he never gets around to mentioning that Aziraphale has put himself in danger of being zapped out of existence by Heaven. (This is very PRIDE & PREJUDICE: Lydia elopes with Wickham in part because her older sisters don't publicize his bad behavior.) Again, he thinks of himself as Aziraphale's protector, and while Aziraphale knows that Crowley likes to protect him--he even says so--in S2 he doesn't fully understand what Crowley is protecting him from. Nina asks Aziraphale why he doesn't stick up for himself, and he shows once again that he can, but in S2 Crowley thinks it's his job to keep Aziraphale safe from any real Heaven-sent nastiness that might puncture his innocence. Which prevents Aziraphale from evaluating his choices once the Metatron shows up.

(As for S3: Gaiman does appear committed to getting them together in their cottage, so I don't think a permanent breakup is on the horizons. I do think something drastic has to happen, whether becoming mortal, becoming a "new" sort of immortal being tied to Earth rather than Heaven and Hell, Aziraphale delivering a full-bore public rejection of Heaven with attendant consequences, etc.)

Longwinded Anon✨, light of my life, you are officially driving me insane with these asks (screenshots of others under the cut); there is so much fascinating insight to talk about. first of all, though, welcome back and i hope you are also Surviving following s2!✨

these two characters are two of the most fun to dissect and examine. they are hugely multifaceted, and every time i watch s2 and ruminate on them, there is more and more to find. the below is the result of those ruminations, and i feel the obligation to warn anyone reading that it is going to be a very, very long one, so ✨buckle tf up✨

further messages from Longwinded Anon✨, my beloved:

aziraphale: insecurity

to me, one of the key tenets of aziraphale's character is a deep-seated and complete sense of insecurity and lack of self-esteem. and it's not unfathomable to think that he's had a lack of self-worth for some time, carrying all the way through to the Feral Domestic™ (FD). bear in mind that all of the below is without reference to the pre-fall scene, which ill cover separately later on.

there is however the fairly obvious element that heaven and the archangels completely disregard aziraphale, and are condescending and reductive in how they perceive and interact with him. aziraphale, i think, adopted this mindset pretty heavily in s1 - one such example being the "I'm soft" line - and it is further explored in s2, but specifically at the later end.

aziraphale in s2 seems much more self-possessed and 'together', and a key element of that shift is not only his liberation from heaven, but also that he somewhat starts to see himself through crowley's eyes as possibly being worthy of being loved. i think that he starts to think of himself as, in fact, having intrinsic value.

this is shown, in particular, in s2 by the contrast between ep2's rock scene (where he starts to question the depth of his angelic allegiance, and that he might have actually done the right thing by following his own personal conviction and helping save job's children), and the majority of ep5 (ie. his absolutely astounding - by aziraphale standards - amount of confidence in himself to get him and the ball attendees out of demonic danger).

this is brought to a head though by shax's comments in ep5, where she really drives a stake into the core of aziraphale's insecurity. she remarks on his propensity for indulgence (sushi/meals), his tendency to be overtrusting and naive ("softest touch"), his lack of traditional angelic quality ("went native"), and the question of what exactly crowley feels for him ("emotional support angel").

setting aside Michael's acting - which was truly mesmerising in this one little scene, probably one of his set-pieces in the show, honestly - that tells us that this really got to him, we know from everything we have seen of aziraphale in GO that these are likely thoughts that he has repressed, or pretends are not conceivable when they absolutely are.

my final interpretation of aziraphale's insecurity, however, is not necessarily that he thinks he is without value or merit whatsoever, but that he is not enough.

he's good enough to guard the eastern gate, but not good enough to keep adam and eve from temptation. he's good enough to guard and monitor the antichrist, but not enough to be truly accepted as part of the heaven hive (his physical sentry post on earth notwithstanding). he's good enough for crowley to run away with to alpha centauri, but not enough to convince crowley to choose to stay and fight with him to prevent the apocalypse.

this starts to wane in s2, and he's noticeably more happy and confident... right up until ep6 when he's good enough to be loved by crowley enough to spend eternity with, but not enough for crowley to sacrifice his hang-ups with heaven and help him rebuild it as a team so noone else ever has to suffer what they both did.

the lines however in ep6 that particularly broke my heart, because aziraphale literally conveys this whole painful, bleeding part of his psyche to crowley, are the following:

a: "if im in charge, i can make a difference."

a: "i don't think you understand what im offering you."

whatever the motive behind metatron's offer to aziraphale (and therefore calling into question the sincerity of his compliments to aziraphale), aziraphale has literally just been told that not only does someone who - whichever way you slice it - is the highest being in heaven that he has the ability to run it, but he has the ability to completely gut and rebuild it for the better.

harking back to ep1 with crowley's statement that aziraphale only calls him for three reasons, one of which is telling crowley something clever ie. his own achievements, it does make me wonder how often this scenario truly happens. maybe it does happen often, but what does aziraphale actually consider to be an achievement? something to be proud of himself for, that is purely reflective of his ability and - by extension - worth?

when aziraphale tells crowley that he might be misunderstanding what aziraphale is offering him, i don't interpret it as anything to do with restoring crowley; instead, i just see aziraphale telling crowley that he is offering up absolutely everything that he is, every single atom and aspect of him, and all crowley has to do is trust him enough to take it. he is saying that he will love crowley, and crowley can be free to love him, but only, in aziraphale's eyes, if crowley can accept aziraphale as he is; that he is enough.

during this whole part of the scene, crowley won't even look at him. won't even face him, sunglasses or not, and acknowledge what aziraphale is saying, right up until this line. you can visibly see that aziraphale starts to get angry that the one person who made him feel any self-worth might in fact have never seen him as good enough in the first place, that crowley didn't in fact love every part of him, and was choosing to cherrypick the aspects of aziraphale that suited crowley, rather than the whole.

this snippet of the scene is compounded by being sandwiched by these two crowley lines which, in my eyes, really highlighted that crowley is in fact only choosing to accept aziraphale in small measures, and that other elements of him are not enough:

c: "...you're better than that, angel!"

c: "you idiot, we could have been us."

aziraphale is enough exactly as he is; he's not perfect and certainly not wholly complete, but for crowley to dig at aziraphale by intimating that he is not reaching the bar that crowley has set for him - potentially subconsciously - is likely be the true end for how much stock aziraphale put in crowley's perception of him, and by extension the worth that he thought he had in crowley's mind. instead, aziraphale is now left to find a way of building his sense of self-worth all by himself - and does so by stepping into that lift.

crowley: salvation

im not going to necessarily talk about all the times that crowley demonstrates an almost pathological need to be aziraphale's saviour, because frankly Longwinded Anon✨ has that covered. but as with all things GO-related, i think it's important to try to understand why.

i truly think that a cornerstone of crowley's romanticism is deeply rooted in the concept of salvation. now, we know that he doesn't appear to give a flying fuck about salvation from heaven, but he certainly seems to put a great deal of import on being aziraphale's hero, and later he seems to question a great deal when aziraphale essentially finds a hero elsewhere.

as LW Anon✨ said, aziraphale is very cognizant that crowley likes to play hero where he's concerned, and seems simultaneously resigned and excited by the matter; resigned because actually, sometimes, aziraphale is smart or powerful enough to keep himself safe, but excited because this is possibly the epitome of how crowley expresses his love for him.

aziraphale shows that he is fully aware of this characteristic of crowley's, and whilst he does play into it (which we saw throughout all of s1e3) to 'make crowley happy' (and, dare i say, also because at this point it is the supernatural, sex-less interpretation of centuries-long foreplay) in s2 it almost starts to become neglectful, overbearing, and dismissive of - as LWA✨ says - any true agency that aziraphale has built since breaking from heaven. this, incidentally, is highlighted in the following exchange:

c: "im gonna get the humans out of here and then im coming back, i won't leave you on your own."

a: "i know, but i have a suggestion-"

c: [interrupts] "ive got this."

whether crowley feels like he is missing any genuine overture from heaven to apologise for making him fall for a minor infraction, or he feels guilty about something that he did (ie possibly what made him fall) and is making his own reparations in the outlet of constantly being aziraphale's saviour, the one that is certain is that crowley has to feel needed, and by extension - loved.

he does have a nasty habit of putting aziraphale down (which ill talk about next), however much in jest, and placing aziraphale constantly under his metaphorical wing. aziraphale going so far in s1 to actually work out the apocalypse and proceed to take what he believes is the right action to prevent it on his own must have, by extension, sent crowley reeling - if aziraphale can in fact look after himself, where does that leave crowley? what else, in crowley's eyes, could he possibly bring to the table that would make aziraphale want to keep him? love him?

i think that this is crowley's own brand of insecurity; that unless he is performatively saving aziraphale and protecting him from harm, and actively dismissing aziraphale's ability to protect himself sufficiently enough, he has no discernible quality that aziraphale would want. so instead he tries to make himself so integral to aziraphale's survival so that aziraphale has no choice but to keep him.

the fact that aziraphale saves himself in s1, and they then reflectively save each other, did wonders for aziraphale in progressing as a character. however, in crowley, i feel that this frightened him so emotionally that it regressed his character somewhat. all coming to the climax of when aziraphale, in good faith, offers crowley the chance at salvation for himself, crowley vehemently refuses it and takes it to insult. there are many other valid and understandable reasons why crowley rejects the prospect, but one of them to me is that it would leave crowley's fundamental role in aziraphale's existence as completely redundant.

both: demonstrating love

essentially what i put in an ask recently, but needed referencing here too.

leading on from crowley and his hero/saviour complex: the thing is that these are two diametrically opposing people in all but a handful of aspects. crowley by large is usually the more obviously demonstrative in his affection, borne out of many different reasons, and he is the ultimate Acts of Service (ft. Quality Time) dude. aziraphale tends to be more subtle, with Looks and Words, in how he displays his, so let's give him the Words of Affirmation (ft. QT) crown.

in s2, it seems to me that this hasn't really changed, but they are starting to cross over into speaking the language that the other understands. and to me, this comes to a head by the time of the ep5, and the ep6 FD. so obviously crowley has finally bridged into verbally demonstrating to aziraphale how he feels. aziraphale did the same action but mirrored by - however misguided - offering crowley the chance to be restored.

but neither want what the other is giving; they want what the other usually does to show their affection. aziraphale wants crowley to demonstrate his willingness to be with aziraphale by coming with him to heaven, and crowley wants aziraphale to acknowledge what he is telling aziraphale and respond in kind. neither are at fault for wanting that; they have simply demonstrated their devotion to each other in different ways, but those ways have been quite damaging.

crowley does do a lot for aziraphale, that can't be denied, but AoS is way more demonstrative, and yet it's easy to miss what those acts are actually saying. WoA can be more casual but the words you choose speak volumes... "our car/bookshop", "id love for you to help me", "my friend crowley", etc.

whilst i don't necessarily subscribe to the psychology of love languages, they're useful for this sort of analysis. aziraphale does even branch out in other languages; he is constantly touching crowley this season; the pub, the ball, the bookshop in early ep6. quality time is a given, and has always been their common ground. giving gifts im not so sure on, but i think the significance of readily offering crowley the bookshop as being his - something that was wholly aziraphale's, not heaven's, and is aziraphale's own sanctuary - spoke volumes.

specifically in ep5 however, aziraphale really goes ham in demonstrating to crowley how he sees love, defines it, and that he could give this to crowley - the pinnacle of this being the dance and the evident romantic implications of it... it summarises all of aziraphale's own romantic idealistic make-up; touching, intimate conversation, choosing crowley as his partner, romantic literature, classical music, etc.

and whilst comedic and obviously reflective of crowley being otherwise preoccupied re: demon incursion, i also thought that the physical imagery of aziraphale literally dragging him to the dancefloor, and crowley questioning when they've ever danced in the past, was particularly telling about crowley's reaction to how aziraphale is trying to convey to him, without saying the words, that he loves him.

aziraphale in s2 truly does give crowley everything that he can. his love is quiet, and gentle, and romantic, and whilst not as high stakes as saving aziraphale's life, it is still valid. however, it seems that where aziraphale seems to have recognised his feelings quite early on and acknowledged them early on, having time to settle them into his soul (even if he couldn't act for fear of heaven), s2 seems to indicate that crowley refused to acknowledge his until the eleventh hour.

but crowley's love has been there all along, ticking away. ignoring his tendency to stick his oar in where it isn't needed (saving aziraphale and treating him as if he were made of glass), he shows his love in his own ways - following aziraphale around soho, silently supportive, admires him for calming down the bookshop and handling the IB situation, tidies the bookshop for him (which also possibly indicates that he's now finally accepting the bookshop as his home), etc.

both of them take a swan dive in the declaring-love endgame in ep6, but neither of them are responsive to the love language that they usually give. aziraphale is given words but wants actions, and crowley is given actions but wants words. the chronic lack of communication between the two of them throughout the show is the main contributing factor to this disconnect, and leads to serious ramifications in their ability to possibly mend it going into s3.

aziraphale: pre-fall

at the risk of daring to contradict LWA✨ in their assessment of aziraphale's feelings towards the angel-who-crowley-was (AWCW) in the pre-fall scene, upon reflection i don't get the sense that aziraphale falls in love with AWCW in this moment. and exactly as pointed out by @assiraphales, we don't have any of the gaps filled in between this scene and The Wall, so it's arguably unknown when exactly those feelings deepened.

there is definitely attraction of some kind (can angels experience physical attraction? presumably they do, if aziraphale thought the "gorgeous" comment was directed at him), an admiration of AWCW's abilities, and an immediate concern for AWCW's wellbeing if he were to question god. but i don't get the sense that he falls in love; more that he's bumped into a cool, attractive kid outside his locker and immediately starts spouting angelic heart eyes, and at the least develops an immediate fascination.

AWCW is presented as being rather classist in this scene, and whilst not outright maliciously rude, he definitely seems to look down on aziraphale, or consider him relatively inconsequential. which is odd, because i think if he actually listened to what aziraphale was telling him, aziraphale actually comes across as having his own brand of status. i can't imagine that any bog-standard angel would be entrusted with helping god with building Her ultimate creation, building humans, and being allowed to see the Great Plan. whilst maybe not the same level as AWCW, i think the fandom is underplaying aziraphale's own significance in this part of the story.

the fact remains however that the aziraphale we see in this scene is still the fundamental foundation of the aziraphale we see later on in the story. AWCW calls for him as he's wandering (rocketing) past, and aziraphale doesn't hesitate to come to AWCW's aid. he's presumably going somewhere, but prioritises helping someone who needs him, and does so out of kindness and then, it seems later on, out of attraction.

he recognises the achievement of AWCW's nebula, asks questions to learn more (and thus demonstrating his interest) of the construction and purpose of AWCW's craft, and outright compliments it for its brilliance and wonder. all behaviours that id say is rooted in wanting to establish a friendship, and meanwhile developing an arguably shallow crush.

i think that these are also general admirations that aziraphale brings forward as he gets to know crowley as a demon, but has to adjust his world-view that he may admire the principle if not the act; he thinks crowley is clever and fun and talented, even if he doesn't condone the new ways in which crowley displays this.

there are definitely times where aziraphale is still caught up in crowley being a good person and concluding that crowley must still be an angel in all but name, but i do not necessarily think that he thinks lesser of crowley as a demon out of maliciousness. i think it's hard for aziraphale to conflate the two ideas that a) crowley has moments of being a good person regardless of hellish or heavenly identity, and that b) crowley doesn't want to be an angel. aziraphale still parallels good with angelicness, holds being good (and therefore being an angel) as the epitome of character, and can't as a result understand that if they were given the opportunity to change and improve the bad bits of heaven, why crowley wouldn't want to help him.

as LWA✨ says, the further we see their story progress, it becomes clear that aziraphale then begins to hold himself above crowley morally, and this is largely lynch-pinned on their separate identities as an angel and demon respectively. aziraphale constantly bats crowley down and puts him back in his place throughout s1, but less so in s2; in this, id refer back to aziraphale's insecurity around his being a good enough angel, but now that we have the context of AWCW having been aziraphale's technical superior, doing this possibly helps him to feel better about himself. this is abhorrent behaviour and is not at all kind, that can't be denied, but i think it is however possible to empathise with it.

aziraphale has spent a long time having an endless reserve of love and not having a lot of places where he can meaningfully channel it. he's got humanity and earth, but whilst he certainly cares for it, it doesn't mean that he candidly loves it. he still feels kinship to heaven and the other angels, but he certainly doesn't love them. in fact the only person he's ever had to fully pour out his love has been into crowley, but faced with the prospect that crowley may still be like his angelic self in that regard (ie not love him back), i think that love has been repressed so much that it's almost atrophied and turned self-destructive and self-sabotaging. in that context, whilst awful and generally inexcusable, aziraphale's behaviour starts to make sense.

crowley: Lucifer theory

i will preface this by saying that despite initial excitement, i don't necessarily think that crowley was lucifer in the colloquialised sense that we regard lucifer in general culture, but perhaps more represents lucifer in the wider sense of having a story that mirrors the one we can somewhat attribute to lucifer. whether or not he will actually be named as lucifer i think is up for debate, but in any case let's take a look at what lucifer's story actually entailed.

now i realise that i am absolutely not an expert on the matter, but there are indeed a wealth of misinterpretations where lucifer as a biblical figure is concerned. i am very behind on this discussion, angelology (shudder) is not in my limited repertoire of specialist subjects, and i welcome anyone else adding in their thoughts on the matter.

but if anyone else has zero knowledge on lucifer, like me, we'll start with the basics as i see them. name coming from the Latin for light- or dawn-bringer, lucifer has been linked to the planet venus in various tellings in roman mythology. given the occasional bright illumination of the planet as seen from earth, this is in part where we coming to the moniker Morningstar when also historically referring to lucifer. so on this base level, we have the link between lucifer and crowley by way of celestial context.

now down to a potential mistranslation, the hebrew for the name of satan, helel, has become synonymous with the name lucifer, down to their respective translations akin to the Latin for 'light-bringer'/'morningstar' as above, but that does not necessarily indicate that lucifer and satan are the same being. so this is where im fairly confident in that whoever crowley was, which is possibly lucifer, his story ran parallel to that of the former relatively unknown being and not the latter more infamous one.

crowley has referenced lucifer in s1, which has led to the debunk that the two are the same being, but when rewatching it, i think it can be completely reinterpreted:

c: "i never asked to be a demon. i was just minding my own business one day and then... "oh lookie here, it's lucifer and the guys!"... ah, hey - the food hadn't been that good lately, i didn't have anything on for the rest of the afternoon..."

this doesn't need to mean that AWCW was the one who came across lucifer and cohort, but possibly that someone else did, or just exclaiming it in the general sense. getting whimsical in the headcanon space, AWCW may well have been enjoying his afternoon, chatting with friends that he thought he could trust, and thought he could share his thoughts on challenging how things are run (same as he did with aziraphale). evidently, whatever happened completely bit him on the arse, and at minimum partially resulted in his fall.

there are multiple references to crowley being at least an angel of import, almost too many to count. however a common theme in many references to venus in various religious and mythological texts is the concept of reaching for higher power, but to be cast down and punished for it. given the indication (iirc) from interviews and also the pre-fall scene that crowley was up for collaborating with god on how to improve things in heaven, it could stand to reason that in a moment of anger or frustration he voices the thought that he could do a better job running the place.

and if other angels were behind him in this, equally dissatisfied with their lot in heaven, and being set aside by god in favour of humanity, it similarly wouldnt be a huge leap to think that this one sentence, this singular half-baked thought, might have precipitated the war. following said war, as LWA✨ suggests, it would make sense that in an effort to lick his wounds and keep a low profile, crowley would take or accept a middling rank in hell, and possibly even volunteer for the assignment of original sin; all the more opportunity to remove himself completely from the narrative between heaven and hell.

which then, now that i think about it, completely recontextualises crowley's aversion to being a part in helping aziraphale rebuild heaven. why would he want to, why wouldn't he be petrified of it, when the last time went so badly? there must be a sense of resentment towards aziraphale in this regard - what makes aziraphale, a potentially lower angel, so special that he would be invited to completely revolutionise heaven, when all AWCW did was make suggestions, and end up being villified for it? if he did join aziraphale, and challenged him, would aziraphale then be forced to cast crowley out again? what would crowley stand to lose this time?

so this is where i think the concept of crowley having a huge secret that he's keeping from aziraphale comes into play, and i agree must come out in s3. it would completely derail any faith that aziraphale had in crowley, for him to have kept such vital information from him, his potential part in the fall. i could imagine aziraphale interpreting the reveal of this secret as being that crowley fooled and hoodwinked him, however false or unintentional that might have been, and it representing the last vestige of aziraphale's innocence and naivety being swept away.

edit, because @baggvinshield has put this theory so eloquently and with far more comprehension and education than i could hope for: Lucifer theory

there are so many more topics that i have sat in various documents and in my notes as concerns these two characters; aziraphale's obsession with control and 'playing god', their shared inability to communicate effectively and meaningfully, crowley and his propensity for unintentional temptation, whether the love between them truly equates to any semblance of trust, etc etc. some of these topics have been alluded to in the above, but i felt that the above essay might be sufficient reading for now. im adoring (if a little bemused by it) the amount of discussion this silly little blog is generating, and im always more than happy to share my thoughts on anything GO-related where people want it!!!

and now - back to answering the hundreds of asks that have accumulated whilst i've hyperfixated on the above. ta-rah!✨💓

#good omens #good omens season two #good omens spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #good omens meta #good omens analysis #good omens speculation #not a shitpost but its good omens babyyyy #ask #the great go angelology debate of july 2023 #aka 'was crowley an archangel and was he raphael? answer: fuck knows'#the legend of the longwinded anon✨#🚨 lucifer theory🚨

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