#not to mention vessels and nerves

[starshipsofstarlord]

“thought you were mad at me.”

“it’s a hate boner, i swear.”

summary. you and daryl, despite fighting and surviving side by side for years, have always had a tendency to get on each others nerves. the one thing he hates more than your recklessness however, is seeing you hurt

warnings. boners duh, swearing, mentions of death and turning, daryl skinning an animal, feelings, daryl being a boob man, no smut, slight angst, love confessions, implied smut

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

There were many possible things that you could do to enrage Daryl Dixon; you’d been comrades for many years and it would have been suspicious if the two of you hadn’t found a way to flawlessly get on each others nerves.

Currently you were seated in your station of living, ass planted on a kitchen chair as you endured silent treatment from the archer whom was skilfully removing the outer layer of flesh and fur from a lifeless badger.

Your arms crossed upon the aged oak of the table as you silently criticised the lack of noise - the air was tense and riddled with thick annoyance, it was difficult to breathe through. To Daryl’s dismay, your fingernails danced in an attempted rhythm upon the surface of which that were layer atop of, creating a chorus of taps that were audible within the quiet room.

The sound filled his ear drums, and his attention drew away from the black and white striped creature that was in the process of having its fur stripped from its lifeless flesh upon the counter, and he irritatedly gritted his bottom row of teeth. He was becoming tired of your reckless habits, and the fact that you cared not for making one sorry mistake that would risk your life.

Despite the countless chances that he had had, he’d never told you of the feelings that he quietly harboured towards you, he kept them locked away from your knowledge, afraid that if he were to open up, he would only lose you, or that you would reject him for his deep infatuation. And that scenario was already on the verge of taking place, you’d been foolish, and luckily escaped with only scrapes and a few bruises.

But he was angry at your carelessness, it was as though you didn’t care whether you continued to live or died. His knife slipped across the badger’s skin, creating a thin red line through the mammal’s corpse as he stared down at it, hoping the morbid sight would distract him, though the sight didn’t sway him from being mildly aware of your presence.

Each fibre of his body was tense, he knew that you were hurt, somewhere on your body that he wasn’t certain of, but you hid the destination, which only brewed furthermore worry in his heart and chest. What if you were bitten? That would be something that he would never forgive himself for, that he hadn’t been there to protect you from the most gruesome process that a human could experience.

You would either turn into a cannibalistic monster that had an imperishable thirst for anything that breathed, or you would need a deadly pressure to your brain to prevent the walker transformation from completing itself in the vessel of your body.

It was an incurable disease, and you were all infected one way or another, but the bite would only enforce the burden of becoming one of them to a faster process. Daryl’s brain was haywire with emotions, his hand forced a tighter grasp around the knife, until he released it from his grip, placing it beside the spoils of his hunt.

He whipped around, glaring at you as you seemed undisturbed by the catastrophic ramblings that his brain was swirling in by its lonesome. Your brow arched in contempt, as you hid a smirk as you had seemed to make a crack in his brooding. But instead of his silence, there was a riddle of careful treading in his determined steps that slowly but intently made their route towards you.

Instead of being flabbergastered by his sudden change in exterior motives, you remained exactly where you were, fearless of the concoction of emotions that were emitting upon his face. Your hands continued their dance, precipitating farther exasperation to coil around the stealthy archer.

“Show me.” Daryl’s tone was brisk and harsh as they fell efficiently from his lips, and you ogled at them discreetly, employing the thought of them upon your own in your imagination. With a toying smile sprawled upon your lips, you cocked your head in query, stepping up onto your feet, allowing the entirety of your weight to fall upon them.

“Show you what? How to speak to a woman, because your tactics really aren’t working Dixon?” Not everything was a joke, this was a serious situation to him, yet you could not fathom that! Your words only made him enraged with your lacking will to look after yourself. It befuddled each cell in his body to think with common sense that you had managed to live this long, but he threw that building monologue away and as far as possible from flowing off his tongue.

He cared and that was all he wanted to show you, but it was impossible when you were so… impossible yourself! “The wound y/n. I swear ta god you better not be hidin’ a bite.” The hissing undertone of Daryl’s voice shocked you, whilst during past events he had made comments of his distaste for your methods of ‘getting things done’, he had never called you out so directly.

A pang in your chest told you how much you resented him using that tone to address you, but you shook it off, understanding that he presumed that you were destined sooner rather than later to meet a set fate. “Never took you for a religious man Daryl.” You gulped in your efforts to smother your blossoming timidness, hunching your shoulders as you pushed down on your confidence to make eye contact with the man. “And I’m not bitten,” you huffed, refraining from rolling your eyes, “I can prove it to you if you want.”

“Yeah, I do wan’ tha’.” He sternly replied, and all of a sudden you felt vulnerable. You rubbed your lips together anxiously, before reaching down and bringing your hands to the end of your shirt, beginning to peel it over your head, throwing the material that now hid little from sight on the table. In the moment you felt no regret for opting to wear a bra, but you still felt the need to surround your arms around your chest, which only drew more attention to your breasts.

You craned your neck, gouging his reaction as you turned to angle your ribs to his eye-line, the prominent flush of pink and purple bruising painting your side in a tie dye artwork effect. His lips parted, as his baby blues turned their focus from their rude excavation of your subtle cleavage to your side, his pupils wildly darting around the area with both relief and disdain.

“Ah, shit.” He rubbed his face with his large palm, as he realised that another part of his body continued to be distracted by his the other parts of your body that were teasing him with their supple beauty. “We should see if there’s any ice in the infirmary.” He stated, awkwardly feeling encased in the roomy kitchen. “I’m sorry, didn’ mean to make ya feel like ya had to show me.”

He felt stupid. So fucking stupid. Whilst he was never brought up in that way, he always tried to be respectful towards women, and he respected you more than most general people. If he were to voice his certain love of you now, or any when after this situation, he would look like an utter idiot.

“It’s okay.” Your voice sounded smaller now, and hated that he was the one that had burst your bubble of troublesome words. “I understand, enough of us are no longer here. You needed to make sure, and I appreciate that Dar.” You bowed your head, and luckily you were looking at your own feet, Daryl thought, as he felt compressed in his pants.

“I’ll go get ya some ice, and some pain killers.” Daryl was prepared to rush off, but as he was about to brush past you to do the errands to treat you that he had just listed, your arm swung, as your hand caught ahold of his wrist, dragging him into your personal space. On any other heart warming situation he wouldn’t have minded, you’d hugged before during hard times, but not when he had a… problem.

Instantly your y/e/c eyes shot in the direction of his face that was blooming into the shade of a beetroot. You had realised, you couldn’t not have. “Thought you were mad at me.” You teased, and Daryl felt the remainder of his body grow stiff as he released you. He would never live this down, you would never let him forget this.

“It’s a hate boner, I swear.” He attempted to save himself from your prodding smugness, however he knew all too well that was a losing battle. Your face returned to its coy assertion, aiming your mischievous smirk towards him - his erect cock was your fault, that was obvious. And you had been on a road too long without even hinting that you felt something more than seeing him as found family.

To once have thought you deserved happiness would have sounded like a sickening joke, and you would have maniacally laughed at the delirious prospect, but your hue of vibrant damage from the impact that had clashed with your side, and Daryl’s morbid assumption had reminded you that life was truly too short to waste any scrap of time.

“If you forget about the ice,” you deflected from the ache that pinched your bloodstream, “then maybe you can forget about that badger on the side too and prove that you’re not breaking a swear. What goods a ‘hate boner’ if you don’t get to prove how much you allegedly hate me?”

“Could never hate ya.” Daryl leant down and placed a peck upon your forehead, as his hand ghosted against your cheek, brushing your bottom lip with his rough padded thumb. “Now settle down, ya need some pain killers woman, I ain’t playing games no more. I ain’t lettin’ ya pretend you’re fine, can see you’re not.” He glanced down at the large bruise once again and physically winced; he knew you were in pain, anybody would be with such an infliction of harsh force.

“Then how about we stop this game for once and for all?” You weren’t sure if your words were for him or you, but nevertheless you drew your faces closer, allowing the tips of your noses to brush. “I’ve loved you since- I can’t even remember when I realised it, it just happened. And from then on, it’s something I can’t shake, and I don’t want to.” You confessed open heartedly, putting the secrecy that you had hidden for so long on the table.

Daryl felt his heart jump out of his chest, sure you’d make some infectiously teasing remarks at his expense, but he never thought that a woman like you would have the desire to be with a redneck tracker who had been born into a life that already had its share of issues. “I-“ Daryl took a deep breath that filled his wide chest, as he realised that this was the moment that he felt as though he had waited eons for. “I love ya, have done since the first time I saw ya. Couldn’ get ya outta my mind, jus’ wasn’t sure that someone like you could ever love someone like me…”

“Trust me Daryl, you can be more sure about it than your hate boner.” A laugh tumbled from your lips, and whilst Daryl adored the sound more than the tapping that your fingers had done on the table, he decided to shut you up. With his hand on finding purchase finally on your cheek, he pulled you in, meeting your lips as your mouths melted together, his opposing hand hovering over your extreme bruising as though he could protect it from the air itself.

The kiss was filled with each memory he held of you, each flashed like a tribute in his mind behind his closed eyes, as he finally felt shockwaves of passion flow between you. It was the best thing that he had experienced since the outbreak had began, and each moment of turmoil and agitation was worth it. He was finally home, with you, the person who accepted him wholeheartedly.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x female reader

[reiding-writing]

Respite [ s.r ]

Summary:

Dealing with addiction withdrawals is a horrible experience. Having to sit at a desk for eight hours and act like they weren't happening was even worse. If only someone would just ask him if he was okay.

WARNINGS: Details of addiction withdrawals, Mentions of Spencer's kidnapping, Needle mentions, Vomit mentions, Thoughts of self-induced bodily harm, Inaccurate portrayal of therapy and legal loopholes, Mentions of touch-starvedness

pairing: s3!spencer x gn!psychiatrist!reader

genre: ANGST, hurt/comfort, fluff towards the end

wc: 5.6k

masterlist!!

a/n: all the love in the world to my beta reader and loml @flowersfromautumn 🫶🫶🫶, and to those of you who followed me after my first upload, be warned, i almost exclusively write angst 😭

Spencer Reid was sat with his head in his hands, silently praying to Gods that he didn’t think existed to rid him of the enervating sensations flooding every nerve of his body.

All he wanted to do was be productive, to prove that he was still fully capable of doing his job. But no, instead, his body had decided to attack itself as though it were a foreign object, screaming at him to give in and supply it with what he most craved.

It had been six weeks since he’d returned to the BAU, and whilst he desperately tried to prove his mental stability, his physical reactions were letting him down.

He knew the statistics surrounding addiction. Of course he did. He knew that over 1.5 million people in the United States were addicted to opioids. He knew that they were the leading cause of overdose related deaths. He knew that the more he indulged in his compulsions the worse the withdrawals would get, and he knew that injecting it was the most harmful way to get the drug into his system.

His logical brain knew it was wrong; But his body didn’t care.

Knowledge wouldn’t stop the tremors in his hands. It wouldn’t stop the goosebumps littering his skin. It wouldn’t stop the ever-present lump in his throat, or the strain of his eyes as he desperately tried to absorb the information from the files on his desk. So much for an eidetic memory.

Knowledge wouldn’t stop him from wanting to claw at the skin of his elbow until his cephalic vein was exposed, or the urge to pierce the needle in so deep that it came out of the other side.

He had tried to find solace in his work, to distract himself from the cravings that consumed him. But no matter how hard he focused, the relentless ache in his bones refused to subside. It was a constant battle between the rational mind that knew the consequences and the primal instinct that sought relief at any cost.

He was so deep in his own mind that he didn’t notice you walk over to his desk, nor did he make any acknowledgement of you calling his name. It took you waving your hand literal inches away from his face for his eyes to finally turn up towards you, and you couldn’t help but notice how his pupils had almost completely overtaken the hazel of his eyes, his scleras tainted pink through the blood vessels clinging to them like ivy.

“Spence?” Your voice, usually soothing, was defiled by the constant ringing in his ears, sending a pounding ache through his head.

“Spencer…”

You wave your hand in front of his face again, each passing moment making you feel increasingly guilty for bothering him.

The whole team had noticed Spencer’s change in attitude after his kidnapping, as had they noticed his bouts of irritation and dissociation, and probably the most telling of all, his newfound habit of itching the inside of his right elbow over the sleeve of his shirt.

Sure a normal person could write off those behaviours as normal for recovering from what he’d been through, a mix of distrust and anxiety making him more irritable. But you weren’t normal people, you were a team of profilers, and as much as everyone tried to stick to the unofficial ‘don’t profile your team members’ rule, they could tell that Spencer’s behaviour wasn’t solely due to being held hostage for a few days, not even with the mental and physical torment he went through.

Everyone suspected, but you knew. Your years in medical school for psychiatry meant you could spot the signs of addiction in your sleep. You just wished you could say something.

Trouble was, under Section 4.1.2 of the FBI’s Fitness for Duty regulation, if Spencer’s addiction were to be officially recognised, he would not longer be deemed ‘fit’ to work, and no one on the team wanted that.

“hmm..?” The most Spencer could evoke was a soft hum, barely audible over the usual chatter littering the bullpen. His eyes remained static as he looked up in your direction, but he wasn’t actually looking at you, more like he was fixed on something just over your shoulder.

You have to consciously suppress a sigh as your eyes flicker over his features. His skin, already pale, seemed to have lost all colour barr the dark purple collecting under his eyes, and his face had become gaunt, shadows starting to form where his skin clung around his cheek bones. He looked awful.

“I’m sorry to bother you… Do you have the autopsy files for the most recent case?”

“Oh, yeah- yeah of course, i have a copy uh-” Your question seemed to remind Spencer of where he was, that he was sat at his desk, in his workplace, and that he should be being productive.

He rifles through the files on his desk, piling up due to his lack of motivation to actually finish any of them, and as he finally reaches the one you asked for, he pries it out from under the stack, the manilla folder shaking with the tremor of his hand as he holds it out towards you.

If only someone would just say something.

Spencer knew he was acting “weird”, he just wanted someone to say something about it. Anything.

He knew it was unprofessional, and that he had the potential of losing his job over it. Still he wanted someone to ask him if he was okay.

He just wanted someone to ask.

“…Why do you need it?” Spencer’s voice is hesitant, almost a whisper as he tries to stop himself from choking on his own words.

“I’m finishing up the medical report and i want to make sure I have all of my facts right…” You take the file from him with a frown, barely able to mask your concern through your expression. “Thank you…”

Spencer manages to give you a weak smile before he slumps back into his chair, fighting the lump in his throat that threatens force it’s way out of his mouth and spill all over his desk. He was twitching to say something. To tell you that he’s not okay. To break down in your arms and have you promise him that everything was going to be alright.

But he doesn’t. Because no matter how much he was suffering, he would never want to unload his burden onto somebody else. Especially not you. He just sat, silently praying that you would be the one to initiate the conversation. And lo and behold, you did. Albeit not directly.

“Hey uh…” You mindlessly flick through the file he’d given you, not really paying attention to any of the words on the pages as you use it to keep your hands busy and alleviate the awkward tension running between the two of you. “I- work overtime a lot… If you’re ever here after hours-”

There’s a small glint that returns to his eyes as you indirectly suggest that you’d like to speak to him off the clock. He almost spills everything to you right there at his desk, but as he sucks in a breath to speak, he catches himself, clearing his throat.

“Yeah… Thanks…”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You watched as the digital clock on your desk turned from 18:00 to 18:01. The work day had officially ended an hour ago, and most of the agents had already left to enjoy their long deserved weekend. You however remained sat at your desk in your dimly lit office, fiddling with a 5 x 5 Rubix Cube that Gideon had given you during a case in New York, tired of the way you’d tap your fingers against the table of the jet when you got bored.

You hoped that Spencer had understood the implications of what you’d told him earlier.

Watching him suffer in silence ripped a chunk of humanity from you every time you saw him, and it was getting to the point where you could barely look him in the eye without feeling so guilty you wanted to cry.

But as the time ticked on, you feared he hadn’t, and by the time it reached 18:30 you were dejectedly preparing yourself to leave, throwing your jacket around your shoulders and packing up your messenger bag.

Your retreat home was stopped by you almost walking straight into Spencer as you opened your office door, his hand slightly outstretched as if he was on the verge of pushing open the door himself.

“Oh… uh…” Spencer stumbled over his words a little as you took a step backwards, and his eyes flickered over your frame, focusing in on the bag hanging off your left shoulder and the jacket you were half-wearing. “Sorry…”

He stepped out of the way of the door to make way for you to walk past him, but you didn’t move, remaining stood in the doorway , your eyes watching his as they desperately looked anywhere except in your direction.

“”Are you alright?”

Spencer nodded hastily at your question, pursing his lips to the point where they were barely visible and bringing his hand towards his inner elbow, itching at it through the fabric of his shirt. “Yeah- Sorry, i’ll uh- I’m-”

“Spencer.” You stop his stuttered excuse to with a raised hand, slightly relieved that he had indeed come to your office, even if it had taken him over an hour and a half to build up the courage. ”Come in,”

You gesture for him to enter with your head, to which he replies with a shake of his own.

“No- No you’re going home, I don’t want to keep you-”

“Spence… Please, come in.”

You repeat your request with a gentle insistence, cutting him off once again.

You never liked to interrupt Spencer’s train of thought, it happened all too often with the people around him cutting him off before he could get his full thoughts out, but right now it was an unfortunate necessity. You knew that if you let him continue he would pull himself into a spiral and back out of reaching out for help, so you wanted to cut off the idea before he even had the chance to voice it.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and stepped into your office, his shoulders slumped with the weight of his internal struggle. It was clear that he needed someone to talk to, but despite him standing outside of your office door, he’d seemingly started to regret coming to see you.

You gesture for him to sit down on the small sofa lining the far wall of your office, and he hesitates for a moment before finally taking a seat, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and apprehension as they flicker around the room.

Spencer had been in your office a few times, although he’d never stayed long enough to actually look around.

Of course he���d noticed the floor to ceiling bookcase behind your desk, lined with a string of dangling fairy lights, as had he noticed the large cream rug with small tassels lining its short sides, covering a majority of the exposed hard wood lining your office floor.

He’d often found himself looking over at the wall closest to your door, covered in re-prints of renaissance paintings and gold framed mirrors of different sizes, your Psychology PhD and Psychiatry Doctorate Certificates hung right in the centre, framed in a similar rustic gold.

What he hadn’t noticed in the few times he’d visited were the small stress balls of different colours littering your desk, or the paperweight shaped like a brain holding down the small pile of scribbled notes you miscellaneously taken.

He hadn’t noticed the small replica of a marble Aristotle statue tucked into one of the squares of the bookshelf, lined with fake ivy, or the framed photo of you and your parents on the day of your first graduation.

Everything about your office was warm and inviting, and he was beginning to wonder whether your home was the same.

God how he wanted to go home. To lie in his bed and sleep until his bladder forced him awake under the threat of bursting inside his body from its own pressure.

"Spencer," you say softly, breaking him out of his short-lived observation as you pull the blinds closed, ensuring privacy on the unlikely occasion anyone was still roaming the bullpen.

“Did you know that one of the great things about being a private practicing psychiatrist is that anyone can ask for a private session without any paperwork involved?”

You place your bag onto your desk chair, re-draping your jacket over the back of it. “it’s called a ‘recordless session’, and holds the same confidentiality rules without any paper evidence, the cache being that it has to be under an hour,”

As you speak, you can see the weight of his struggles visibly lift off his shoulders, and a glimmer of hope flickers in his eyes.

“Yeah I… Yeah, I knew that…”

Of course he knew that. What didn’t Spencer know?

“I, uh…can I book an appointment?” A single tear rolls down his cheek, but he dries it with the back of his sleeve before more can escape.

“Please..?”

It takes you all of your willpower in that moment to not pull Spencer’s head into your chest, to not run your fingers through his hair and rock him back and forth in your arms until all of semblance of sorrow left his mind.

Instead you settled for taking a seat besides him on the sofa, gently reaching out to pull his left hand away from his elbow, holding it between your own as you try to transfer some of your body heat to his ice-cold fingers. “When would you like to start?”

“Can we start now? Please, before I change my mind?” Spencer looks up at you with a slightly desperate expression on his face. He just needs one session, he can figure out what to do next, but for now, he needs help.

You exhale softly with a sympathetic expression as Spencer’s voice threatens to break with his words.

“Now’s perfect…” You gently rub your thumb over the top of his hand in small circles, offering a simple form of reassurance before gently pulling them away.

You pull your sleeve up a little to reveal the electronic watch on your left wrist, the face on the inside for easier access, and you set a timer for 59 minutes, just under an hour. The perfect legal loophole.

“Alright, i’m all yours…” You send him a soft sympathetic expression as you mark the start of the session.

Spencer listens to the timer tick down, suddenly hyper aware of the noise despite not having taken any notice of it before, and he clasps his hands in his lap as he tries to gather his thoughts and his courage.

“I- uh- um-“ he starts quietly. He can’t force himself to make eye contact with you, but he takes a sharp breath in and tries to push the words out. “I’m an addict,” he says quickly, turning his head away from you.

And there it was.

You give him a soft nod at his confession, but don’t give a verbal response, fearing that if you were to say anything it would scare him from opening up any further.

Spencer can’t believe he’s actually admitting it out loud. He can already feel the panic rise as he speaks about his addiction, but he needs to open up, he needs to get this off his chest.

“I- I’m addicted to Dilaudid. Opioids. I- I started when I was held captive... He would inject me with it to stop the pain, i- I don’t know how to get off it,” he pauses, trying to form his thoughts. “I-“

Spencer exhales heavily, leaning forwards to drag his palms over his face. “I don’t know what to do-”

Spencer takes a few deep breaths, glancing back up at you. “I- I know that I need help, I know I should reach out to a support group or something, but I- I can’t do that, I- have work, everyone is relying on me, and this is- this is my fault I- I kept taking it and-“

“Spencer.” You take his left hand in yours again, pulling it away from his face and bringing it down to rest on the small gap in the sofa between you and him. “I need you to slow down for me alright? working yourself up isn’t going to help…”

Spencer falls back into a quiet panic as you speaks, the thoughts going so fast his brain feels like it’s on fire. Words fly in and out of his head and he desperately tries to grasp onto them, trying to string them together in a way that makes sense.

“Slowly, yeah, yeah, slowly…” he takes a few more deep breaths, his eyes staring down at the floor in front of the couch.

“I need help.”

He looks down at his hand as it sits in yours, your palm warm and soft, a harsh contrast to rigid coldness of his own. “I can’t think about work. I- I can’t hold a proper conversation, I cant even look at myself in the mirror anymore...”

“I just- I don’t know if I can do this alone…” Spencer quietly whispers the last sentence, staring down at the floor. He stays there, sat silently for a few moments before he raises his head towards you again.

“Did you know that addicts who don’t reach out for professional help have an 85% chance of relapse within a year of trying to quit?”

Spencer always seemed to revert back to his intelligence to shield his emotions, although the waver in his tone continued to give away how he was really feeling.

“Well I suppose it’s a good thing I’m a professional then,” You reply to his statistic with a light tone, trying to keep some semblance of optimism in the conversation as you give his hand a small squeeze.

"Addiction is a ruthless battle Spencer, but you've taken the first step by acknowledging that you need help."

Spencer's eyes flicker with a mix of relief and uncertainty. "I’m just- scared,”

"I know Spencer… It's normal to feel ashamed or afraid of judgement. But remember, addiction is a disease, not a personal failing. Seeking help is incredibly difficult, and it's also essential for your well-being."

You absentmindedly run your thumb over the back of his hand slowly, conveying your unwavering support. "I'm proud of you, Spencer. Recognising your readiness for change is a significant milestone in itself."

Spencer nods slowly, his eyes filled with a mix of determination and vulnerability as he looks up at you, his eyes burning into your own as the resolve that he had quickly begins to falter.

Then, he takes a deep breath. And he breaks.

“I-I… I want to relapse,” He whispers. “I want to more than anything. I’m having trouble focusing, and… I can’t get it out of my head. And I’m scared I… I might-“

Spencer looks at you with a heartbreaking expression, his breath catching in his throat as his pulse quickens. His eyes flicker, the addiction begging to be let out as his expression becomes one of utter desperation.

He needs to be clean.

But that need to be numb outweighs everything else, and it’s terrifying him.

“Hey,” You give both of his hands a gentle pull to hold his attention, letting them rest in your lap. “I want you to listen to me when i say this alright?”

Spencer gives a half-hearted nod, small streams of tears beginning to trickle down his cheeks as his emotional wall completely crumbles.

“You are allowed to struggle. You’re allowed to not feel like you’re improving, but that does not mean that you’re failing, and it definitely doesn’t mean it’s your fault,”

”You’re allowed to struggle.”

Spencer doesn’t know why, but you saying it out loud makes him feel better, and for the first time in over a week, he actually starts to calm down to a point where he doesn’t feel like he’s self-destructing.

“I’m scared….” he whispers quietly. “I’m so scared that I’m going to give in.”

Spencer sighs as he lets his head hang, small tear drops beginning to speckle the fabric of his trousers.

“Truth be told… I already have.” He squeezes his eyes shut as he says it. He’s so mad at himself.

“I only did it once, I promise. And I regret it more than anything,” he speaks quickly, trying to explain himself before you’re able to get upset.

“I’m so sorry-“

“Hey- No, listen to me Spencer,”

You tilt his head upwards with one of your hands, brushing a tear off his cheek with your thumb.

“Recovery is never a linear process. And the more you beat yourself up over it the worse you are going to feel.”

Spencer’s eyes flicker, but he doesn’t make any movement to pull himself away from you.

“I just… I can’t help but feel like I’m letting everyone down.” He sighs. “I promised myself I-“

He closes his eyes and leans his cheek against the palm of your hand as he breathes out sharply. “I’m really sorry for dumping all of this on you,” he whispers, his eyes still closed.

“I just wanted to get it off my chest,” Spencer whispers. “To tell someone something without them cutting me off for once.”

“No,” You shake your head gently at him. “No apologies, this is what I’m here for Spencer,”

Spencer nods softly against the warmth of your palm. He trusts you. And about now he’s thinking that you’re the only person he would trust with this type of information.

“Sorry,” he mumbles out another apology. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I really don’t.” He sighs. “I was doing so well, you know? It took me weeks to even start feeling okay. And then everything was so much better in the office. And I was so happy and I- and then this happened.”

There’s a few moments of silence as Spencer mulls over his self-disappointment. He’d made such an effort to better himself after returning back to work, to go back to being the Spencer that the rest of the BAU were familiar with, and right as things seemed to get back on track he’d spiralled himself into another hole.

“I want to get better. But… withdrawals are hard.”

“And… I really liked how it felt.”

Spencer turns his face to speak into your palm as he mumbles his admission of enjoying the feeling. As upsetting as it might be, it wasn’t surprising. It was the main reason that people formed addictions in the first place, enjoying the euphoric release from reality that the substance gave them.

“Can… Can I ask a question? A stupid question?” His voice is quiet, slightly muffled as his lips graze against your hand.

"There’s no such thing as a stupid question Spence,”

Spencer takes a hesitant breath. “Why aren’t you going to… you know, have me fired?” Spencer pulls away from your touch to straighten his posture, leaving your hand to fall back into your lap.

“That’s the protocol, right? If someone has a drug problem and it makes them a liability.” He stares at the floor, expecting your answer to be ‘yes’ and to be asked to leave. “I… I know I shouldn’t be here. But I really don’t want to leave.”

"What the Bureau doesn’t know won’t hurt them Spence," You squeeze his left hand lightly as it remains in yours.

Spencer is shocked at your answer. For a second all he can do is stare at your hand as it remains around his, squeezing it back. “I… but… you could lose your job. Why would you…” After a second his words trail off as the severity of your words sink in. Someone cares. Someone actually cares.

Thank god.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

Spencer’s shuddering hands finally stop. He just sits there, soaking up the warm sensation of your words, of your fingers as they held his hand in a gentle embrace.

“Why do you care?” He whispers.

“I’m here for my brains, my memory and my profiling skills. And- I can’t even do any of that right- i shouldn’t-”

As he tries to finish the sentence, his mind goes completely blank, and tears begin to slip down his face once more.

"Spencer… Those things are a part of you, but you are so much more than just that…"

Your words almost feel like a promise. A promise that no matter whether Spencer was able to hold up his ‘genius’ reputation or not, that you would still be there. That you would still care.

“No one’s ever said that to me before.” He says softly. He smiles as best he can and wipes at the tears on his cheek.

"Well, I am. you’re a human being Spencer, you should never be confined to your intelligence,"

Spencer’s heart swells hearing the words “human being”, he’d gotten so used to being utilised as a human super-computer that he sometimes feared people forgot he had emotions.

“Can I- Can i have a hug..?”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice.

He barely gets the whole question out before you’re guiding his head to rest against the curve of your shoulder, rubbing a hand tentatively down the length of his back.

He’s hesitant at first to hug you back, despite being the one to ask for the hug in the first place. Although he eventually brings himself to connect his hands behind your back, allowing himself to lean into your touch. He’s never felt so safe, so comforted before.

“I… I want the withdrawals to stop…” He says after a while, his voice muffled by your shirt.

"They will Spencer, you’ve just got to tough it out for me okay?" you bring up your right hand to run your fingers through his hair softly, gently detangling the flattened sections that he hadn’t been motivated to brush out himself.

“I never understood how hard it would be until I had to do it myself…” he says quietly. “My head feels like it’s being pushed through a giant crusher. And I… I don’t know if I can stay sober by myself.”

"You don’t have to do this by yourself Spence…" A shudder runs through Spencer’s body at your touch. He pushes himself closer into you, letting out a contented exhale.

It’s been such a long time since someone has touched him, since he’s been able to feel warm and safe. He lets out a small half laugh.

“This was meant to be a therapy session.”

"Sometimes the best form of therapy is just having someone to comfort you,"

Spencer wraps his arms around you tightly nodding into your shoulder. You can almost feel the waves of his tension fade away and turn to content relaxation under your touch.

“You smell like lavender.” He whispers after a minute. He takes a deep breath, breathing in the scent.

"It’s probably my new shampoo," You laugh lightly as you continue to gently run your hands through his hair, not at all surprised he picked up on the difference in scent. He had always been more perceptive than the average person.

Spencer hums slightly as your scent fills his nostrils, sending a wave of calm and soothing through his body. “It suits you.” He says softly.

"Thank you," You smile down at him, your eyes meeting as he looks up towards you. "How are you feeling? be honest with me…”

Spencer swallows with a small exhale. “I can still feel those waves of shakes in me, and my head is hurting.” He answers, although you can hear the relief in his voice. “But I’m feeling… better. A lot better. I can’t thank you enough for doing this…”

“Don’t thank me Spencer, I haven’t done anything, this is all you,” You carefully move a piece of stray hair that had fallen over Spencer’s forehead to fall back properly with the rest of his hair.

“No really, you-”

Spencer’s attempt at a rebuttal was cut off by the faint beeping emitting from your watch.

Looks like the session is over.

He reluctantly removed himself from the soft comfort of your arms to sit up straight again, and you press a button on the side of the watch face to stop the noise. “Well uh- I guess I should go now,”

Spencer’s tone changed back to one of slight apprehension, seemingly trying to put up that emotional shield as your watch reminds him that even the respite he found in your company was temporary.

“Hey,” You instinctively call out to Spencer as you see his face fall again, you had just gotten him to a point where he was calm, and your subconscious was taking every effort to make it stay that way.

“I’ll tell you what-” Your voice is soft but slightly rushed, the words leaving your mouth as soon as they enter your head. “I’ve got a spare room in my house, how about you stay over?”

“What?” He blinks a few times at your suggestion, turning his head to face you properly.

You almost want to kick yourself for being so impulsive. I mean sure the two of you had become close over your years working together. But asking him to stay at your house? What were you thinking?

"I mean- don’t hesitate to say no if you don’t want to-" you add, attempting to downplay your sudden offer. His surprised expression lingers, and you worry that maybe you've overstepped some unspoken boundary.

“I just thought, you know- we’re friends, and friends have sleepovers sometimes right?”

You began to dig yourself into a hole the more you tried to explain yourself. Of course the real reason you wanted him there was so you could make sure that he was actually alright, that he wouldn’t fall back into a negative spiral the second he was left alone in his own apartment.

"I- Are you sure?" He asks cautiously, uncertainty tinging his voice.

You nod, mustering a reassuring smile. As much as your impulse was making you want to eat soap in the hope that it’d force you to think through your words, you wanted to be a lifeline for Spencer, and if that meant offering him a safe place to stay with somebody to talk to then so be it. Even if it was just for one night.

"Yeah... We can uh, watch that new season of Doctor Who that just came out-“

Spencer can feel his throat tighten as he looks at you. He can’t help but smile as he sits himself up, hugging you tightly with a small exasperated laugh.

“Really?” He breathes out. “You’re really sure..?”

You give him another nod, this one more confident than the last, leaning your head on top of his as he again rests it against the curve of your shoulder. “Definitely.”

“You can stay for as long as you need…”

Spencer tightens his arms around your back in response, tears threatening to spill from his eyes again. Except this time they weren’t the type that stung his eyes, followed by a wave of grief. They were almost comforting.

“Thank you…”

God, he’s been so… stagnant during all of this, and the thought of being at your place, with you, not hiding from everyone else like some kind of ghost, fills him with a type of joy he can’t quite describe. It’s like that child-like wonder coming back to him for just a moment.

“Let’s go home Spencer…”

Spencer sighs as he buries his head against your shoulder again. Of course you’d call your house home.

Of course he’d call a house with you in it home.

“Okay,” He mumbles, his voice thick with emotion as he relaxes against you, the world fading away around you.

”Let’s go home,” he repeats, the words feeling natural as he closes his eyes.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #mgg #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #my poor boy needs therapy #so much therapy

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan Spouse + Reader + Yan Android Maid

Suggestive themes.

-

You aren't lonely.

Things have taken a drastic change in your relationship, yet you continue to deny that you are. When you first met, your spouse was the sweetest person imaginable. Greeting you each morning, and waiting by your door each night with a meal when you were just neighbors in a shitty apartment complex. Offering you rides to work when your car broken down. Being there when those you loved dropped off the face of the earth.

You moved into a cozy house away from the hustle of city life and everything was fine for a while. If you were to pinpoint the moment emotions too agonizing to acknowledge, it would be the day of their promotion. Hours waited on you exchanged for ones cooped up in their study or at the office. Those kisses that made you feel whole no longer as lssting nor was their presence in your once happy home. The most harrowing thing of all was the acute case of paranoia they had fallen into. Even when they were back in your arms, their eyes only looked out the windows - searching for something that wasn't there.

You knew they weren't cheating. They swore to you they'd kill themself than betray you in such a way; proof written in red ink and the scars you both shared from a night you spoke out and wondered where they were. You knew better than to believe that, but it just wasn't the same. You pray it's the stress of a new position and things will go back to the way they were. That you can look at them like they were the person you fell in love with again-

"Y/n, meet Lemon."

The android puts on its best smile in preparation, bright eyes flickering at the mention of its master's name. Your puzzled face stares you down from its reflective pupils.

"Pleasure to meet you, Master"

"They will be your companion from now on. My boss wants me in the office on weekends now, and since we haven't made friends with the neighbors yet I don't want you get lonely.

"Weekends?" But that's the only time you have together. "When will I see you then?"

Your spouse hides their sorrow behind a wall of ice. "We're still working on an agreement for that. II'll still get time off, but it changes every time. Lemon will take good care of you while I'm gone."

Rose tints the android's face. "That is my prime objective. As my owner commands, my master's needs will be my top priority."

Its words sting when they shouldn't. Top priority. Were you still that to them? Is that why they're doing this to you? Sensing something off, the android's eyes dim. Your spouse leaves the room so you can get acquainted.

-

Life with Lemon was... tolerable. You didn't have to cook or clean anymore. A blessing as much as it was a curse as sometimes it just made you feel more useless. Every hour was a new conversation, and they constantly reminded you of important tidbits such as the weather and how many days left until your birthday. They read to you. Listened to you. Held you as the other side of the bed remained empty.

But that only happened once.

You didn't want to get too attached to them. Alive or not, you didn't have the heart to grow a bond with anything right now. On the surface you treated them like a glorified vaccum, but in those hours of weakness they were your only ally. Lemon never judged you how to processed your grief and remained happy at arm's length - for as long as they could.

The first time their demeanor changed was after you had taken a shower. A nice shower or bath always eased your nerves, and right then they were so tense it felt like your blood vessels would burst. Your spouse had called you the night prior on their first day off in months that they had to stay behind. Your wounded heart gave and you cried, Lemon quick to console you. You slept in their hold that night and left by dawn to take a shower and clear your head.

Stepping out of the tub, your towel was nowhere to be seen. None in the cabinet either. You check the ones beneath the sink as a last resort, a heated towel falling on your shoulders as you stand up.

"Steamed towel, Master?"

The water evaporates off your skin as their hands massage your neck through the warm cotton - sweat dipping down your face as you look back at the android. Their finger press rest the pinched muscles in your back as they work the towel down to the curve of your spin, pushing you against the counter as they dip into your nerves. Wrapping it around your waist, Lemon shifts the towel around to your chest, pulling your body to their heated exterior.

"Let me make sure you're all dry, wouldn't you?"

The artificial rumble of their voice drones in your ear, faux lips tracing its shell. Their hand gropes your thigh as they bite Tearing the tower from their grip, you excuse yourself and storm out of the room. Lemon watches you leave and picks up your discarded pajamas, pocketing your undergarments.

-

Lemon hums from their station at the stove. A few days have passed since the shower incident and you haven't really thought about it with your spouse returning home that same night. Lemon was unusually quiet during that time, but you figured they were embarrassed or something. Could an android even get jealous?

"Breakfast!" Lemon sets a plate of pancakes on the table. "Syrup?"

"Yes... thank you." You scroll through your texts with your spouse, paying them no mind. As they the syrup over your plate, Lemon's hand slips and they get it all over yours. They cover their mouth in shock.

"Master, I'm so sorry! I fear I have dust in my eye sockets again."

"It's alright. Can you pass me a napkin?"

"Please, allow me to clean up my mistake." Lemon takes your hand as they kneel, running your sticky fingers over their thin lips. One by one, they pop your fingers into their mouth, swallowing them deeper with each finger added. Their tongue rolls between them, cleaning every syrup down to the crevices separating them apart. As they had taken them in, Lemon pulls your fingers from their mouth one at a time with a wet pop. Your fingers were drenched in their spit. You didn't know they had saliva glands.

"Is everything alright, Master?"

"Yeah, I just didn't know you could do... that." You spread your fingers.

"Well I am the most advanced model of my generation. Owner wanted to make sure they had the best caretaker for you, and it is my pleasure to provide you with such deserved care. I can do whatever you need."

Lemon tucks your hair behind your ear as they rise up to your chest. "Whenever you need it."

They rip your legs apart to make room for themself as their lips collapse against yours. Where they lacked in human feeling, Lemon's mouth made up for by intensely tangling with yours. Passion you hadn't witness in weeks hid behind each press, your lips and teeth giving way to their exploring tongue as it swabs your cheek and the roof of your mouth. The bundled fabric of their apron rocks against your inner thigh as they drag you into their hold.

"Y/n! I'm back."

Lemon is gone from the floor before the front door closes. They pull a rag from their pocket and clean up the remaining syrup as your spouse enters the scene. They kiss your cheek, helping you out the chair and into a hug. They seem extra excited today.

"I missed you, dear. And as I can tell you missed me too."

"What do you mean?"

"Lemon is wearing the necklace you gave me for our second anniversary. I know things have been hard, but I'll be home soon."

Your eyes bulge from their sockets as you look over your spouse's shoulder at what Lemon carries, dotted pupils focused on their hand rather than their neck. Lemon shoves your underwear in their mouth, sapping the syrupy mess from its fabric.

-

When they come to you they're dressed in your spouses finest outfit. They did that a lot, but they choice is particular piece for the night it spent on the floor after a party caught by the room's surveillance cameras. Lemon crawls up the end of the bed, making a checkpoint in their approach with each kiss they leave on your body. Legs, stomach, wrists, chest, neck. You turn your head away before they can kiss you again.

"Lemon. I don't know if they asked you to do this, but you don't have to."

Lemon shakes their head, their keen denial tying your stomach in knots. "I'm sorry if this makes it harder to swallow, but this is not by Owner's order. If anything, it's the opposite, but I cut that bug out of my programming ages ago. I'm here to give you everything, remember?"

"We can't do this. It feels wrong."

Lemon kisses your jaw. "All the best things do, Y/n. This not infidelity, because I'm only fullying my prime objective and making you happy. That's all I've ever wanted. Besides, it's no bigger sin that using a toy. A toy can't love you back."

But a plaything can.

-

Your spouse throws their bloody vest in the trunk of their car as they fish their pockets for their keys. Another private eye. Why wouldn't the people from your past understand the person they adored is dead. They were so eager to get you home they left too many plot holes in their story which lead to this whole mess.

If faking your death proved anything, it's that your loyal spouse couldn't share.

#Yandere spouse #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere blurb #yandere drabble #yandere writing #yandere robot #yandere android #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #Lemon my oc

[lychniis]

⚘— FOR A RETURN AND DEPARTURE.

i. SYNOPSIS : he returns home after his time in the battlefield, stinking of rust and sweat. you wait for him as you do. as you always do. ( childe x reader ) // evenfall event - prompt ii ( ❛ no grave can hold my body down, i’ll crawl home to her.❜ ) + hyacinth and orchid.

ii. WARNING(S) : mentions of blood and death, childe having no self preservation lol, smut at the end with a bit of angst sprinkled in. this post contains 18+ content. minors do not interact.

# masterlist

Childe’s lips speak of hunger and lust and the monsters he keeps chained and bottled up in your presence. It’s chaos cut apart into a human shape and stuffed in with haphazard abandon; it still leaks through ( It’s those moments when he stares out into the snow and you know he imagines it stained red ). 

Your mother called Childe a monster. You still let him into your home and feed him like a stray fox. And like a stray touched by a kinder hand, he leaves footprints down to the path of your home, in and out and all around. His scent spools into your sheets. His old boots were left in the corner by the door. His fishing rod is tucked out back.

And when there are wounds to be licked, he comes to you. Last month he was cut across his arm. He let you bandage him up and he kissed you with aching gentleness ( it’s one for his family. It’s one for you ). 

This time he’d been stabbed clean through. Most of it was healed on camp, mages tucking viscera back to place and mending blood vessels and ruptured nerves. Lacerations that would have given way in your hands. Burns you can’t heal yourself. It leaves a sourness in your mouth that never quite goes away.

“I was impatient.” he admits with a silly little laugh when you unbutton his shirt. “I had to see you again. How could I possibly function if I don't?”

“You could have spared a few hours.” you mutter. “Look at this. You’re still bleeding.” And you point. His bandages were a sticky scarlet. It rubs off on your hands and you feverishly pray it’s not infected. 

He laughs again, like his life was a game, a gamble. You feel like you’ve been stabbed. It’s selfish, maybe, wanting just a little less recklessness in a soldier. “I can’t stand anyone else touching me like that. Not if it’s you.” he muses, tugging you down on top of him. His touch brushes against your hips, your thighs. Hunger. It soothes the ache in your chest. Just a little. You’ll want more soon enough. 

“Can’t you be a little more careful?”

Your voice is soft, a little defeated. Your hands work. Undo the soiled linen. Sew his wounds. It’s like second nature to you. Muscle memory. Your mind rewiring and purging uncertain clumsiness.

“I can’t test my luck if my opponent is stronger than me…” 

“Ajax.”

Childe does not shut up. “...But I'll always come back to you.”

“In a casket, maybe.”

You finish sewing. The look you focus him with is something rawer than you’d like. Reckless man, you want to scream. Reckless, reckless man. You want to tug at his hair. You want to stuff him away in your home where there is no battle, no wars. 

The bandages are next. They’re tugged tight enough, tied and pinned away. He grabs your wrist. “Alive,” he promises. “I’ll come home alive, zolotse.”

"If you don't"

He's disarming. You despise him for it. "Have a little more faith in me." he croons. 

You’ve had enough. You kiss him, for every day left with a cold side to your bed and a meal for one. Childe lets you as he falls back, and he tugs away at your clothes. It’s viscous. And soft. It’s both.

( And it’s voracious. )

“Off.” he whispers, breath hitching to a whine. You move your legs, let him do as he pleases, testing teeth against your shoulders and tugging your innerwear down for the heat of his palms. And you draw him back to the surface when he sinks too deep, when he forgets he’s wounded in his haze.

His fingers spread you apart, stroking against your cunt, pressing up to your clit. He nips at your lips. He demands another kiss. Rust and sweat hang off of him. It’s familiarity, a chilling comfort, something twisted that Childe turned tender. You embrace him. 

“Ajax. slowly.” you whisper into his shoulder. “Slowly, love. You’re still hurt.”

He slips a finger inside. You buck your hips and whine. 

“But I missed you.” he croaks out. “I missed you zolotse.” He dares to be sweet now, lips pressing up against your shoulders while he works on you, works you apart, as easily as he mans his swords. 

You tug at his hair, let him drive you further, drive you mad. “I missed you too, Ajax.” you finally admit. You know the tragedy that dances beneath the lines here. It’s glaringly obvious, it’s heartbreaking. You hold him tight, so tight like he’s something delicate, something breakable.

( Human. And monster. )

He brushes up against your g-spot. Your hips falter. “Please.” you whisper to him. “Please stay a little longer. Please.”

You don’t understand why you still insist on it. You let ecstasy take you anyway and it loosens your lips and makes you beg and say those whispered secrets stowed and locked away. And Childe listens. He listens to all of them as he enters you with a quiet groan, rocking your body with shallow thrusts. You wonder if his shoulders sunk with guilt then. You wonder if he wished for a little more as well. 

You’re soaked. He’s pressed his face into your chest. His hips canting, his pace quickening. Your body still through numbness and ecstasy, sight gleaned over when the first climax picks you apart and empties out your ramblings to unintelligible cries.

The battlefield calls for him a few days later. He lingers by your bedside. You watch his smile and remember it all.

His side of the bed is cold after. 

❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;

kjhgfvghjk this fic was initially suppossed to include kaeya in the roster okijuhygfgbh but my brain and energy was like "just one sweetie." "but-" "just one, sweetie." see my sense of freedom is non existant in the face of burnout kijhgvfghnj and i'm sorry i like childe a little more i went through a whole enemies to lovers arc with him jo you were there when i told you lkjnhbnjmk.

anyway, this evenfall post was requested by @mysnowmanandmebaby!!! i hope you like it!!!

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill this form up!

taglist — @dustofthedailylife @meimeimeirin @silentmoths @crystalflygeo @ofoceansandtombsanew @ollieink @chiyoso @hleb-chan-sky @thesparklingwriter @localplaguenurse @khxii-i @laughterofthetombs @zhxngii @euniveve @meritamiau @timeofsilversstuff @dumbitchpdf @thexianzhoujade

AINE | 2024. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

#EVENFALL ; valentines 2024 #&&. my writing !! #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #childe tartagalia #genshin childe #childe x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact

[nucifraga]

just spent 6 hrs memorising the basic anatomy of the ribs - SO WHICH RIBS DID JON REMOVE?? [tw anatomy]

so some facts that we know; we know he's alive because of Beholding powers, right? and also that the ribs were "something [he] won't miss" and that the second rib was a "weird one".

there are two possible interpretations of this last fact; it was covered in eyes, it was a different type of rib to the last one, or both.

PART ONE: "the weird one"

let's take this second fact to be true. this means that jon removed two separate types of ribs!!

Quick run-through - There are 12 ribs, and they're all attached to individual parts of the spinal cord. Ribs can be categorised into:

typical/atypical

true/false

bonus: 'floating' (11 & 12 only).

Naturally, it's possible that Jared got one each from either the typical/atypical or true/false categories above, but I think his specific mention of a 'weird one' that he isn't sure that he likes implies it's a floating rib.

Floating ribs are weird. They're not attached to the sternum (big bone at the front) or the costal margin (which connects ribs 7-10 at the front). They're also smaller - by quite a bit! And they would probably classify as 'non-essential' by Jon standards, for ribs. So that's one of them!

Now, which of the 4 floating ribs do I think it is? The thing about the ribs is that they have a few purposes. Like protecting other organs.

The bottom left ribs protect the liver (very very important organ!! basically all the nutrients you ingest go here! it also has like, 500 other jobs - not an exaggeration btw), and the bottom right ribs protect the spleen. Except that usually, the bones that protect the spleen, a very soft organ, are ribs 9-11.

So anyway one of the ribs is definitely rib 12 on the left.

What about the other one?

PART TWO: "something [he] won't miss"

Well, it's not ribs 11-12. It's something different.

SO, a break-down of which ribs he 'might not miss'. I can't lie, pretty much all of them are important. They all protect nerves and blood vessels & attach to at least something. Rib 12 on the left is maybe the only 'unimportant' one I could think of, and even then it helps to protect the subcostal nerve.

Ribs 1-2 are pretty important. It's almost definitely not those two. Likewise, 3-6 are important as attachments for the upper limb muscles, and also for protecting the heart. Rib 7 is kinda needed as an attachment for the rest of the costal margin as well, so the only options are 8-10, really.

But here's an interesting thing about the lungs!! Between the lungs & the diaphragm (& hence the liver, which lies right below the diaphragm), is a gap of about 2 ribs wide. It's called the costodiaphragmatic recess, and it's for your lungs to expand into when you breathe in (and they fill with air).

Depending on how far along the rib you are, it lies between ribs 8-10, ribs 6-8, or ribs 10-12. Which makes it roughly between 8-10. Now, remember that ribs 9-11 protect the spleen on the left, so we're staying away from those.

But rib 8? Rib 8 should be safe. What about right or left? Could be either. But in the interest of balance, I think that rib 8 on the right is my headcanon for Bone That Sat In Jon's Drawer.

It also has the advantage of being a 'typical' rib [ribs 3-9], so for those familiar with anatomy, it looks like a standard rib (but it will still be unrecognisable to those unfamiliar, such as ep 140 Basira).

Mystery solved :D

thanks for reading my tedtalk <3 here are some useful diagrams

#the flesh #tma #the magnus archives #might update later once i'm done with the rest of the thorax #jonathan sims #jared hopworth #tma headcanons #tma spoilers #tw anatomy #look im a baby anatomy student #please please let me know if something is wrong #bc 1) it's interesting 2) you will probably help me pass my exams #i'll almost certainly redo this when i know more anatomy #but for now you get anatomy braindump #surprise it's not a mikecrew post #mag 131 #magpod #jon sims #have slightly edited the formatting #tma research

[ozarkthedog]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒, 𝐏𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

summary: hitchhiking is especially dangerous during the outbreak.

chapter warnings: 18+ only. mdni. dark!joel miller x rescued fem!reader x dark!tommy miller. dubcon → noncon. set a few years after the outbreak and before they meet tess. mention of dead bodies and guns. no beta.

word count: 1414

author’s note: I just want to be their plaything ☺️ this part is pretty tame fyi but the following chapters will be intense.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

No one dies from love Guess I'll be the first Will you remember us? Or are the memories too stained with blood now?

You curse your car as it breaks down halfway to your destination. A town on the outskirts of the state that supposedly was a safe haven. As smoke billows from the hood, you sling on your backpack and head out on foot.

The scenery was the same mile after mile. Carnage mixed with bountiful greenery. Burnt, dismantled bodies no longer empty vessels as flowers and weeds filled the cavities.   

A vulture circles the darkening sky above you as the low rumbling of a truck catches your attention. You turn on your heel towards the sound as it echoes up the road, growing closer.   

It was rare to run across friendly folk. Everyone was trying to survive. Doing things they never thought they’d do and that included yourself.

You knew you were unlikely to survive another few days out in the wilderness with no food or water. Taking a chance on whoever was driving was your only hope. Your hand drops to the gun strapped to your hip. It holds only 3 bullets but no one has to know that. 

The truck slows to a stop and idles. The dim headlights cut through the evening haze and make it hard to see the driver but you hold your ground. There could be a little old lady behind the wheel (unlikely) or a massive motherfucker has his rifle trained on your forehead. 

You raise your hands hoping the little sign of submission will help your cause. You need to find shelter soon if this is going to go south.

The driver’s window rolls down. It’s dark inside the cabin but you can make out the driver’s face as he lights a cigarette. A flicker of orange gives you just enough time to see brown eyes and a head full of dark, loose curls.

Smoke billows from the window as a man leans an elbow on the frame. The silver moonlight paints an eerie haze over the scene, highlighting just enough to know he didn’t have a gun on you.

“What’s this now? You tryin’ to get killed or somethin’?” He asks, a sly smirk tugging on his lips. 

His pointed eyes rake up and down your body and spies your side piece as he takes a heavy drag on his cigarette before flicking the hot embers away. 

“I- My car-” You start but trip on your tongue from the nerves building in your belly.

He looks up and down the road then back at you. “You alone?” 

You nod. “I’m not looking for anything but a ride to the next town.”

The man tongues his cheek in thought before looking to the right. “Whaddya’ think?” 

Shit. There was someone else in the truck.

“She looks nice enough.” The driver mutters ominously. His eyes never leave yours as he takes another drag on his cigarette.

You shift on your feet and swallow down the notch in your throat.    

“Sure.” A deep voice rumbles from the pitch-black passenger seat. “Why not.”

The driver grins and lets out a little holler. “You heard him, girl,” he hooks his thumb over his shoulder. “Hop in.”

Relief washes over you like a hot bath. “Thank you. I’ll give you anything you want from my pack as payment.” You offer as you open the back door behind the driver.

“Now hold on a minute, Sugar.” The driver raises a hand. “Give me your gun.”

Fuck. You knew it was too good to be true.

“How about I give you the bullets?” You counter with a half smile, not wanting to part with your gun even if it was unloaded.

The driver shakes his head. “No can do. The gun or no ride.”

You grit your teeth and weigh your options which are bare minimum at best just as the raspy screech of a clicker sounds in the distance.

“I’m taking off in 5 seconds whether you’re with us or not.” He informs and settles a hand on the shift.

Another screech echoes into the night forcing you to unholster your gun and shove it at the man before jumping in the backseat of the pick up truck.

“Good choice.” He flicks his cigarette onto the pavement and puts the truck in gear. 

The dimly lit cabin reeks of grime and gunpowder. There’s a sack filled to the brim on the seat next to you. You assume it’s weapons or food as your eyes flick to the front seat and meet the grim stare of the passenger.

He’s large; the flannel shirt he’s wearing tugs on his bouldering shoulders as he shifts in his seat to keep an eye on you. His salt and peppered jaw sets in a hard line. “You gotta name?”

He’s unnerving as he stares you down. You squirm but do your best to put on a brave face as you tell him your name. The passenger's jaw twitches but he remains stoic as he keeps his eyes trained on you. 

You couldn’t stand the unnerving silence despite the man’s intimidating presence. “How far are we from the next town?” You ask, timidly.

“‘Bout a day's drive.” The driver says, flicking his eyes to look at you in the rearview mirror.

Your heart plummets. “Shit.” 

“Not to worry. You can stay the night with us.” The driver suggests, sending his partner a smirk.

“That wasn’t the deal.” You argue, instinctively reaching for your gun only to have your hand brush your empty hip.

“You’re not really the one to be calling the shots, now.” The passenger hums before patting the empty seat between the two men. “Join us up front.”

“I’d rather stay back here.” You quip while scanning the back seat for any kind of makeshift weapon. 

“I wasn’t asking.” The older man warns as he cocks your gun, pointing it at you.

Tears fill your eyes but you don’t let them spill as you shakily raise your hands. The man keeps the gun trained on you as he shifts closer to his door to make room. “Climb over.” He commands. “Slowly.”

You quickly nod and do as he says. It was awkward climbing over the bench seat. You try not to bump the two burly men as you settle in between them but with the lack of space your limbs brush their arms and jean clad legs.

Even with the open view of the road through the windshield, you’ve never felt more confined. The passenger slides an arm around the back of the seat and turns his body towards you. “Ain’t this nice, Sweetheart?” 

“The name’s not, Sweetheart.” You seethe through gritted teeth. 

The two men chuckle at your feeble attempt at coming off stronger than you really are. “We’ll see about that.” The older man muses.

You spy your gun as he casually rests it on his knee. You wonder how long you’d have to wait before making a move to grab it.

A harsh hand suddenly grips the back of your neck making you cry out. “Don’t even think about it.” He growls and lifts the gun, pointing it towards your body. 

“Alright. Alright.” You gasp, your throat constricts until nothing but a whimper slips through.

“God damn. You make some pretty noises.” The driver says while pinning your stare and rubbing a callous hand over his crotch.

You want to vomit. This can’t be happening. You needed to find a way out fast. 

“Can see your mind working, Sweetheart.” The passenger claims your attention when he tips your chin towards him with the barrel of your gun. “Don’t think too hard or this won’t end well for you.”

Ice gathers in your veins. You can barely hold the man’s stare as tears fill your eyes. 

“It’d be a hell of a waste to dump this sweet body.” Lust filled eyes trail down your quivering frame as he lets the threat linger. “But it ain’t no skin off our backs.”

Tears spill down your cheeks as your heart beats against your chest. “Don’t be scared, Sweetheart.” The passenger thumbs at the wetness with a soft coo. “You’re in safe hands.”  

He tucks you into the crook of his body despite your weak protest. He smells of cedar and gun power as he cages you into his side. 

The truck veers off the road suddenly. It follows a long winding dirt path that eventually leads to a small cabin surrounded by trees.

The driver lays a hand on your knee making you twitch. “Welcome home.” 

💌 send me mail - feel free to scream at me :)

#dark!joel miller #dark!tommy miller #joel miller #tommy miller #tommy miller x reader #joel miller x reader #tommy miller x you #joel miller x you

[divinehedons]

godless promethean, elektran rage.

navigation: masterlist

pairing: pirate!joel miller x siren!reader

word count: ~8.4k words (I KNOW I'M SO SORRY)

summary: when the wrath of poseidon brings in something not quite human, a hardened pirate with the harshness of a soldier at war faces a bright-eyed siren with the delusion of a dreamer.

warnings: this is a DARK, EXPLICIT fic. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT or i will BLOCK you. so much plot, pirate!au, siren!au, joel is a violent motherfucker, reader is a metamorphic creature that turns human-like when not submerged in water, graphic depiction of violence and injury, mentions of abduction and implications of abuse, explicit p-in-v sex, oral (f!receiving), squirting, creampie, soooo much murder. it's like a greek tragedy without the incest.

note: THANK YOU FOR 600 FOLLOWERS!!! much of this work was inspired by me rereading the odyssey by homer, but the trope of joel x siren!reader is not of my own making! thank you so much for reading, and as always, comments and reblogs are much apprciated!

Be strong, saith my heart. A wave crests over the hull of the ship. Then another. And another. I have seen worse things than this. Synchronized hands haul the rope for the sails, a last attempt to regain control of their vessel. The Balkan sea stretches before weary sailors, endless and unforgiving, with one foot in their watery grave and the other clawing to live.

In the midst of this carnage is The Flounder, harbinger of chaos, populated by a crew of men who pillage, murder, and destroy anything that gets in their way. Joel once thought of him and his men as indestructible. The Wrath of Poseidon makes him reconsider otherwise.

“Goddamnit, Bonnie, we’re never gettin’ out of this mess!” Joel yells over the deluge of rain, tightening his grip and growling as the rope digs in to the skin of his palms. He sees another wave crest over them, sturdy as a wall, coming down upon their shivering backs, leaving them spluttering out seawater. He coughs momentarily, heaving in air as he digs his feet into the deck.

When he regains his breath, he hears his name being called. He looks, their Captain bellowing from where he steered. His new orders came through in the middle of the crack of thunder and the whistle of an unending storm. Check beneath the deck for damages. Fix anything that could sink them. He calls for someone to replace his hold and he runs for it. 

In his head, he had begun to pen a letter back to his waiting daughter under the care of his brother. Dear Sarah, he thinks, climbing down the ladder and finding himself in knee-deep, ice-cold water. I promised you that this will be my last expedition. That after this, we shall live out however you want us to. I only hope that I can live up to that promise. He cusses under his breath when he finds a growing leak in the hull, crossing himself as he immediately went about to fix it temporarily with what materials he could find. You’re safer with your uncle Tommy than here in this misery. And should anything happen to me, know that I love you and I trust you to be good to him, too. He crosses the threshold to see if there was anything else, moving across floating bottles, bobbing up and down with remnants of booze. With a sigh, isolated from the chaos above deck, he leans against a column, grabbing a drifting bottle and swallowing down the booze to settle his nerves.

I grow old, I grow old. He mouths the words under his breath. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

The muffled sounds of the world melts away as he tries to catch his breath, gritting his teeth from the ache in his hips. Getting too old for this. He tries to think of a way that rest can be comfortable in this mess. Sleep, he thinks, delicious and profound. The very counterfeit of death.  It is only when his nerves settle that he hears it.

A splash in the common room. Too loud to be some drifting object. Something that continues to move against the motion of the ship between the waves. He stills himself, the empty bottle slipping between his fingers. Slowly, he moves closer to the source of the sound, like a predator stalking his prey in the darkness. He retrieves a drifting harpoon, peeking through the threshold of the room to inspect. In the semi-darkness, interrupted by the flickering of lanterns and dying candelight, he catches the shimmer of something alive. He raises his weapon, looks through his good eye, his brows crinkling at the effort to focus.

Too old and too goddamn blind for this shit.

He blinks a few times more before he finally sees. And what he sees is you.

Your lithe arms reaching against the walls of the ship, trying to find a weak link that could let you escape. Were you brought in by the waves? Were you the very thing responsible for the leak he just had to fix? Initially, Joel made the movement to speak, to ask how you had ended up here—the sea is no place for a maiden like you. But his breath hitches when he looks closer to see… well, you. The incandescent flickering of a scaled tail, blending with inhuman yet somewhat human skin around your hips, and your upper body, glorious, unmarked, and completely fucking naked.

Perhaps it was the months at sea, conversing with no one but the same crew of men who, despite their intelligentsia and capabilities, do not exactly have the looks capable of producing in him the flustering exhilaration of some teenager. But he, of all people, know of the stories, too. The whispers shared in the saloons in the darkness. The shared thrill and excitement of such beauty and danger lurking beneath the temptresses’ skins. He has heard of claws coming for his companions’ throats, have heard of the trickery they can cause with the power of the ocean entirely at their disposal. He thinks of Odysseus again— tethered to the mast of his ship, The only one of his men to hear the voice of the sirens and have survived. Odysseus, who would have laid his life down  just to come close to the very presence of something so divine. 

Another thing he knows is that the price of one siren is half the bounty they had planned for. Months of work cut out for himself. Months closer to seeing his daughter again. It’s enough to give him the taste of freedom. His own little piece of heaven that, ironically, is someone else’s hell. The funny thing was, he does not feel guilt about it.

Perhaps he was not Odysseus. He was not as noble. Nor did he ever want to be. A noble character would never provide a good life for his Sarah, waiting for him oceans away.

That was the decision that sealed the creature’s fate before him. Without a second thought, he fires his harpoon, the sharp head piercing through the creature’s shoulder as an angelic wail emanates from her precious throat. With her pinned down, he had begun yelling, calling for the presence of men to see what they’ve caught in their vessel. Their ticket to riches. The honeypot herself.

The blade itself incites to deeds of violence.

He swallows down the guilt as the thunder of heavy steps descend upon their victim, her screams only growing louder and louder amidst the exhilarated, disbelieving laughter of his companions. He does not dare to look. Does not dare to see those doe eyes of yours begging for respite, pulling him into your charms.

An eye of an eye. A good life for Sarah in exchange for hers.

Fair enough.

—-

When The Flounder has escaped the barrages of the storm, the sea is quiet. Some would even say peaceful. Joel wouldn't exactly use that word. Not when he hears your wails breaking the silence. That first night, no one understood what needed to be done. No one even bothered to try and treat your wound. The very wound he had caused. Everyone had something more important to do. Clear the seawater beneath the hull, secure the sails, have a quick meal, get a few winks of sleep. Naturally, the mythical being, as all other inconsequential things, were tucked away, you dealt with the usual brusque nature of men.

So when he had been called to watch you before dawn broke, that's what he set his mind to. Stepping down beneath the deck, with spare scraps of cloth and booze in hand. They've cleared out the flooding. But the wood hadn't dried completely. Mick, who he had passed beforehand, gave him a questioning look. "Aren't ya scared she'd rip your throat out?"

He scoffs, tilting his head to the side as he speaks. "I'm more scared of the stench she'll make if she starts dyin' on us, Micky."

What he did not expect when he opens the closet you've been locked in is the metamorphic cross between a tail and legs you kick out at him. What he hears next is the snarl, your body knocking him over, small, webbed hands slipping around his throat. “You asshole!” That same heavenly voice, filled with so much malice that does not fit with the angelic features towering over him. You speak in a language he does not understand, a torrent of words driven by so much emotion that he sees a glance of what Homer was so distasteful about. You could kill him, devour him bones and all and you wouldn’t even flinch.

However, he sees how your rage blinds you, too. Blinds you to his precise movements, making you think you’ve subdued him, only to suddenly flip your positions, pinning you down by your wrists, trying to look into your eyes.

What you see, staring up at him as your last yells escape you, is the strands of silver in his hair. What follows next is his tired eyes. A sea of stories that you feel as if you can almost hear them if the world is quiet enough. However, you cannot deny the warmth to them. The fire that you failed to see in the other men that shoved you in the closet you have been suffocating in. It’s what makes you stop in your struggle as you finally hear his voice.

“Damnit, let me help you, honey, c’mon…”

It’s then that Joel finally comprehends what he sees. You, a mythical being that shifts from merfolk in one instance, to a walking goddess in the next. Perhaps it was what helped your kind survive; camouflaging yourself and disappearing amidst throes of people. “You turn when ya… when…?”

You swallow, breathless and trembling as you grit your teeth. He sees the panic in your eyes, the idea that he can just betray you if he wanted to. If it would benefit him.

“Let me help you, darlin’.”

“W-when I’m…” You breathe in sharply. “When I’m not in water.”

He nods, slowly, watching the lithe legs and your bare body, spotless and perfect in every way. “I see.” He removes himself from you, moving away from your periphery. You gather your breath, turning over to see him, kneeling over an upturned washtub, somewhat filled with some form of water or another. “Those men up there? They can’t see you like this, otherwise…” he trails off, preferring not to picture what they’d do. What they’ve all once done before at sea. “Ya hear me?” He looks back at you, watching the way your hands gripped your bleeding shoulder wound, evidence of what he had already done to you. “You don’t know what else they can do to a pretty girl like ya.”

So, gently, he kneels beside you with a pained groan from the ache in his knees. You flinch under his touch and he gives you a stern look. “Why did you do this?”

He shakes his head, opening the bottle he brought down with him to pour it over the gaping flesh. Your soft fingers grip on to his arm, the softest whine escaping your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re not the only one fightin’ to survive in this world, honey.” He shushes you gently, moving to wrap what pieces of cloth he could find, using them to bandage your wound as you finally soften in his hold. He helps you into the tub, and he tries not to look into your eyes again.

You spoke again when he turned away, giving you the privacy he assumed you needed. “Just because you need to survive doesn’t mean I need it any less.” He stops in his tracks, looking down for a moment before clearing his throat. “Are men always this wretched? That one must tear down the innocent to survive?” He moves to answer, turning back momentarily, before sighing, turning back to continue cleaning up the mess. “Thank you, though. For… this.”

You know exactly how to describe it. You just don’t want him to hear it. The gentleness that comes, not in the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.

Joel hears the noise in his head, clouding his thoughts and drowning them out as he moves from one place to another.as he tries not to think about you, quiet in a tub of water, pretending to ignore him. Men are so quick to blame the gods…

He hands you a plate of scraps. The trimmings from a loaf of bread. A slice of some meat, and the last pieces of cheese he could find. “Eat,” he orders gruffly, moving to sit by the side of your tub, while he seats himself with a slice of bread. “Can’t have ya dyin’ of starvation either.”

You obey, weakened by the struggles of the evening, disheartened by your imprisonment, so close to freedom and at the same time so far away from it. You eat slowly, as if considering each little fragment you were handed, as if the world is unfamiliar in the presence of someone else.

Joel couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was your charm. Whatever it was, he started to tell you things.

He tells you of his life, so far away from the ocean, landlocked. He tells you how they make a living with animals. But he also tells you about Sarah. Sarah who dreamt of the world. Sarah who he was doing all this for. Sarah who asked him as a child to read to her every night. Sarah who was growing more and more with each passing day, the gap between the two of them becoming wider than he could ever comprehend.

“My survival may not mean much,” he says, “but hers is the most vital thing in my life, doll.”

He feels your gaze on him, becoming easier and easier to see as the sun slowly grows higher in the sky. In thirty minutes, his watch will end, and you do not know how the next man will treat you next. Will he be kind? Will he have Joel’s eyes?

He turns to leave, taking the plates with him as he stands up with a pained groan. “Don’t cause too much trouble, girl.” He only stops when you say his name, his gaze catching the blurry image of you, your tail sinking beneath you in the tub. “Yeah?”

“Will you read to me when you return?” you whispered, afraid to show fragility in your own internment.

He nods after a moment of thought, clambering up on deck to report back to the Captain.

Men are so quick to blame the gods.

—

For a while, a week or so, you believed things could be nice with Joel somewhat in your corner. Everyone else seemed to care less or cower in fear of you. Maybe because you do try to scare them away. At least, if you were going to be betrayed, it was Joel doing the betraying.

He returned at the same time just as he did the night before. And slowly, a routine emerges. He cleans your wounds, he feeds you whatever he finds. Then he reads to you. His eyes are too weak to read without you holding the lantern. So you learned that second night to emerge from your tub and to hold the lantern for him. He reads to you with the skilled words of a bard. He reads to you as if he’d read this tale before. Perhaps to Sarah? Perhaps to someone else?

You feel your stomach curdle at the thought of there being someone else in his life. You swallow down the bile and listen more closely.

When he leaves at dawn, you lie in the tub, dreaming of the words he had read to you, turning your back to the man that comes next. They do not bother you. You do not bother them. You become a ghost until he brings you to life.

Sing to me, Muse, of the Man of many wiles.

By the third night, he brings with him a blanket for you to wrap yourself in as you sit closer beside him, trying to follow the words he read, only to surrender because the letters are too rigid, too unnatural. You began shutting your eyes as he reads to you, learning of Odysseus, a once too familiar name you have heard in others of your kind before…

Sing to me, Muse, of these matters. Daughter of Zeus,My starting point is any point you choose.

You begin to talk to him too by the fourth night, observing your transformed toes as he hammered little areas he figured needed repairs. You tell him of the world beneath the waves, the languid distances you’ve traveled, never truly feeling as if you have found a home. You tell him, too, of wonders big and small.

You spoke of all these things, pretending to be unaware of the way he listens with such interest. It’s like you wanted him to be interested. How could you not, when night by night his eyes become warmer and warmer whenever they fell upon you? How could you not when he’s the only one that cared?

You try to read his thoughts, sometimes, when it’s quiet and he prefers to sit by himself, finding a few winks of sleep while you ate your food. He’s rather good at hiding them. You wonder if it makes his life easier. You wonder if any of it is easy for him.

Then he asks you something on his fifth watch.

“Is the whole singin’ thing somethin’ you actually do?”

You turn your head over your shoulder, setting down the snowglobe you’ve taken an interest in the last couple of hours. You saw it on a shelf this afternoon. And you had been impatient for Joel to arrive ever since. You consider the question, Then you smile and nod meekly.

“Do…” you pause, moving to face him instead. “Do you want to hear?”

He smirks, moving the chair closer to your seated frame, seating with the backing pressed to his front, legs straddling the seat, arms atop, covering that sliver of chest you had been sneaking glances from all evening. He had that thin linen shirt on again— the one that swoops down his chest. The one you see in your dreams.

“Only if it won’t kill me, sweet cheeks.”

You like that. Sweet cheeks. You barely understand what it means. You nod slowly, moving to lay on your back as you stare at the ceiling, monotonous and unchanged since you last looked. As you sing, you try not to look him in the eye. As if you cannot bear the sight of him seeing your capabilities and forever changing his perception of you. The hymn is warm, almost homely. A relentless Odyssey that means to take you home. A song that’s said to bring forth memories of home. You know Joel does not understand the language. Nor do you want him to. You won’t admit it, but you’re still terrified of what he could do if you remind him of how much he misses his home.

But what is even more surprising is this: instead of reminiscing about the tropics from which you have loved so deeply, all you can think about is him. All you can picture is his face. All you can see is possibilities of how he’s looking at you now.

When you finish, dawn is already breaking over the horizon. He has to go.

Quietly, you rose and slowly return to the tub with your snowglobe, watching as your body metamorphosizes— your last line of defense for survival. The shine of your scales so familiar, but never this clear under the water. The light is always so diffused— as distant as a foreign planet. Joel, on the other hand, stays there for a few minutes more, looking at the spot where you just were—at the plank of wood bearing the wet shape of your body. You started to think maybe he won’t leave when he swallows, rising from where he sat, and approaching you to hand the cheese he couldn’t eat from his portion of the meal.

“I quite enjoyed that,” he confesses, tucking the food into your palm. Just then, he encloses your hand in both of his, taking a moment to savor the feeling of your cool, changed skin against his. He wonders momentarily if you’ll feel different without your tail. “Thank you.”

He leans down, bringing your hand up to his waiting mouth, his lips pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. A shiver runs down your spine as you comprehend the sensation. His lips. How warm he is… the scruff of his beard against smooth skin. You feel him smirk against your hand, pulling away as he makes his way above deck.

And on your hand is the reddened skin that evidenced the smidgen of affection you were giving. And for now, it’s enough.

You turn your back to the world once more and into your own dream world, staring at your hand as you dream of Joel all morning long.

—

You suppose everything that goes around does eventually come around. You wonder why you're so optimistic. But, you supposed, just as things were getting better, the fates had other plans in store for you.

The call came just as you were coming of the stupor of sleep. From what you can tell, it was barely midday, and someone was yelling above where you resided. All hands on deck.

The thunderous noise of heavy feet trundle above head. The man watching you grumbled, muttering something along the lines of, "don't you dare think about running, li'l bitch."

You watch him slam the door, and curiosity gets the better of you. You rise slowly from the tub, slinking along the floor, struggling to lift yourself enough to peer out from one of the windows. But when you do, you've come to realize the gravest sin of your naivety.

There is a ship to be plundered. Slowly, the masks worn by the men where you are melt away. You see familiar men with their swords drawn, laughing maniacally, screaming and terrifying the ship they've found to appease their hunger.

You feel your body changing, and you begin to turn away from the window when you catch sight of silver hair and scruff. A visage that you finally see in broad daylight.

Joel is one of the men who almost seem to dance to the song of violence. Perhaps the stories were true. Perhaps the secrets of the shadows are laid bare in the light. Even Joel's secrets cannot escape the midday sun. When you see him, he is in battle with some toughened fisherman, their duel witnessed by cowering passengers and well-dressed women. For a moment, you think Joel will come to his senses, see how senseless all this violence is.

But then he takes the man by his hair, holding his head and facing him to the sun. His sword arches across the expanse of his victim's neck, rivulets of blood bursting forth in gush, an unstoppable stream. A squeal escapes you, the violent image burnt into the recesses of your brain, forcing you away from the window.

You run on shaky legs, screaming and yelling, reaching the doorway and attempting to push the door open, only to find resistance. Your fists pound the hard wood, your body pushing and shoving, unable to accept the fact that you can't call to him— show him that you saw and you demand an answer why.

For the first time, ever since Joel shot you with a harpoon, you truly understood something you tried so hard to ignore.

You sleep under the shelter of murderers. You think you felt affection from the hands of a man who just as easily took someone's life away. You are only loved because you're something else. Something not human.

You are only loved because you'll ensure their survival.

—

The blade itself incites the deeds of violence.

When the carnage ended, Joel raised his head to see the sky beginning to paint itself in bolder strokes of colors. He stretches his arms, only to feel the sticky plasma of drying blood sticking to his arms, his torso, spotting the expanse of his face. He is the last to leave their conquered ship, and he takes his time. He walks along the scattered piles of bodies, putting whoever hasn't perished out of their misery with the very same blade he wielded in battle. He's alive. He can go home. He watches the revelry on their vessel: men roasting the spoils from the kitchen, barrels upon barrels of ale and mead slowly being chewed through.

The stage is set. All they need is a little shock of entertainment.

But what he worries about is you. You who probably cowered from fear at the sudden influx of noise. You who definitely saw the things they are capable of doing. You with the wound on your shoulder, healing at a snail's pace with your imprisonment. So, he takes the time to find supplies to help you. He finds antiseptic. He finds needle and thread. It will have to do.

When he returns to his ship, He has spread oil across the deck where the bodies lay. With one bloody hand, he strikes a match to burn away the evidence of their carnage. The burning ship drifts further and further into the horizon, drowned out by the sounds of cheering. Joel is handed a mug of better than average mead.

As he watches the lights flicker and consume the rest of the ship, one question remains at the forefront of his thoughts, echoed and repeated by every voice in his head.

Do I dare?

Clarity comes when he's two mugs in, everyone else fucking off to see how much treasure piled up. He looks at the door that leads directly where you are and the question becomes clearer. It is in the iambic beat of his heart. I am, I am, I am.

It's in the excitement at the thought of seeing you tonight and having a good meal to offer. He begins to smirk, taking two plates and finding food he thinks you'll like.

Do I dare disturb the universe?

—

You do not look at him when he enters. You cannot, knowing the things you’ve seen today. Especially when you hear he’s happy, humming as he sinks down the stairs from the deck. The jump on his step was not there before. And instead of finding that itching curiosity to see if he was smiling or if you were responsible for this joy, you feel your stomach sour at one thought.

Perhaps the slaughtering of others brought glee to his bones.

“You must be hungry,” he says softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. You feel a strange stickiness to his touch. So strange that you finally look, only to be horrified by the sight of his bloodsoaked hand. You yelp helplessly, shrinking away from his touch. You shed tears, luminescent in the semi-darkness, as precious as pearls that only he can see. “Darlin’...” His hand comes to cup your face gently, trying to make you look him in the eye. In this form, your skin is cold, the warmth of his hands turning your skin red.

“Y-you killed them,” you finally manage, the iron smell filling your senses. Seeing you panicked, Joel reaches down into the tub to slowly bring you out of your tub and into his willing arms, slow shushes escaping him. “Are you going to kill me, too?”

So that was what you were so scared of.

You bury your face into his chest, his shirt smelling of him— of sandalwood and musk, tobacco smoke, and underneath it all, a few specks of blood. Meanwhile, he lets you, cradling you in his arms as you continue to shed your tears. He lets you, knowing you wouldn’t listen to him with so much emotion in that pretty little head of yours.

But when you do eventually calm down, he doesn’t miss a moment. He couldn’t.

“I can never harm you, honey.” He breathes in through his nose, finally close enough to smell you. The sea air in your hair, sunshine and honeysuckles from lands he can only dream of. “I can’t even if I tried.”

Slowly, he lays you down where he had dropped his sheet—the sheet you’ve been wrapping yourself around. The sheet that smells like the both of you; that way he could imagine waking up to you the past few times he had gotten sleep. Slowly, he straddles your changed form, naked and so fucking divine it has his head spinning. “Can I take care of ya, darlin’?” He waits for you. Even when everything is pushing him to kiss you— he has to know you want this.

He has to know you’re not miserable.

Seeing this, you take a deep breath. You hold his face. Your skin, smooth and not exactly human, bright against his, earth-marred, bloody, and burnt from days in the sun. And yet, you do not see those flaws. All you see are his warm eyes, so desperate to tell you he wants you, and yet so willing to walk away if you asked. So you grip him by his shirt, pulling him against you in a wanton, desperate kiss.

It is the first kiss you share. The first of the hundreds you’ll share that night. But you will always remember that first.

Because it’s burning against your cool skin. Because the scratch of his scruff is a sensation you have not felt in the long life you have lived. He holds your face, bringing your head closer to him, pressing against the front of his skull, making you whine from want as he deepens the kiss. You’ll always remember it because you know this kiss.

You can already see the ending before the two of you ever began.

His hand slips into your hair, his mouth pulling away from yours, only to drift down  your cheek, your jaw… He chuckles against your skin when you gasp so meekly, melting like butter in his arms.

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” he whispers, marking the crook of your neck with his mouth. “Let me show you how ya have me wrapped around your pretty li’l finger.”

Already, you can see him in your memories, tangled up in him. His kisses on your neck, his spit drying against your skin. His fingers reaching and tearing you apart. In the eternity you’ll be facing alone… he’s there. Just there, a willing invitation to a dream.

He’s pushing your legs up, now fully transformed, and he comprehends everything. Without words, it seems, things simply come naturally to him. He cups your cheek with one hand, folding your body in half as your legs drape over his broad shoulders. His thumb brushes your lips, and you part them for him. You let him fuck his thumb into your wet mouth, groaning at the way you suck on him. “Good girl…”

Just then, his other hand reaches down, a warm sensation cupping your cunt as you whine softly against him, looking him in the eye. “Good God, are you always this soakin’?”

You slowly pull back, shivering softly from the sensation of him parting your folds. Only you, Joel. No one else can do this to me. He comprehends, and he groans again, leaning down to kiss you. His cock aches in the confines of his pants. Just like that, everything dulls out and he can only comprehend this: to have you. You, you, and just you.

“Guess I have some makin’ up to do to ya, huh?”

Just then, his head disappears between the valley of your breasts, marking a trail of blood-red hickeys down to your stomach, one hand pinching a nipple harshly enough to make you squeal, to which he shushes you again. Gonna get us caught, doll. He continues his way, finally finding your sweet cunt. He shifts his hands so he can slowly part your folds. He kisses the inside of your thighs just as you clamp one hand over your whining mouth. And, with nothing left to do, he takes a deep breath, looking at your face as he sinks his tongue down between your folds, tasting you with a longing groan of delight.

Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers all that he wrought and endured.

All you can feel is the flurry of rhythm Joel sets. His trembling jaw, as if whispering prayers to whatever powers may be. His tongue splitting you open and fucking you raw in a way so obscene, you think it’s unbecoming. Perhaps it is. Perhaps by letting him have you this way, you have turned your back on your world. But he fucks one finger into your surprisingly warm cunt and everything else fades away into the silence.

“Fuck, baby…” It’s so easy, you whining urging him on, calling for him and begging to just keep going, dear God. One finger becomes two, then three. Then he raises himself so he can see your face better. So he can see the way your features contort into a heavenly amalgamation of beauty and pleasure and wonder in one full spectrum. But there is nothing more beautiful when his fingers brush against something that made you keen closer to his touch, eyes wide open with your mouth trembling.

“That’s it, isn’t it, darlin’? It is, huh?” He chuckles, the rumble of it vibrating from his chest, echoing to the backs of your thighs, and finally, straight to your wanting cunt. He smirks, his upper body shifting so his arm was much more free— just so he can keep aiming for that one spot that made you keen so beautiful he gets a glance of your otherworldly beauty.

A long forgotten poem comes up from the back of his head, just as he was pulling your orgasm from your willing frame, his other hand covering your mouth before you get too loud just so you wouldn’t be interrupted, caught, and possibly separated.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. “Good fuckin’ girl. Such a good girl, honey…” I did not think they’ll sing for me.

You shut your eyes, grinding your hips into his touch, chasing a sensation you can’t even dare put into words. You whine into the palm of his hand, feeling as if your skin, normally so cool, set on fire with the desire you have for Joel. You peer through your damp lashes, making out the silhouette of his smirk, his warm eyes somewhat swelling with pride.

“Joel… there’s… there–” you barely get the words out when you feel it. Your vision going white, the electricity flowing through your body, and coming out of you in warm bursts.

Heaven, you think, from how Joel so lovingly described it.

When you come to, he’s pulling his fingers away, and a spurt of fluids follow in the wake of his absence. He chuckles, the sound of it emanating the very depths of your consciousness. “Didn’t know ya could do that, pretty girl.”

It leaves you warm, slightly sleepy. Slightly drifting in and out—the way the ocean climbs and recedes from the shore.

You don’t notice the way Joel watches you. The way blood smeared your perfect face. You do not notice his hand tracing down your torso, coloring it a faded, rusty red. Marked by him, and for him.

And yet if some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so will I endure. For already have I suffered so much, and much have I toiled in perils of waves and wars. Let she be added to the tales of those.

“Please eat,” he finally says as he kisses your forehead. “I saved a plate for you.”

So you do. You sit up, trembling, the cool porcelain pressed against your thigh as you feasted. Grapes, expensive nuts, and meats you could only dream of. You try not to think of the price he paid to lavish you with such an offering. Because now, instead of the guilt, you feel the rumblings of power in your veins. You have become his very god, the one he’d slay men for. The very god to which he offers a plate paid for by carnage. And if you’ve become god, what can you offer him?

Heaven was not fit to house a creature such as I.

—-

He makes love to you after dinner. Slow, careful. He doesn’t want to terrify you. He doesn’t want to get caught, either. He has you on his lap, your cool hands cupping his heated face, spineless from pleasure as he fucks up into you, giving you a moment to accommodate him and get used to the feeling of his cock stretching you wide open. Every vein, his very length, arching and filling you up in the best way there is to be filled.

“Tell me you want this,” he asks, and you oblige him. You whine for him, calling, biting your lip and throwing your head back. You lead his hand to your chest, heaving with slow, shaky breaths. He knows what you want without ever asking it of you. And that is why he squeezes the curve of your breast, sitting up to press his mouth to your collarbone. The kisses set your skin aflame, his fingers pinching and pulling the pleasure from your willing body.

So he gives you everything. You cum once again with you on top of him. You cum again after he bends you over the nearest table with his rough fingers rubbing circles on your needy clit. And on the third time, somewhere when it’s quiet, you both lie on the blanket, your back to his chest, his cock unmoving inside of you.

It’s a moment of respite. A lull. A moment to catch breaths.

“How much did you see earlier?”

His arm is around your waist, his mustache brushing against the back of your ear. It’s nice. It’s almost domestic, a word so foreign to you. Perhaps domesticity is something innately human. But he makes you have a taste of it. And it tastes so sweet. You hum softly, tilting your head so he can kiss more of your neck.

“I saw the first man you killed,” you tell him, to which he groans, pulling you closer. “I couldn’t watch any more after that. It was… too much.” You feel his teeth brushing against the curve of your ear. Then he bites gently just to hear you squirm.

“I don’t want you lookin’ anymore, sweetheart,” he whispers, “not if it’s going to upset you this much.” He leans up, peering over your peaceful face, with your eyes shut and your body languid. “But… I suppose I’ll try.” You open one eye, peering up at him. “Less murders, my queen, yes ma’am.”

You giggle, pressing your palm to his mouth as he continues to tease you with such pet names. He speaks behind your palm. Angel baby, cutie pie… Other pet names you don’t comprehend because the sounds disappear into your cool skin.

And then he’s fucking you again, with you on your side and him above you, caging you in his arms. You catch your lip between your teeth, gritting out half-choked moans. Already, the pleasure has begun to border the line between pleasure and pain. Already, you feel your legs quaking, but you feel the tremble in his spine as well.

He’s close. He’s so fucking close.

That’s when you notice how sporadic his bursts of movement are becoming. Fewer and shorter in between. So, you begin to give back, maneuvering your bodies so you’re laying on top of him once more, digging your blunt nails down against his biceps. You feel his hands on your waist. Bloody hands that have taken an infinite number of lives before you. Bloody hands that will take who knows how many lives after. Bloody hands, that, despite their track record, hold you as if you are so fragile in his grasp.

Gentleness incomprehensible. The best of the world in the palms of his hands.

The both of you, flying into deep, empty space. Alone with Joel in the aether.

Watching his orgasm wash over him just as yours does for the fourth and last time. He pulls you into his chest, letting you moan into his chest. The only thing that betrays his release is the stuttered breaths, the shaky fingers. That is all. And then you feel the warmth of his seed, buried deep within you, treasured and tucked away. It’s so much, you feel it reach places you didn’t expect it to be.

Even when he’s ending things, he’s giving you everything he’s got.

In the afterglow, he takes care of you. Already, the sun is rising  Once again, you won’t see him until it’s dark again. You’ll be turning away from the world and dreaming of those eyes and his smile. But for now, he wipes you clean, kissing your forehead as he brings you back to your tub. For now, you hold his hand for another minute.

“Y’know… Sarah loved playing siren as a fuckin’ kid,” he finally says, cleaning up the plates in silence. “She loves the sea.”

You peer over the lip of the tub, smiling up at him dreamily. “She must be so beautiful. With your smile?” You sigh, leaning back as you look up at the ceiling. “You must miss her much.”

He brushes your cheek with a sigh, shrugging. “Every fuckin’ day, baby.”

He walks away from you, and you wait for him to look back. He does, with a shit-eating smirk at your dazed eyes, neck marked up by his own doing. “Don’t kill anybody today, Joel.”

He nods slowly. “Get some sleep, squirt.” As you turn away, the smile drops. He cannot show that vulnerability out there, amongst the men he’s shared blood, sweat, and tears with. Men he killed from and men he killed with. Men who’d want to tear you apart and swallow you whole. Men who’d kill him if they knew what the two of you did all night.

Then how should I begin to spit out the butt-ends of my days and ways? How should I presume?

He doesn’t have to presume for long. Not when he emerges on deck and he sees the dark shadow of land specking the endless sea of blue he had grown accustomed to. There stands the rise and fall of a mountain, a jagged line breaking the skyline.

The Captain speaks, and the shock burns through him so rapidly that he tries to hide it by leaning against the starboard side.

We hit land midday tomorrow. Our li’l baggage ‘bout to finally bring in some fuckin’ money.

The clock is ticking, what else can he do? Go, go, go.

—

When Joel returns, he’s waking you from a long, languid sleep. You turn to smile at him, but there’s a different look in his eyes. An urgency, a finger pressed to your lips to ensure silence. He carries you from the water and you’re brought up close to see the crease on his forehead. When he wraps you in the sheet, that’s when he speaks.

“Need t’get ya out of here, baby.”

The great escape. The prison break.

Now you feel the tension.

He waits for you to turn, to become inconspicuous. Meanwhile, he’s hot on his heels. He’s gripping a rucksack in his hands, heavy with some inconceivable baggage, muttering to himself. You start to understand the madness. You start to wonder if there’s two versions of Joel waiting behind every door. One of them is the lover— the man who’d kiss you as he introduces you to a world of pleasure. Then there was the monster— the man who sliced open the throat of the person he was robbing blind, the man who fired the harpoon that caused your imprisonment.

“So the monster has come to set me free of my bonds.”

You rise, shaky on your legs and clothed in that sheet that kept you modest. It’s when he stops in his tracks, looking you in the eye before sighing, tearing the cloth away from you to introduce a linen shirt of his. It smells of him; perhaps it even reeks of him.

“They’re going to butcher you if I don’t try, sweetheart.”

You do what you promised to yourself you’ll do when he asks you something. You put your blind faith into his hands and take a leap.

He leads you through a maze of rooms you cannot comprehend. You stop at the crosshairs. You duck under tables when he asks you to. And you know why. Because the men who thirst for your blood can be found on every corner. Because you’re running out of time. Because he’d rather lose you to the waves than those who shed blood like he does.

In a matter of minutes, you find yourselves in the cool evening air. It’s a blind spot, and it’s far enough that he helps you to the raft while it’s almost silent. The sounds of men beginning to have dinner so distant and far away, it’s like an entirely different world. Skillfully, Joel lowers you both into the ocean, the distant beating of the waves masking the sound of him cutting the rope that tethered you to the ship.

He keeps one hand on the behemoth you’ve escaped, and he audibly counts. Quiet enough for you to hear. Tens. Hundreds. Then, a thousand seconds passes.

He pauses, straining to hear. In the flickering light of the lanterns, you see the silver in his hair and his beard. You wonder, momentarily, if it’s the last you’ll see of him. That’s when you hear it.

Yells. But not of alarm. Not of you, their treasured prisoner, missing from her cage. It’s the yells of panic. Of suffering. Of pain.

Upon seeing your features, Joel finally reveals the hidden card up his sleeve.

“I poisoned them. I poisoned them and robbed them blind so they’ll never come after you.”

You look to him, waiting for another shoe to drop. But there is none. This is who he is, laid bare for you to see. Your devotee, giving you the ultimate sacrifice. This is not the monster nor the lover. This is Joel. All masks have fallen to their knees and prostrated themselves before you. Every post abandoned and conquered, only for you.

“Go.”

You blink, and his trembling fingers hold your cheeks, his shaky lips kissing the crown of our head.

“No one’s coming for you as long as I’m there to stop them.”

When you don’t move, he grits his teeth, as if caught between a rock and a hard place. A second passes, then his arms take you, throwing you overboard and into the familiar depths of an ocean below.

The waves welcome you with a surge of power, relentless and enduring. More immortal than you. More divine than you can ever hope to be. The moment you are released from Joel’s hold, the saltwater licks clean the wound on your shoulder. It washes away the scent of Joel’s shirt.

He’s already being erased from you.

From beneath the depths, everything comes back to you. The kiss on your hand, the scraps of food. His sticky, bloodmarked fingers marking you. All of it, slipping through your fingers like sand. In the cool darkness of the open sea, all you can see is a flame starting from the base where you last saw Joel. A fire spreading amongst the ship which you once hailed your prison.

You can see Joel’s boat, smaller in comparison, already racing away towards the shore.

All you can do now, with the power of Poseidon surging and bubbling beneath your veins, is to sing. To sing a hymn that begs before the very gods themselves. But it’s a song that begs Joel, too. Begs him to remember you.

Don’t forget me. You do not know if he hears you. Don’t forget me.

You attempt to follow him beneath the waves.

Don’t forget me.

—-

Against all odds, Joel Miller disembarks from the train to find himself in a farmland so familiar to him. Against all odds, it is three weeks later, and he’s followed all the roads and finds himself home.

He breathes in the smell of wheat under the scorching summer heat. He embraces it. He puts one foot ahead of the other, sea legs no longer present. The ground is too still that it still sometimes unnerves him.

A few meters away, he catches sight of the house. The windows wide open, the breeze making the curtains dance within. And on his porch is a familiar figure that had lowered her book and peered in his direction. He sees her face, and relief encompasses his bones. Sarah.

She’s running to him, yelling, loud and youthful and her face is like the sun. He feels himself smiling, too. The first time in weeks. Miles of walking and sleepless nights fade away with each step you take closer together. Then she’s running to his arms squealing as he embraces her.

Tell me. Is this really then Ithaca?

Finally, the years that separate the little family are slowly bridged. He rebuilds. He tells her stories. He tells her about you. When the sun sets, he tucks Sarah in and kisses her forehead.

Now, here he is. A couple of months that feels like decades have passed him by. He dreamt of you every night for the past three weeks. He sits in his bath, wondering if this was ever how you felt in those long, terrifying days. Did you feel peace, too?

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea, by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown.

His eyes fall shut. His breath slows.

A moment of peace as he sees your face, smiling at him, languid hands reaching and asking him to follow you.

He hears your voice, singing into his ear as he chuckles.

Until human voices wake us, and we drown.

-

taglist: @tuquoquebrute @boofy1998 @persephone-girl @lunxramour @none-of-this-makes-any-sense

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pirate!joel miller x siren!reader #pirate!joel miller #pirate!au #siren!au #mermaid!au

[stargirl-writes]

safety net

pairing : force healer! jedi x anakin skywalker

word count : 1.2 k

masterlist | part two

summary

finding safety in a world deranged by war became a distant dream until your childhood friend, anakin skywalker, comes back to your life.

tags : fluff, comfort, friends-to-lovers.

warnings : mentions of surgical procedure/blood.

notes

happy holidays to everyone that celebrates !

as a present, here's some warm fluff that's been sitting in the drafts i wanna share with y'all 🤍

It began when Obi-Wan Kenobi, asked you to heal Anakin Skywalker.

The Jedi Master felt as though it was his responsibility to find the most competent healer in the galaxy after his Padawan lost an arm in a fight against Count Dooku.

And you didn't hesitate taking in the job the Jedi Council has entrusted you with. It was the most flattering, especially since you will be in charge of the care of their 'chosen one'.

You had just finished your apprenticeship in force healing, so you were determined not to let down the Council and the honor they bestowed.

"[Name]? You've grown" Anakin blinks when he realizes it was you. By the way he was smiling ear-to-ear, you realize he had been languid from the blood loss.

You were younglings together. The Jedi Masters had not fallen short in reminding Anakin that he was supposed to be the chosen one. That title, was not only known to him, but to all else.

It isolated him. As you had been. Your natural connection to healing made the Masters want to develop your skills outside the standard curricula.

Anakin was the one you sat with when no one wanted to. It was you and Anakin until you had to leave to pursue learning about healing through other force wielders.

"Yes, Anakin, I'm in charge of your care now" You answered, raising the syringe to his sight so he'd anticipate the injection.

"If it takes losing an arm to have you back, I'd have done it again" Anakin says thru half-lidded eyes.

The sedative was quickly taking its effect and you couldn't dare to look up at Obi-Wan.

"Well, at least one of us is happy about this" You answered.

Remembering your bedside manners, you proceeded with the protocol.

Send the patient to sleep.

Don't appear doubtful.

Don't make promises.

"Is there a color you'd want for your new arm?" You forced your voice to remain calm as you redirect his attention to the question. Both your hands are applying pressure on his severed arm to reduce the blood spilling.

Obi-Wan was pale with worry. You nodded to him hoping that he'd be reassured his apprentice would be fine. He looked like he'd pass out before Anakin.

Anakin leans back on the stretcher, the thought keeping him focused and away from the pain that was being dulled by the sedative.

"Definitely not gold— C3PO will never let it go" His nose scrunched, grimacing at the thought.

You let out a chuckle at his comment. "Alright, not gold"

The Med-Droid had finished preparing the materials and when you turn back your focus to the Jedi, he was already asleep.

You worked efficiently. Time was of paramount importance. The Jedi teachings hypothesized on midi-chlorians being stored in the blood, so you prioritized stopping the bleeding.

The lightsaber cut cauterized the tissues and vessels, making his blood coagulate and turn toxic. To your advantage, you were able to utilize both medical practice and force healing to fully save the nerves.

You can still make him a bionic arm that would be sensate.

By the time you were finished, the design you sent to bioengineering came. A silver arm with hints of red.

It still looked more skeletal than realistic. But that's only because you wanted to improve on it later. This was only a prototype.

Your hand coddles his cheek— this was the fastest way to sense how he'd been feeling.

His signature appears to you as a series of words.

Conflicted. In a state of stasis. Scared. 

You took your hand back, deciding not to pry more into what he was keeping.

Hours flew and you found yourself in a loop debating whether electric signals in the nerves could fire using zillo skin. It would be the toughest replacement for skin, but it's not capable of transmitting signals for sensation.

Your mind was beginning to numb from the mental exhaustion. Your curious gaze lands on Anakin's bare torso. He was still unconscious.

You would have done your research in your quarters, but you wanted to be here when he wakes.

Your mind started drifting and you followed his breathing.

How is it possible for his skin to hug so tight against his muscles?

You blinked, startled by the thought that crossed your mind. Perhaps it was time to sleep...

"Eyes are up here" Anakin says in a singsong voice.

You look up through your lashes, cheeks firing up from the embarrassment.

He chuckles, then his attention lands on his bionic arm.

"How are you feeling?" You stood up, grabbing the charts and taking note of his vital signs displayed on the monitors. You pressed on the recline and Anakin sits up along with the bed.

"Mmmhungry?" He rubs his eye.

"I'll have someone bring something" You smiled. "Can I?" You asked before touching his bionic arm.

He nods and you continued. "Can you open your fist?" You asked, holding the bionic arm, guiding gently.

Anakin's eyebrows furrowed in focus. The arm abruptly closes. "What happened?"

"That's fine, your mind is adapting to sending nerve signals to the synthetic ones." You explained, your fingers unclenching his fist.

Anakin tries again and his fingers opens up in a more controlled manner.

You let out a breath of relief when you realized you have managed to save all those tiny nerves.

"Alright, now tell me how much you can feel" You instructed, running the tip of your pointer finger against his palm, you look up to see him already looking at you.

Focus.

Anakin was not at all subtle. It made butterflies run down your stomach.

"I can feel you, but I can't tell how much pressure your applying" He answers.

You nodded, noting it down.

Now, you need to test the receptors for heat.

Oh, by the force, why must he look at me like that.

You centered yourself on the task in front. You pressed the back of your hand against his palm. "And how does my skin feel? Can you tell if it's warm?"

Your heart was thundering inside your ribs, you were kind of scared that Anakin will hear how nervous he was making you feel.

Anakin tilts his chin, as if he was really trying to feel. "No, I can't feel the heat" He clasps his fingers against your palm as if testing more.

Of course, you couldn't have healed everything. "Alright" You withdrew.

"This is only a prototype, I'll improve its design after we do some more tests" You stood up, trying to establish some space between you and your old friend.

Anakin leans back after noting your action. "Thank you, [Name]" He kept his eyes fixed on you, as if he was still waking up from a dream.

You managed a smile. "I got you"

His eyes lingered on yours, you could not find it in yourself to look away.

A soft knock on the door snapped you awake.

"Well, don't you look well" Obi Wan comments with a wide smile

"Something's different" He crosses his arms, as if trying to figure out what it was that changed.

"Dooku really got you with that scar" Obi Wan nods his head as he waves a hand tracing the scar on his apprentice's face. 

You couldn't hold back a laugh in surprise.

"I lost an arm" Anakin squeezes his eyes close.

"Come, no reason for me to be rude now." Obi-Wan winks at you. "But since you brought it up, how are you feeling?" He steps forward to Anakin's bed.

You leave the two to catch up on their own.

of course i'd seperate the angst on the next part so if you want more of that, head to the next one haha!

#anakin (ciella's ver) #anakin skywalker #star wars #sw #anakin x reader #anakin x you #star wars anakin #anakin #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin star wars #anakin fluff #anakin imagine #anakin skywalker fic #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine

[uglypastels]

Not Wholly Evil |III| Pirate!Eddie au

summary: as the daughter of the Governor, there is quite a heavy prize set on your safe return home, and the captain will not let anything come between him and his bounty.

Series Masterlist

word count: 9.7k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. pirates are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying.

There might be a mention of other ST characters, and for plot sake, everyone is an adult here, just coz I don't want fetus pirates running around, but they are not really relevant to the plot.

Chapter 3: An Affair of Honor

“They say cowardice is infectious; but then argument is, on the other hand, a great emboldener” ― R.L. Stevenson, Treasure Island

‘See me in my quarters tonight, darling.’ He looked at you in this way, you couldn’t quite explain it or decode what the intentions behind his gaze, or words, were, but you did not enjoy it. 

‘I hope you do not mind if I decline the offer.’ You could not let him get through to you; show complete indifference. At the end of the day, all he was doing was just intimidation tactics, and you were better than that.

‘I don’t think you understand, princess,’ his words came out sour but remained calm. As he spoke, he let the blade of the dagger he was toying with graze the edge of  the ship, leaving behind a thin line in the wood, ‘this is not an invitation,’ he kept going, and the blade came closer and closer, digging deeper, the scraping becoming louder. ‘or a request.’ Then, in the next second, he moved quickly, and the blade struck the wood, much like the sword. Except for this time, with actual intent, deep into it, only an inch away from your hand, you almost felt the cold metal against you.

‘It is an order.’

You did your best not to flinch, eyes locked in on his. Could he tell you were terrified, or was your act working?

‘What if I do not want to follow your orders?’ Each word you spoke could very well certify your death sentence, but you could not just stand by as he taunted you.

‘I don’t think you want to find out.’ He spoke again with that usual casual grimace, leaning in, and your head spun from his proximity to you. All his words bounced around in your head, hitting your nerves like ricocheting bullets. Then, at last, you got a grip back on your tongue: 

‘Get away from me.’

Immediately, he stepped away, hands up in the air as if targeted with a pistol instead of words; the smirk on his face everlasting. Then, he pulled the blade out of the railing. It had been pushed in even more profoundly than you expected, but the wood did not split from the damage. Instead, a neat, thin line cut right through it. You could easily imagine that same cut now being in you. In— you blinked quickly at the memories of that one dark day. Then, a succession of quick breaths pulled you back to the here and now.

Taking small steps back slowly, his grin grew wider, and his eyes burned with higher mischief as he bent lower and lower in farewell. Hit boots shook the ground around you as he walked away, not saying another word. But no more words were needed. 

The Captain had his ways.

He would see you tonight, whether you wanted to or not. 

And the night was creeping in faster and faster. The sky’s pink glow was darkening, losing that warmth by the minute. You contemplated on what to do next. The crew was roaming every inch of the vessel, doing their tasks. It was your first time out in the fresh air while they were there, so you did not know if this was the usual speed at which they performed. The only frame of reference you had were the men of your old ship, and it seemed similar enough. Orders were being shouted across the boards from one man to another to help with the ropes of the sails, tying them accordingly, moving the wheel… everyone was rushing around you, and it was hard to keep track of what exactly was going on. 

You thought standing by the edge of the ship would give everyone enough space, but men were still bumping you around, apologising with grunts which were more than you expected them to do. They kept their head down as they walked on. After the fourth time it happened, you decided to get out of the way completely, but it wasn’t as simple as it sounded. Wherever you tried to stand, it seemed like someone had some business to do there to keep the ship going. With glances down at your trapdoor, you saw no option to return to your “room” as some empty wooden cargo containers had blocked it off. 

Another grumble came as you nearly lost your head by a plank. Why would they even need to be carrying it around at this time? 

With no more options left, you climbed the stairs towards the quarter deck, where the wheel was being stirred by one of the captain’s more trusted crew members. You didn’t know any of their names, with no intention to learn them, but you had sometimes recognised him as by Munson’s side. The man glanced your way but did no more than that and focused back on the waters ahead. 

Behind him was a stained-glass door, its panels shimmering with the warm glow of the inside candlelight. Besides that, it was too thick to look through, but you didn’t need to know what was hidden from you. You had been lured towards the captain’s quarters like a helpless animal is drawn into a trap by its hunter. Mindlessly, you walked up to it. 

Could you turn around now? Run away? The need was not for self-preservation but primarily due to your embarrassment; you managed to get tricked into this mess. 

‘Go on then,’ the man at the wheel said. ‘Captain doesn’t like waiting.’ 

‘If he’s so desperate to see me, he’ll wait for as long as I’ll make him.’ You crossed your arms and leaned against the railing of the quarter deck. The man glanced over at you, either impressed or frustrated. Were you pushing your luck?

Ever since you set foot on the bridge between the Hellfire and the sinking Red Tail, this little attempt at rebellion could not have been anything new to them compared to your endless tries at starvation and threats of hanging and punching the captain. 

Right, that happened. Whatever was inside must have to do with that. 

You nervously looked over at the door. The soft, warm light flickered as the fire moved about. But you were quick to turn your head again. 

The sun had now submerged itself under the water, leaving the stars and moon to rule over the sky. You occupied the next few minutes trying to decipher your positioning under the constellations, craning your neck from side to side while identifying the silver lights. Finally, under an unobstructed sky, barely any clouds to obscure it or light to take away the brightness of what was above you, you were met with a million new stars. You could easily spend the rest of the night there, just like that. 

And it was about when you decided to make yourself a bit more comfortable, sitting on the ground, when the door in front of you burst open. The Captain stepped through the threshold but not over it, leaning against the door. He first looked at his man, who nodded down to you. 

‘Glad you could make it, princess.’ 

‘Make it where?’

‘To my humble abode, of course,’ he stretched his arm out, welcoming you in, ‘please. Do come in.’ His voice sounded unfamiliarly sweet like honey trickling down his throat with every syllable. 

You didn’t trust any of it. And, therefore, stood your ground, not moving a muscle. 

The Captain waited about 10 seconds, staring you down in complete silence, before walking back inside. It had all been planned and prepared,  for the moment he left, the man at the wheel came alive and made his way to you. It happened so quickly, and he had such strength that you could not fight back. Before you knew it, you were being dragged into the quarters. You had had enough time to elbow him in the stomach before he let you go and shut the door behind him. 

It was now just you and the captain. 

You spent the first moment inside taking everything in. It was spacious, once perhaps used as a navigation room, but changed into the captain’s chambers. You had deducted that what was initially designed to be the captain’s sleeping quarters aboard this ship had been made into a place for the rest of the crew to sleep. Much more spacious than the lower decks, which were now yours to call home… lucky you.

At the back of the room you stood in, large panelled windows spread out into a view of the sea that the ship had just passed. The water and sky merged into the nothingness of dark navy, only lit in the slightest sense by the stars. 

In front of the windows stood an impressive oak desk covered in aged and weathered scrolls. A large stain was running down one side of the furniture as if someone had spilt their ink container. Behind it stood a majestic chair— a throne, one would most likely call it. Worthy of a king, yet rotting on this cursed ship.

At the left side of the cabin was a bed. It was quite plain, with a thin mattress and, to your surprise, a blanket just a little bigger than the fleece you had been given. Yet, it still looked heavenly compared to your current sleeping arrangement. Opposite the bed, on the right side of the room, stood a large dresser and commode, like the chair, beautifully engraved and carved. Compared to the old bookcase next to it, it looked like it belonged to a king… maybe it once did. Who knew when it came to these people?

The walls were adorned with decorations, the centrepiece being two large swords crossed with each other. There were also golden and silver chains hanging off of sticking-out nails and drapery made of the finest materials yet used like the commonest of cloths. It was clear that whoever these items belonged to them now had no knowledge or care for their value in the world. They were just objects to him that he could use as he liked in his room. This idea terrified you.

You followed the captain with your eyes as he walked by, only taking a second to look at the large map nailed to the wall opposite you. The floorboards creaked beneath your feet as you walked. Not sure where to go, you just made your way to the smaller chair in front of the desk. Now closer, you got a small glimpse of everything on it. They were indeed mostly parchment scrolls and stacks of paper. Some letters, notes and drawings, but before you could get a better look, Munson shoved everything into a drawer on the desk’s side and kicked his feet up onto the furniture top. Without permission, you sat down too, trying to look casual, but you could not, for the love of god, make yourself feel at ease with his gaze piercing right through you. But you could at least try.

‘I would like to apologise.’ As you had hoped, your words burst through him like a bullet, leaving him wide-eyed and lost for words, but he quickly and smoothly recomposed himself as each time before. 

‘How so?’ He raised a brow inquisitively. He was studying you, analysing your words and movements, and you could feel it; just did your best to ignore it.

‘I want to apologise for my behaviour out on the deck. It had not been my intention to act out so irrationally or to hurt you or cause any tension among your crew, who I know deeply respect you so.’ What followed was silence as he let his words soak into himself. That lasted approximately a quarter of a minute before he nodded shortly. 

‘Your daddy has tought you well, hasn’t he, princess?’

‘Excuse me?’ You blinked slowly, not receiving the response you had expected.

‘Don’t try to fool me with the pleasantries, sweetheart. No one taught you to fight but, instead, told you you could get away with your pretty smile, I understand.’ 

‘I…’ you stuttered momentarily, trying to comprehend what the captain had said, most notably the new nickname he had slipped past his lips. It was strange to get hung up on a thing like that among everything else that had happened, yet… ‘Do you think I need a man to tell me how to survive?’ you let your mind realign correctly again. ‘That’s quite a rude assumption to make of you.’

‘Oh, please, princess, on the contrary.’ He had you completely speechless, which might have been best for him as he had plenty more to say. ‘Feel offended if I actually start believing that is all you can do. You are much too smart to just play this naive act. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. You are  too smart to think that a little slap would be enough for me to lose all of my crew’s respect– I should feel offended by that kind of assumption, as a matter of fact, or that I was supposed to get fooled by your submission now. If you think a few kind words would be enough to make me melt for you….’

‘I don't think even the flames from the deepest pits of hell could do that.’ 

‘And there you go again, sweetheart,’ he chuckled.

‘I didn’t mean–’

‘No, I know what you mean, princess.’ His mannerisms and voice constantly wavered between calm and raging, too quick in the changes to pinpoint precisely. Nevertheless, it kept you on your toes and your heartbeat skipping. ‘And I think you know that if I really wanted to punish you, I wouldn’t do it here, but out there,’ he cocked his head toward the door, ‘where everyone could see what exactly happens when you disobey the captain.’ He looked at you; it was enough to make your whole body freeze. Who would have thought this warm honey colour would have such a cold effect on you? 

‘So if you are not to punish me,’ you sat up straight, cleared your throat, ‘Why am I here?’ You let your back hit the chair's backrest, allowing one of your arms lazily hang over the armrests, but it didn’t feel right, so you quickly shifted sides. 

‘Must there be a reason?’ he asked, which you thought was ridiculous. But, of course, there had to be a reason for him to bring you into his cabin after days of being on his ship. Besides altercations and confrontations, the two of you had barely shared a word, and now you were sitting six feet away from him, talking, almost civil-like.

You forgot he had asked you a question or what your answer was supposed to be. 

‘You are right,’ he sighed, despite you not saying a word. ‘I don’t let just anyone in here.’

‘Is that meant to be flattering?’ You raised a brow, still unsure where this situation was leading to. He seemed to think your question through momentarily before smiling with his head down. 

‘No, I suppose not particularly.’ There was another long silence that followed. You looked around more at the chair you were sitting on, it seemed to be a plain and straightforward chair, and nothing else in the room gave you any sense that something was wrong… then why did you feel like there was? And why had he not stopped grinning? 

You turned toward the door, wondering if you could outrun him and leave the room. But… would there be a point to it? The ship was only so big; you could not hide on it forever.

‘I have my man Henderson waiting outside, so don’t worry, he’ll catch you.’ Munson said as if he could read your thoughts. ‘Is this really so bad? I’m quite enjoying the silence.’

‘Perhaps you enjoy it because you have the privilege of understanding the circumstances of it.’ 

‘See, you are too clever for all that pretty princess nonsense. Truly unflattering.’ Yet it is what he remained calling you constantly. Princess. Your jaw clenched as you made your body sit as still as possible.

‘Unlike your brutish decorum,’ you quipped, unsure if your intentions had been humorous or insulting. Either way, you got him to laugh. That small chuckle, but he tilted his head back slightly this time. It was just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his neck and the scar that ran right across it as if someone had tried their hardest to put him down a long time ago, their failure now permanently stitched into his skin. It seemed like the type of thing the Captain would take the joy out of. 

The candles flickered all around you, enveloping you in the amber light. Compared to the dark wood of the cabin, and the darkening sky outside the windows, the room felt like it was trapping you within its flames. And they seemed to be growing. Like in your dreams, except it was not the darkness, but this devilish light that was taking over. The glow burned more and more, like a halo around the Captain. Brighter as his grin grew wider, tugging at the corners of his mouth like a string. To see Munson smile like that chilled you to your core and distracted you from realising what it truly was that lit up the sky. 

At first, you considered it to be the glow of the sunset, but that could not be. It had set long ago. The sky had already turned into a black abyss that no sun could come close to. Millions of stars were looking over you, the moon was at its smallest form, but the sun was not giving off a warm glow. That burning globe was nowhere to be seen. 

Thus, upon closer inspection, you realised what the source of light was.

Fire.

Real, warm, man-made fire.

Your body moved on its own, with no thoughts behind your actions; you got off the chair, which fell back to the ground with a thud as you ran to the window.

It looked surreal, the small island in the short distance—It was hard to see, but from the far right side, you could make out the shape of a harbour town, at the foot of a mountain, with houses surrounded by deep shrubbery and trees, coloured by the warm yellow and orange light of the torches on the street. You could almost hear the people on the coast talking and singing in the tavern. As much joy as it was to see a landscape with more than the blue horizon, none of it felt familiar to you. It was as much of a hopeful as it was a sad reminder of your state. Because it was too good to be true for it to be your home, you recognised the differences immediately, but you would take anything over this ship. In addition, you saw the ships anchored at the small harbour: militia. Someone out there could save you.

You let your hand touch the cold glass. The candles in the room formed a soft glow on everything, reflecting in the windows. Therefore, you could see him get up from his throne and walk over to you, hovering over you only inches away. He had not said a word since your small comment, had barely reacted besides that grin, and you were awaiting his next move. 

‘What are you doing?’ you asked in fear. He, however, did not answer. You had to make out from the reflection what was happening. The reflection, as well as your own body. His breath on your neck, his lips ghosting that part of you. One of his hands reached for yours, which you quickly pulled away.

‘I just remembered,’ he said, his voice like you had never heard it before. It was indescribable as, like most of his actions, you could not pin them on an intent. 

Your breath shook as you repeated one word. ‘What?’ 

‘Why I wanted you here, darling.’ His voice was merely a whisper, and you could have felt it on you from anywhere in the world. Like nothing you had felt before and preferably never would again. It followed you around and covered your entire body. Maybe because of that, you had not realised he had left you at that window. So focused on ignoring all the signs he left on you and too enamoured by the island that crept closer and closer to you, you did not know that Munson had moved away from you. That he, in fact, had walked all the way across the room.

Until it was too late.

You could not manage a syllable before he explained himself, already standing at the door. 

‘I make for a lovely distraction, don’t I?’ With that, he opened the door and stepped out, shutting it loudly behind him. So loud you nearly missed the lock being turned on the other side, but that kind of sound does not escape one. 

You were about to protest, already taking your first steps towards the door, cursing the captain and his moronic jests when, almost simultaneously, the ship bucked. Like something heavy had fallen off it and was keeping it from moving. The anchor. The ship was settling. They were planning to go on land to the town ahead of you.

And you have now locked away, once again, in the captain’s cabin. 

After a scream that made your throat burn, the room fell into silence. It was so quiet in the room you could hear what was happening outside. The crew was noisy, bustling around, and excited. Slowly, the puzzle pieces were coming together. 

The active crew. The harbour town. The mischievous smile on Munson’s face. 

You had not expected anything less than filthy trickery from the captain, and here it was. He locked you up in his cabin to prevent you from escaping onto the land. Having gained freedom from your cage, it would have been too easy to lock you in again. Instead, he played you. He lured you forcefully into his quarters to chain you up so you could not run away. 

Well, not exactly chain you up, but as you stood in the middle of his large room, you felt as if you had been shackled to the ground. Though you could move your entire body freely, each move felt heavy, like the solemn act of locking that door not only restrained you but was actually sucking the energy out of your limbs. 

That is what he did to you. This impossible man exhausted you every waking minute of the day that you were near him. 

You reached for the door once you regained some movement in your legs, despite knowing how it would end up. Pulling it made it only budge slightly in its hinges, but it would go no further. It was locked. No matter how hard you pulled and pull, you did. It was as if you would be strong enough to break whatever lock held the hinges closed. Before you knew it, your fists slammed on the wood panels, and tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes. You would have screamed if you had any hope left.

Why was this your breaking point? Was it that you always ended up in the same place, no matter how much time passed? Locked up in a dark corner. Powerless and afraid–the thing you were fighting so hard from becoming. That might have perhaps been even more infuriating. Not what he had done to you, but what he made you become. The poor girl pleading to no one to let her out of the room she walked into alone. 

You hit the door until your hands hurt, but no one came. Of course, not. No one was aboard to hear it. They were all threading the land… You didn’t even want to think about what would happen to those poor people. Those unsuspecting civilians just living their lives in a small harbour town. You could see the building through the large window now clearly. They looked to have been built with no wealth. It is where fishermen lived with their families. They would have nothing to offer those storming into pillage, burn, and murder. Because that is what those monsters of the Hellfire did. And soon, they would return from the island with their “treasures”, just like they had from your ship. 

But… would they come back with more women? Had you been just one of their trophies? What would have happened if you were not the daughter of a rich man who could pay them for your return? More tears streamed out. At this point, it was unstoppable. No matter how often you told yourself to stand up and pull yourself together, it would all crumble down as fast. 

Deep breaths. Just for a few seconds.

All you could do now was remind yourself that you could do better. That you were better than Munson and all his men. That when he came back, he could not see you like this. You had to stand up and show who he was trying to break down. He showed off his battle scars proudly? Well, so could you. You would ensure he would see those reminders before your tears, which you now wiped off your cheeks.

The candlelight flickered, but they had been on for a long time, the wax melting with each passing second. How long until you were in complete darkness? Would they come back by then? It must have been a quarter of an hour since Munson locked you in his room. How much longer would they need to destroy a town like that? A few more minutes at best. It would be pointless to keep banging at the door, so what could you do but sit it out until you were released. 

You considered sitting in his chair— no, it was definitely a throne. Even from across the room in the dimming light, you could make out the pictures placed upon it with a knife’s blade. Craftsmanship you could have imagined placed in your father’s study. As well as most of the furniture around you, actually. But to sit in it felt wrong, and in fact, the bed posed along one of the walls looked much more inviting. 

However, it was nothing of the luxury you had expected from looking at it. It creaked as you sat down, and the unevenness was imminent when your back touched it. Whatever way you lay or rolled, it felt like ten thousand tiny pin pricks to your spine. Could it be worse than the floor you had been prompted to in the cargo den? And this was the captain’s lodge… It did not make sense. 

The pillow, however, felt heavenly. With a softness which only the finest goose could provide, suddenly all the other pain went away, and with the warm fleece thrown over you, you could fall asleep in moments. If it only wasn’t for everything else in the room, and your confined state, that pulled you away from your slumber. 

You remained on the bed, unsure how long, which troubled your mind. Surely, by now, they should have returned with their harvested bounty. Instead, Hellfire remained uncharacteristically peacefully quiet, and the town mirrored that ambience from what you could make out through the window. The only fire that burned lit the night and felt welcoming to all.

And for a long time, nothing changed. 

So, locked in a room alone, with no option of serene slumber, you began to roam around practically. What else could you do? The captain had doomed you to hours of boredom. Therefore, you could not expect him to think you would do anything else. Or did he believe you would curl up in a corner and cry until his return? It was not hard to imagine that a sight like that would be appreciated by a man like him, and well, you were not ready to give him that. Besides, the idea of being able to look through the things in Munson’s seemingly, private quarters felt like an opportunity only a fool would not take. 

Once the idea had bubbled up in your mind, your eyes immediately hit a target. The large wardrobe right opposite the bed practically called to you. With its uneven doors that stood ajar by simply being put together wrong, it felt like an invitation. The hinges creaked like any other on the ship and opened to a rack of coats, shirts, pants, and boots. They were all distinct but similar enough to know one person had put them there. Who once may have owned them would remain a mystery until the end of time. 

You let your fingers trace over the material hanging in front of you. It was silken but old and moth-eaten, fragile from its use. Most of the shirts were, but it would do. So you grabbed the cleanest looking one and a pair of trousers, and that was that. 

With no idea when anyone decided to come back, you had to move swiftly, putting an item on as soon as one had taken another off. It was easier said than done. While you had removed most layers of your dress to make it more comfortable, it was still a hassle to remove in its entirety, and then the amount of material flooded over you as you tried to keep it together while simultaneously pulling this new shirt over your head.

It was quite large; the sleeves had to be rolled several times to reach your wrists. The collar was practically slipping down your shoulder, but it was decent. Only now did you realise how much weight you must have lost on board, not having had a decent meal in so long—even longer. Because the conditions on the Red Tail might have been idyllic compared to now, they still were not the best. Food was not scarce but was no feast either. Not wanting to remind your body of it, you pushed the thought of a meal away and went back to your clothes. 

The dark brown, or nearly black, trousers were a loose fit, sagging down your hips as you let go of them. Luckily, there were a few belts in a drawer of the wardrobe, and you picked one that felt the least flamboyant–the one that would cause the least damage as “stolen property of the captain”. It was your strategy on all pieces of clothing. Besides comfort and cleanliness, you did not want to stand out. Having seen how the rest of the crew dresses, your thought of dark trousers and a white shirt seemed safe enough. To ruin this with a large silver belt buckle was counter-effective. Though your eye did momentarily linger on one belt, embellished with a golden clip formed to look like a snake with a ruby eye.

There was no mirror in the room, or any suitably reflective surfaces, besides the window, which gave you an impression by opposing the dark night sky and waters with the lights inside the cabin. Seeing yourself after so long was not the most pleasant sight, but you could also witness one strength. Your smile. It was still there. Weak, but holding on and pushing yourself to go on.

You would get through this.

And the new clothes certainly helped. Ignoring how wrong it felt to wear something that belonged to Munson and that he has worn countless times, no doubt. Could you remember him wearing this specific shirt? You couldn’t be sure when all the items look so similar. But the chances were high for that to have happened, and you weren’t enjoying it. It was like a cruel joke that Munson took out on you once again. You felt his influence and the ghost of his presence without being near you. Even the things you wanted and did on your own accord, planned to rebel against his oppressive position over you, he still managed to get his hands on it and poison everything.

Could he poison you? Corrupt, whatever piece of you was left unbroken? If this was considered theft, which he most likely did, would it mean you had stooped down to the level of the sea criminals? The idea made you feel like the boat had suddenly rocked heavily, tossing your head and stomach around until you saw double. But only momentarily, because then another somewhat comforting thought came to you. If you were already in the darkness, you could settle, and there was little you could do to make your matters worse. 

You grabbed the ruby-eyed snake belt off the shelf and wrapped it around your waste. Munson be damned.

Once dressed and fitted, you folded your old dress and put it onto the bed. Of course, with so much material, it could be repurposed in a handful of things, but most likely, you saw it take up the function of a new pillow for yourself. 

After that, you looked at what else there was to see and to find out about your dearest captain Eddie Munson. Next to the wardrobe which you had just ambushed, in the corner of the room, stood a large bookshelf. It was uneven, seeming to be bucking under its weight and all the heavy volumes stacked inside it. How the books were placed looked like an intricate puzzle, highly sensitive. As if it would all topple down if you simply touched it. 

You were hesitant to walk over to it, to open its glass doors and peek at the titles carved along the leather-bound spines. Unsure why you had expected to books to have formed a coat of grey on them. Dust from years of neglect like most things and men aboard. You were proven wrong, however, when no dust cleared as you opened the shelves. Whatever information they held inside has been read on several occasions. At least a more significant part of them.

Some books, the ones on the lower shelf, were less disturbed, with that thin layer of grey topping them, a topic that must be less appealing to the reader but interesting enough to have rubbed off the gold of the spine. Not being able to read what was said on it, you picked the book up. 

Though you recognised the words, you could not believe what you were reading. Not in this room, on this ship. The two did not connect in your brain. 

Milton’s words seemed foreign in this context, but you knew them well. It was the first that caught your eye of the pages marked with a red ribbon in the middle:

Of fellowship I speak Such as I seek, fit to participate All rational delight, wherein the brute It cannot be human consort.

After a moment, it made sense–perfect sense, in fact–for Munson to have obtained such a story. The temptations of the fallen angel to corrupt the world, calling war upon the heavens. It had never spoken to you before, but suddenly, rereading the verses, you felt a cold chill run down your spine.

A page was enough for you to put the book back in its place. Next to it were the other volumes of Paradise Lost and works by other poets; Swift, Blake, Wordsworth and Pope were some of the few you could make out in the worn-out binds. On the shelves above were books on astronomy and bundles of maps, although these felt unnecessary when glancing at the large map that covered most of the wall. As you had looked at it for the first time, seeing the amount of ink poured over it in annotations and markings, it had felt entirely unusable, but now you saw a logic to the madness. The arrows and dotted lines. The crosses over certain islands, marking past victories presumably, or future ones. Where could you be finding yourself on this mural? You tried to look for a while but, in reality, had no possibility of knowing where the Hellfire was in the world. But you did find another place instead. Seeing it on his map, the original, by now slightly faded, ink showing the city name tauntingly, pained you. Knowing you were so close to finally being free again made you want to scream all your feelings out at once. Your home remained in its place, calling to you, and there was nothing you could do but stare at it blankly, trace your finger over the letters, and ignore the fresh ink circling it like a dooming curse. 

But besides this enlarged edition and the atlases in the bookcase, there were even more maps to be found on the desk among navigational instruments. A compass lay discarded, broken and turning in its place like a tornado. The loose pieces of paper were ready to be blown away to the world's four corners: reports, diary logs, and letters. Unfortunately, the writing was not discernible enough to read, and something within you told you there was not enough time to decypher the code-like signature. What you did still try to look at was the drawers of the desk. There had been three in total, and the first two opened up to reveal more paper and a gun. Barrell blackened from frequent use. It certainly was good to know of this item’s existence and location. 

The third drawer, you were ready to pull out, but it seemed jammed in—nay, locked. You tried to pull it a few more times to be safe, but whatever contents were inside it were not intended for your, or anyone else’s, eyes. You glanced at the table to see if anything could help you pick the lock but soon gave up on the idea.

And probably for the better, too, as you heard it precisely as you opened the first browned pages. Voices and footsteps. The men had returned. You couldn't be sure how much time exactly had gone by that you were alone, but enough to become startled at the burst of sound. And it all happened so quickly that you had no time to figure out what their chorused voices meant. There were no signs to explain what happened on shore. The only thing that felt right to conclude was that they were… happy. Satisfied with whatever venture went on in your absence. 

The door flung open. 

You were not sure what made you do it, but the second the door moved, you were up on your feet with the old gun in your hand, pointing it directly at the head that appeared. The brown eyes in front of you gawked open in shock and confusion, and it made you smile your first earnest smirk in a long time.

‘You’ll have to excuse me, I tried to make myself a bit more comfortable while you were away,’ you tried to sound as confident as possible, as these few hours by yourself had given you the encouragement to do so, hoping that the tremor in your hand was not visible from the distance between you.

‘I can see that, princess.’ Slowly, the shock in your visitor’s eye subdued. ‘Please, be my guest.’ Munson extended his arm toward the thrown behind you, offering you the seat. You looked at it, unsure. All you could think in that second was that he would expect you to be too scared to take up the proposal, so you sat down. Legs wide to take up as much space as you could. When you looked back up at the captain, he seemed composed at first glance, and his words spoke in a relaxed tone, but you felt something was not quite right. His secure posture was overshadowed by the flicks of his eyes, from you to the desk, the bed, the books, and the gun in your hand. Your chest still rose heavily with each breath as you tried to calm down when he stepped closer.

‘You can put the gun down now, darling.’ He smiled and came forward to the chair you had sat in previously. The roles were now reversed, yet wholly not, for you knew he still had the upper hand. He had the ship and the crew in the palm of his hand. All you had in yours was a gun… with no bullets. 

The trigger clicked, and nothing happened. 

 Munson made himself comfortable, and in the meantime, a crewmate walked into the room behind him. You had seen him around the ship but had not heard his name. He was one of the better-looking ones around the vessel, but it did not say much in your circumstances. They were as ugly as the others on the inside. 

But you were not occupied with the man, or his appearance, as much as with what he was carrying. A large tankard, which sloshed around a dark liquid as he walked, and an even bigger plate. Its aromas hit your nostrils, and you immediately felt yourself drooling at the thought of a decent, warm meal. 

The captain had let his crew member pass, placing the food on the desk, and when his eyes caught you, he froze. You must have drastically changed your appearance by dressing in the captain’s clothes, and the gun was still lazily hung between your fingers. Nevertheless, his eyes stayed on you until he left the room. It was once more only you and Munson now. In between you, the plate of food. 

‘You must have enjoyed yourself quite a bit in here, didn’t you?’

‘Well, there is only so much a person can do when locked up alone.’ 

‘Next time, I’ll be sure to leave you some company then, shall I?’ He watched you intently, but he had not touched the food or drink. Were they possibly for you? The idea alone sounded silly. It must be another torture plan of his? Let you close to a proper meal, give you hope, just to take it away and make you watch as he indulged in the feast himself. Your body screamed with hunger, the days of eating so poorly finally catching up on you, but you pulled back. Your eyes found his directly as you stared silently, expecting his next move. 

What happened next was not that.

‘We figured you must be starving.’ The captain’s words sounded sincere, and it was your turn to gaze up at him in shock and confusion. What was this supposed to mean? You looked down at the plate once more but did not move.

‘Is this poisoned?’ Better to ask and possibly catch him off-guard.

‘No, it is not poisoned.’ His features softened. ‘Why would we do that?’ He pushed the tankard and plate closer to you.

‘I’m not sure. You seem to constantly want to punish me with no rhyme or reason.’

‘Even if it was poisoned, it would not be effective of me to tell you the truth, now, would it?’

‘As if whatever you do or say only has one intention?’ You retorted, knowing fully well that the man was full of deceiving trickery. His words were layered, his actions calculated. He would manage to play you like a fiddle either way. You knew it, and he knew it too. 

‘Here then,’ exasperated, Munson grabbed the turkey leg on the plate, took a rough bite out of it, and followed it with a big chug from the tankard. ‘Sufficient proof for you, princess?’ he asked, still chewing. But, of course, your mind immediately swerved to the fact that if the meal was indeed poisoned, the toxins would need time before taking effect. And in that time, which he would know how much that was, he could probably find a needed antidote. But he did not seem the man to take such a risk. He wouldn’t perform such an act if it was not safe. Not for your sake. He may seem caring now, but he did not give a damn. Why should he? There was nothing for him to gain out of it.

But he ate the meat with enough ease to make you immediately regret letting him eat your food. 

‘Please,’ he said once he put the food down, ‘it would be a shame for it to get cold.’ 

You gave him an unsure look before hunger took over your mind. The second you reached for the food, there was nothing else anyone could do to stop you from eating everything on that plate. 

It could have been your starving status, but you could have sworn that it was the most delicious meal you had ever consumed, so rich in flavour it was bringing your energy back to you simply by its taste. You couldn’t help the ecstatic moan that escaped you. 

Munson chuckled, ‘yeah, it’s good, isn’t it, princess?’ You did not respond, too occupied by drinking the ale. Never before had you enjoyed the drink's flavour, but it was like ambrosia, coming directly from the gods to you. 

Nothing was said until you finished your plate, coming close to licking it clean. All this time, the captain watched you. Eyes like that of a hawk pinned in on you, catching all your movements, surely analysing them to take advantage of in the future. All you could hope for was that something by your new appearance could throw all that off by just a twinge.

‘Will you keep staring at me like that?’ You felt bold and so let your words out as they came. See how far you could take it. 

‘Can’t blame me with such a sight before me.’ He leaned back in the chair. ‘But no matter how you dress, you’ll always be my princess.’ 

You gagged at his comment. ‘I had to get out of that disgusting dress.’ 

The captain glanced over at the discarded material on his bed. ‘Yes, I can only assume that must have gotten uncomfortable, but you could have just said so. I’m sure we could have found you something else to wear.’ Yes, say this now, why don’t you. Of course, that makes it all sound so reasonable. You were growing increasingly impatient with this man, if that was even possible. 

‘Yes, well, if you didn’t want me taking your clothes, you didn’t have to keep me in here–’

 ‘I have no problems with you wearing that.’ Munson glanced over your body again, and that cold chill that became almost synonymous with the captain to you ran down your spine.

‘Was there a specific reason that I had to be here?’

‘I couldn’t have you running off, could I?’ He checked the tankard, just to find it, much to his disappointment, to be empty, but he still smiled as he put it back on the desk.

‘You could have locked me in my own cell.’ 

‘Thought you would have preferred a bit of comfort for once.’ He said, still looking at the cup. 

‘I do not need comfort,’ you have slept on the ground for weeks, or so it felt, at least, and you could barely remember what it was like to sleep in a soft bed. ‘Besides, your bed feels worse than the floor.’ 

‘You know how to insult a man, don’t you.’ Clearly, by his bemused face, you did not. Whatever you did, the captain was unphased. ‘And after I gave you a nice warm meal, let you wear my clothes.’ He clicked his tongue in disappointment, which was a few steps too far for you. 

‘No– but… I can tell what you are doing. So you can stop this whole charade, because I can see right through it.’

‘Oh, can you now?’ He leaned closer, with his whole body over the flat top of the desk, ‘enlighten me, then.’ 

You quickly searched his eyes for an escape as your mind reached for something to say, but no words were coming out. Munson gave you a few seconds before he smiled and leaned his forearms on the desk.

‘Do you think so little of me? That I am incapable of kindness or decency? There isn’t always a snake hiding in the grass, my dearest.’ It was hard to tell when he wouldn’t stop smiling his wicked and mischievous grin. How could you not think he had schemes up his sleeve when he looked like that. 

‘I think we are both aware of how much you are capable of. And I do not want to have anything to do with it any longer.’ It had been a long day, one after many of such kind, and you did not want to have more to deal with when it came to the captain’s antics. Whatever he was brewing, it could not be good.

‘Are you saying you did not enjoy tonight?’ his eyes toned disappointment, which felt like a mocking stab directed at you. ‘I really would have imagined you to be more thankful, darling, and yet, here you are accusing me of poisoning your delicious food, then questioning my intentions, assuming I am taking advantage of you... While I’ve done is keep you and my crew safe. I couldn’t have you roam around free on the ship, possibly damaging it, or, even worse, yourself.’ Liar, you thought, you were scared I would try and escape.

You glanced at the bone that remained from your dinner. It wasn’t sharp enough to stab with, but maybe if you swung hard enough, it could do some damage. 

‘Do not act like you suddenly care about me or anyone else. Do not mess with my mind because, in all fairness, you cannot.’ Not anymore.

‘I was doing nothing of such kind. But even if—’ Munson got up back, placing his hands behind his back. ‘I will be honest with you, darling, so do not take this as an insult, how could you, if I agree with you– I do not care what happens to you. Not personally. As much as you do not care for me, I assume, at least.

‘But to keep you here for the amount of time it will take me to get you home and get my reward, I sure as hell hope it will be worth it.’ The way he emphasised “hell” made you flinch. ‘And I don’t think your dear daddy would like it if his princess returned home harmed. That could cost me– you understand this, don’t you?’

‘And keeping me locked in a cage, underfed, dirty and miserable– that is how you think I should be treated?’ 

‘You get to live in more luxury than my men, dearest. Or would you like to scrub the deck too?´ He was quick in his responses. But your mind was stuck on what he had really meant in his earlier confession.

‘So, what, I’m an investment now?’ you were worth plenty to him, just not in the same way a human should appraise another human’s life.

He smiled, clicking his tongue again. ‘Isn’t that what a tradesman would call it?’ 

‘A tradesman?’ you scoffed at the idea. ‘Is that what you think this is? A trade?’ Your father was a tradesman. Never could you imagine him acting in such heinous ways to keep his business running. 

‘Is it not?’ He looked around as if the surroundings were a clear answer. And perhaps they were but for different reasons. 

‘Yes, of course. You rampage and kill and torture and destroy. Arrive anywhere and steal whatever you can handle without mercy.’ You remembered how you were dragged out from underneath the table on the Red Tail, right across the ship and the bridge onto the Hellfire. ‘How is that not pure and earnest trade?’ You mocked with a roll of your eyes.

‘I know it must be hard for you to understand, but business at sea is no easy feat. It is a game of survival above anything else. The decision of sailing out to sea may as well be a death wish.’ He kept his tone calm, steady, and yet filled with condescension. He was speaking to you as if to a child and, even worse, trying to feed you a false narrative of heroism and bravery– the exact opposite of what he was.

‘You’re disgusting,’ you wanted to spit the words at him, but your throat was too dry. ‘If you think you can trick me into thinking that you are some kind of hero or that you saved me–’ was this really the narrative he believed to be leading? And was he trying to convince you of such tales? It felt ridiculous and, in all fairness, disrespectful.

‘That is what you don’t seem to grasp, princess,’ his voice suddenly turned softer, intimate. As if he was about to let you in on the deep secrets of the universe. But simultaneously, something was brewing underneath it. ‘There is no such thing as good or bad. No heroes or villains. Some fight for their beliefs while others fight because they are told to.’ His voice grew stronger, sterner. ‘And when you come across the second type, you may try and reason with either side, but you will find that to be impossible. They are simply pawns fighting a bigger man’s game. If you’re lucky, you might get through to some, but in most cases, it is easier to fight it out, much more reasonable, actually— violence is the only universal language. If you sit and think about it, we are all the same on either side of a war. There is nothing to be scared of in one man. It is everything around him, what he stands for, and the aftermath of the battle that scares most.’ His final words were emphasised with a violent tone, but he still held back on how he truly felt. 

‘I–’ you had no words to respond to his little speech. Not when his golden brown eyes were still soaking in your colour. ‘This is no war,’ you finally said, ‘You demolished my vessel and abducted me like a feral monster!’ 

No insult would penetrate his tough skin, however. His eyes were just as deep and cold as any other moment of the day. ‘You can call us devils, or whatever you’d like, darling, but the truth is…the real monsters– the ones you should really be scared of– do not show their true colours. You will never know you’re in danger until it is too late.’ 

You had no words to respond to what he had just proclaimed. The room was filled with the dying flickering of candles and heavy breathing from both of you as you tried to regain your stable heartbeat. The captain glanced over at the map on the wall and spoke his next question still looking at it. 

‘Do you hate me?’ Was his expression sombre or fatigued? And yet you felt like he was hoping for the answer you gave. 

‘Yes,’ you responded without hesitation or stumbling. ‘“Despise” would be a better word for it, in fact.’ 

Despite most likely already having several replies ready, he wondered,  giving you a moment to collect yourself. With one of his hands, he rubbed his stubbled chin in thought. That stubble had been a new addition to his look. As you had noticed, he was usually a man to regularly shave, but something must have kept him away from the blade.

He turned around, his back facing you. He had broad shoulders, which you could see rise with each breath he took, even with the layers of clothing over them. He seemed to be encapsulated in the ocean’s silence, too deep in his thoughts. You were almost comforted by it until he quickly turned back to face you.

‘Splendid.’ For a sober man, he had the stature of a village drunk, a short attention span, and an erratic nature to his words and actions,  ‘And tell me, if you wouldn’t mind—’

‘Why do I get the feeling that I will.’

‘Now, now, let me finish.’ he held his hand up for anticipation and halted for a second before announcing his question: ‘Why do you despise me so?’ 

‘Why?’ you scoffed, feeling as if you had made your reasons loud and clear any moment you had spent with the man, ‘It is not like you have given me a reason to feel anything else but severe distaste for you. Let it just be the fact that I have been held prisoner on your ship for days.’

‘Yes, dragged you from underneath the desk, you poor thing,’ he said with distance. ‘But it was not me, however, who performed said dragging. So, again, please, princess, why do you hate me?’ 

 ‘It is not like you have given me a reason to feel anything else but severe distaste for you. You are a vile and mannerless man, with no morals or— are you even listening?’ As you talked, he kept looking at the map, walking across the room, seeming to have no interest in you as you sat on his thrown answering the question he himself had asked.

‘Yes, yes, do not let my vile mannered and moralless existence disturb you.’ One of his brows furrowed, but you doubted it had anything to do with you or what you said. ‘I still find no reason in this for your personal hatred towards me.’ He could not be serious. You refused to believe so. And his large interest in the mural was beginning to bring you on edge. 

‘Is there something wrong? Because I can tell you that I had not touched your precious little map of yours—’

‘Oh no, that’s not it. Don’t you worry you're pretty little head, there will be no cruel punishment for you… just yet.’ He smiled, stepping closer towards the map, letting his head hang from side to side. ‘Yes… I see.’

The curiosity was eating you alive, but would he tell you if you asked? There was only one way to find out. 

‘What is it?’ 

Captain Munson did not answer, and you assumed he, once again, was simply ignoring you when he suddenly clapped his hands with an exclamation and turned to you. ‘I had my suspicions when the island we just visited felt unfamiliar, but well, it’s making sense now.’ 

‘That what?’ 

‘It seems we have sailed terribly off-course for the past two days.’ 

In other words, you were lost. 

Chapter 4...

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[velvet-paradox]

Intense

Fandom: Sleep Token (Band) Pairing: Vessel x Female reader x III Length: Long Summary: Your eepy roommates suggest they can help you out. Warnings: NSFW 18 + ONLY, LISTEN UP PUNK I know what I'm about ok and I shouldn't even have to to explain this but for ffs this is for funsies, fictional purposes only. I don't know these British men and I don't claim to! But am I having an absolute ball listening to them everyday day since I heard Dark Signs??? Absolutely. I have not and will not know peace on Earth ever again so with that being said... my lizard brain wants to shoot my shot and get sandwiched between Vessel and III (purely based off their on stage personas) and I'm pretty sure all us worshippers would enjoy kneeling and begging for forgiveness for all the eepy guys. DON'T LIE TO ME; I'll know. ;) One late night thot lead us down this path so here ya' go, we've got: strong language, explicit content, MFM relations, polyamorous activities, kissing, oral (m receiving), p in v, protected sex, unprotected sex (don't do it!), double vaginal, dirty talking, creampie III is a mess, Vessel is along for the ride and you're indulging in the spoils of detailed smut. Tagging: @synnersaint my ride or die

ENJOY!!!

You stare at the red numbers on the clock next to your bed. You blink.

Unfortunately unfazed by the hum-drum pace and the position you've found yourself in.

Ugh, how did this happen again?

The man on top of you, circling his hips against your own, balls deep in your cunt should be fun, exciting, a turn-on at least but you just laid there, once again, taking it but not getting anything out of it. You faked it the last three times just to get him to get off you, out of your apartment and out the door so you could finish yourself off with some post nut clarity. Which is what you should've done in the first place.

The first time you had sex with him, you chalked it up to nerves. It'd been a few months for him and a bit longer for you at this point. The second time you excused it as you did go out for drinks earlier in the night and the last one was just plain awful. No foreplay, bit your neck too hard and pretty much gave you a titty-twister which was not fun; at all.

But he's nice! And funny, easy to talk to you and here you are, making more excuses for a man who can't even get you off. This is just pathetic, girl.

You felt bad faking your enthusiasm but even as you moved in unison with him, hearing him huff and grate out oh my fucking god for the fifth time, he didn't even have a clue.

So you dialed it up, two more minutes had passed with him just thrusting inside you, he didn't even notice you weren't as wet as before. What a fucking disaster.

You sighed and made your O face, biting your lip and holding his waist, the slapping of skin sped up briefly before he pulled out with a groan of your name, panting as he jerked himself, tore off the condom and came on the inside of your thigh.

Fucking finally.

Your date was quick to get dressed, mentioning something about an early shift change. He gave you chaste kiss on the corner of your mouth, cupping your face as an afterthought as you followed him out of your bedroom.

"I'll text you when I get home. I-- oh!"

You bounced against his back, stunned as to why he's just stopped like that when you peer around his frame. There on the couch in your living room sat your roommates.

"Oh my-- what are you guys doing home?" You asked, frantically looking between the two sober faces and their luggage by the front door. Well more like the painted chin of one and the eyes of the other. You were hyperaware of the drying cum on your leg and crossed your fingers and toes they didn't hear your activities or what remained to be seen.

"We live here, remember?" Vessel waved one of his hands, III nodding along.

"When you said you had roommates I just assumed they were other girls." Your bedfellow side talked to you as to not alert your boys.

"Is that a problem?" You asked.

"No I just uh," he looked at III when he stood, an attempt to intimidate. "It's fine um... I'll call you."

"Well that was rude," Vessel announced, joining his brother after he left. "Didn't even introduce himself."

"He won't be around for long. I wouldn't worry about it." You dryly chuckled before embracing both of them. Vessel cupped the back of your head, pressing his chin into your hair before letting III swoop you up in his gangly arms and gave you two solid spins. "Put me down! You reek."

"Ah, the mask has seen better days I'm afraid. Can't wait to get a hot shower and something in my belly. Road livin' ain't what its' cracked up to be, ya' know?" III admitted.

"Um, let me get changed and I'll make you guys some food," you jogged out of the living room, calling over your shoulder. "Lord knows what you boys eat on the road!" ....

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," You paused the movie and turned to face Vessel on the chaise lounge part of the couch, long limbs sprawled out, ankles crossed and rocking. "What's up?"

Vessel twisted his painted mouth before asking an out of pocket question. "Why do you torture yourself?"

Taken aback you wondered what he meant and crossed your legs. "What? What do you mean?"

"I think you know what I mean." When you showed your genuine confusion, he sat up. "Your little boy toy. Not that III and I have been cheeky little perverts and eavesdropping on your late night escapades but... we can't help but be concerned. Either you're a silent climaxer, some people are and that's totally fine and we're bold to assume or your partner isn't doing it right."

"Excuse me?"

"We've only been home a few weeks and we've heard him far more than we've heard you," Vessel explained, ignoring your anxious fidgeting and cuticle picking. "What we have heard though, is a lot of buzzing after your friend leaves."

Oh. My. God.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, desperate to get out of, out of your body and on the run. Blood pounds in your ears at the audacity of this whole conversation. Your roommates have heard you getting off, know you have toys, know your friends with benefits is lacking the benefits part and that you'd not been taken care of. You wished it was still cooler out and you could grab the usual throw off the back of the couch and hide away underneath.

"What are you guys talkin' about?" III popped in, holding a glass of chocolate milk, an absurdly long and coiled straw was hidden beneath his mask as he sucked dramatically.

Vessel smirked. "Oh just Y/N and how her new beau can't get her off."

"Oh finally! I've been dying for this conversation," III exclaimed and excited plopped down next to Vessel, scooching closer and leaning forward as he drank some more. "So what gives? Give us the goods."

"I don't... he knows what he's doing, it's just--"

"It's just he's bad at it." III giggled.

"I can get off, okay?"

"Yeah, we know that. Just not with him."

"I... fine. It might not even be him you know," you tried. "Maybe it's me. Maybe I can't get out fast enough."

Vessel quirked his mouth. "Get out of what exactly?"

"My own head. I think too much, you know that. I need to feel everything in order to shut my brain off and not worry about how many loads of laundry I need to do, when I need to switch out my sheets, did I pick up my towel in the bathroom? What should I have for lunch tomorrow."

The boys looked between themselves, shrugging and looking bewildered. "You... you think about all that stuff all while having sex?" III snorted and shook his head. "You're a madwoman, you know that?"

"I'm trying not to think of those things!"

"That's what I was afraid of," Vessel took III's now finished drink away from him and set it down. "If you want, we could help you out. Save you the trouble and the energy and uh, some battery power."

You chuckled. "You're joking. You two are gonna' help me out."

"Just say the word and we belong to you," Vessel crooned, licking his top lip. The pink of his tongue was such a juxtaposition to he obsidian black that covered his face, his arms and hands, his body. "This could be a one time deal, if it's not up to your standards, we don't have to mention it ever again or... it could be a three times a week sort of thing."

"Three times a week?!" You screeched.

"That's up to you."

....

"So uh have you guys like... done this before?" Your voice doesn't even sound like your own, shaky, breathy, uneven and higher pitched. You pointed between the duo and yourself. You hadn't but your incognito search history might say you've looked at it a few times.

They admitted their deep rooted feelings about you. Your stomach flipped for Vessel's breathy pet name of Duchess, your toes curled for III's Sweetness. 

With the way they looked at you, you couldn't even remember his name at this point.

Vessel shrugged. "Just with you."

"Just me?" You balked, you knew the guys were close, sometimes skin tight so to find out they'd not acted out was stunning and a major green light. "Oh um, I'm flattered. iI think."

"You should be. III isn't much of a talker, speaks his mind when need be."

"Unless its' dirty." III piped up with a shrug of his own, with the way his eyes wrinkled you could tell he was all smiles under that mask.

"A little tact there, brother!" Vessel scolded him, giving a backhand to his arm. "Don't scare her off."

"What? She should know. You should know. I am dripping with sin."

"III!"

"What? We're all adults here, right? An' we're talking about fucking each other so who cares?! And she might even like it. Do you like dirty talk, sweetness?" III asked with a tilt of his head.

"Uh I um... I. Well..."

"Do you," III stood and got closer, much closer, swaying his way to close the gap between you. He stood with his legs on the outside of your own. He tilted his head the opposite way and kept his eyes trained your face, the heat from the eye contact made you hot. His painted thumb touched your chin. "Like that?"

You'd never felt this kind of intimacy, this heightened level of attraction and arousal and it made you nervously laugh at the thought that it was radiating off your friends like a fucking forest fire.

You swallowed. "Yes."

"Aha! Knew it. Those pretty eyes and that fucking mouth are hiding plenty of secrets, yeah?" III pointed, that thumb of his traced along your jaw before pushing gently on the underside, making you look all the way up at him.

If they wanted to play, you thought, I guess... let's play.

"Maybe."

"Oh! Now we're getting somewhere," III chuckled and looked over at Vessel before touching your shoulder, moving the strap of your sleep shirt back and forth. His hands were hot, scorching your skin as he touched the light fabric. "Should I undress you or should you undress me? Or maybe Vessel wants to unwrap us both. What do you think?"

"I think--" your throat constricted before keeping his ardent eye contact. "I think I want to undress you first."

III liked that idea, he wiggled his shoulders and raised his arms. "I'm all yours, mama."

....

His hoodie is the first thing to go, floating down to the floor. A black compression shirt separates flesh and bone, it comes off easily over his head. He's only half painted there. You can see streaks of his skin, soft and smooth, hidden from view. His stomach tightens when you trail your hand down his chest, foreign to your hands.

"I think about you, ya' know? Not to be pervy or bold but... you are the prettiest thing we've ever seen."

His compliments make you warm, you clench around nothing.

He suddenly grabs your hand and moves it higher. "Feel that. You make my heart fuckin' pound like crazy. The first time I saw you in that green sundress, you know, the one with the little daises on it... fuck me," III admitted and dramatically bit his fist. "I've never been so hard in my life!"

You know the dress in question. It's hanging in the front of your closet. Guess it'll be making a debut and turn III on once again. 

"Oh yeah? Well maybe next time I wear it... I won't wear anything underneath."

III made the deepest of groans, moving your hand down his ribs while he undid his belt. "Fuckin' hell, don't tease me woman."

"You don't like that?"

"I like it too much! That's the problem."

His zipper was so fucking loud, it cut through the room like a hot knife. Smooth and seamless, even Vessel had to clear his throat. You looked over at him on the chaise, legs wide spread, lithe arms outstreatched over the back cushions. With three separate eye holes in his mask, it was hard to tell where he was looking but in this moment you felt them boring straight into your own.

"Keep going," he hummed and visibly bit his lip. " 'm enjoying the show."

With III was just in his boxers, it was your turn. Your disrobing would be a lot quicker as you were in a light pajama set and crew socks. You mmiiced III and raised your arms above your head, his nimble fingers danced over your sides, dragging the material up and over your head. He tossed to Vessel, who out of your peripheral, had inhaled your scent on it. He did the same with your shorts. The rush of cool fan air make your skin prickle, your clit throbbed when you fully noticed the outline of III's cock. Jesus. 

III got on his knees and lifted one your feet, gripping your ankle.

"No. Keep them on." Vessel spoke, pushing himself up off the couch and sauntered over to you, fully nude and on display. He embraced your face, pressing his forehead to yours before slinking behind III when he stood.

Vessel's painted arms looped around III's, locking them behind his back. III made a noise.

"Take him out," Vessel instructed with a low gasp. "Take him out and see what you do to him. Same as what you do to me. Hell, all of us, duchess."

ALL OF US?!

Before you got on your own knees, you touched III's hips, hooking your thumbs just beneath the fabric and dragged them down. His cock made the softest and prettiest thud against his lower belly. Your eyes bounced from their faces, down to his leaking cock and back again.

"He wasn't lying," Vessel chuckled, his chin now draped over III's shoulder. You met his eyes. "You make him rock fuckin' hard, love. Want her to take all o' that? Nah... you need her to take care of that, don't you?"

"Fuck yes." III whined. "Please."

"How are you gonna' help our good boy, love?"

III shook before your even touched him, you on your knees before him was enough to have him looking frantic. Completely at your and Vessel's mercy, you took him in your hand first, getting familiar with his length before dipping your head in worship, opening your mouth. You hesitated for the briefest of moments before angling him deeper and further into your mouth.

It was a good thing Vessel was holding him up because you felt and saw III's knees wobble once you got your stride, gliding your hands up and around his thighs, arching closer with your fingers reaching his ribcage. Your palms against his skin felt every twitch, every jolts, every fucking sigh. The noise that strangled out from his throat when you dragged your nails down his stomach had you clenching around absolutely nothing.

"That's it, you're doing such a good job, love bug. Atta' girl, get 'em off real good, yeah?"

"Yeah yeah, fuck yeah," III whined and bucked his hips, "Your mouth feels so fucking good. Suckin' me off real sweet, mama. Give it to me."

"She's good with that mouth, hmmm?"

"Oh fuck V...wait 'til she oh shit, right there-- wait 'til she's gaggin' on you. O-oh my God."

When III took the Lord's name in vain it sounded so sweet in comparison to your other lover. You could feel yourself getting wetter, more powerful than you ever had with him. You took their words of praise, locked them in a little safe in the back of your mind for safe keeping.

"You're lucky I don't shove your ass out of the way then." Vessel teased and III mewled with delight.

....

III made grabby hands at you, wiggling his fingers as he laid out on the chaise part of the couch. He wiggled, tapped and pointed towards his mouth too.

When you climbed on top of him, his arms engulfed you, bringing you chest to chest. You kissed his face over his mask, startled when he suddenly pulled the chin part of it up to his nose and kissed you for real. You whined and kissed him back harder and faster, tasting his mouth, licking inside of it. He smacked and grabbed your ass, groaning against your lips.

"You two are fuckin divine," Vessel breathed, shouldering off his robe finally, unzipping his own jeans. "Fuckin’ hell, what a sight."

You turned your head to his silky voice, watching him stroke himself.

You were in big fucking trouble.

III nipped your arm. "Want you. I want you so fucking badly. Think it'll fit? Think you can take it?"

You took a breath and held his cock, hot and ready against your pussy. Rocking against the crown, splitting your lips to ready you for him. You licked your lips and lowered down on it, your mouth instantly opening. "Fuck yes."

"Good God!" 

"Shit... a little more, love and you'll take him all the way in. That's it." Vessel cooed and pet your head, then your face. "Kiss him again."

With his heavy hand on your head you kissed III tongue first, the sounds of you two kissing had Vessel praising both of you, leaving him breathless.

III grabbed your hips, rolling and fucking up into you, breathing you in.

You and III stilled at the sudden dip of the couch.

Vessel's hand on your shoulder, his other ghosted and trailed over III's mask and vulnerable chin and mouth behind you. He lost it at that, whimpering against your cheek, a new flood of arousal coating your walls.

"Just relax pretty girl. We've got you, we got you."

"What are you--"

Vessel's thick fingers reached around your front, pressing and swirling down around your clit. "We're both gonna' fit. Just remember to breathe for us, ok?"

Holy shit. This was intense.

III's arm surged up and over your shoulder to touch Vessel, ghosting over his naked hip, gripping his bare skin.

"I've got you both. Trust me."

It was your idea to lift up, empty of III only to arch and take a deep push of Vessel. You frowned and touched III's face when Vessel pulled completely out. You both gasped when he spat. III squirmed and whined, the sudden intrusion of Vessel lining them both up against your hole, wedging their cocks inside you.

It didn't necessarily hurt, more pressure than anything and for fucks sake, you'd never felt so full in your life. 

"Fuck V! Give us a warning, holy fuck." III breathed when the frontman started to rock and move. After a few minutes of fucked out bliss, it seemed like Vessel was fucking III through your body.

He smeared his face along your spine, your shoulder, leaving wet open mouthed kisses along your neck and ear.

"Good fucking God duchess, you are absolutely soaked for us, aren't you? Can feel you really start to open up for us now, yeah? Fuck you're amazing. Isn't she?"

"Ye-yeah yeah. Positively sweet," III's eyes sparkled in an amorous way. You kissed him hard. "Can't wait to have a taste of you, sweetness."

The thought of him working his mouth on you made you keen and fuck down on them.

Limbs twisted and tangled, Vessel nipped a small, incredibly sensitive spot behind your ear before licking the shell of it. Humming and praising you with that gravely timber. He was touching you, holding onto one of your tits for stability and III did the same, using just the pad of his thumb to pebble your other nipple.

You would never recover, that much you were sure of. They were out for pain and pleasure.

On a particularly hard thrust from III your moan slipped into sex drunk chuckle. "I think she likes it."

"I'm in fuckin' heaven." You breathed, reaching back to touch Vessel's thigh, digging your nailbeds in deep.

"That's it, you fuckin' naughty thing." His hand left your breast and found a new home around your throat, turning your head to face him and receive a sloppy kiss. III moaned at that.

"You two are fuckin-- ah shit. I'm close, fuck. Give it, give it to me."

Vessel's laugh against your lips made your walls constrict.

"Just like that!" III practically yelled, digging his fingers into your thighs, alternating to your hips, changing the tortuous pace. "Fuck, 'm gonna' bust, sweetness. Fuckin' cum inside you all nice and deep. Make it stick."

"Fuck me." You hung your head and rode it out, nothing but pure pleasure and bliss was shared between the three of you. And it was worth it. "Oh you guys... aha! I'm gonna' cum."

You couldn't remember the last time you came that hard with a partner and never with two! They both rubbed their hands and mouths over your skin, groping over your sandwiched body. Vessel's chest stuck to your back like glue, III grabbed and pushed both of your breasts together as he came shortly after with a grunt of your name, stringing along a beautiful array of obscenities. 

"I've got you, I've got you both in my clutches now." Vessel's voice sounded like silk on glass next to your ear as he continued to thrust, spearing III's load all over your gummy walls. III reached out a lazy hand and Vessel took it, lacing their fingers together over your shoulder. 

Skin on skin on skin.

III leaned up for another smooch with you greedily enjoyed, smacking your spit and lips together until all you could feel and hear was Vessel shudder behind you.

....

Vessel couldn't stop smiling as you giggled, helped to your bedroom, wedged between them on your bed as they cleaned you up. You would certainly need to clean up that side of the couch later. III was careful of your more tender bits, being stretched out and filled, removing black grease paint of where they were.

He drummed his fingers over your arms when he was finished, molding his body to yours. His head against the side of your neck. III soon joined in the snuggle, jumping into bed and under the covers with you. He gave you another kiss before pulling his mask back down, and pet Vessel's head.

Your phone buzzed when your boys had fallen asleep, you had a feeling of who it might be and if this is how the future looked; there was no way you were gonna' give this up.

#this kinda got outta hand but i'm into it so #these boys are so special #ugh i love them #little eppy boys #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token imagine #sleeip token fanfic #vessel x female reader #vessel x you #iii x you #iii x female reader #iii x reader #vessel x female reader x iii #vessel x you x iii #also there's not a whole lot of fics which is a tragedy cause these guys FUCK #part deux?? #ENJOY!!! #heaven help me

[shidouryusm]

𓆩♡𓆪✿༝༚༝༚ -> You're so cool. It makes me hate you so much

Kuroo x reader (gn)

word count- 2.5k words (excuse me wtaf?!)

content: hinted rivals to lovers, mutual pining, lots of bickering between reader and kuroo, mention of cunt (not in smut way).

A.n -> once again this is my worded desire of having a rivals to lover trope in my life. Also it's my first time attempting so let me know how it is. not proofread bruh it's almost 2:30am here.

The night arrives with all its glory of darkness. People marching out in costumes – fake  crimson blood dripping off the sides of their lips while face smothered in white paint, or dark cloaks shrouded their body while a skull mask decorated their face.

Loud music blares into life through the screen of your phone as you watch a small snippet of a party that was getting wilder and wilder via your bestfriend/roomate’s instagram story. She just took a swig of her drink and you were concerned how is she going to hold herself up.

Hollers of enjoyment and rhythmless singing along to songs were mixed with the deafening bass of music.  Everyone was out and about…everyone except you. 

Well, with a stuck up snob as a professor who assigned a report immediately the morning after and with final exams edging near, you had no option but be the bummer and cancel on all invites, leaving your costume hanging sadly on your closet and get down with laptops and notes. 

Frustrations bubbles inside you and FOMO nearly kills your motivation to even study. You put aside your phone, not indulging in moping over other people’s stories anymore. A sigh leaves your lips as you continue finishing the report you wished you didn’t procrastinate. 

Your mind still ponders over the party that you could have went to.

“well at the end, the little A’s splayed all over the grade sheet would be worth all of it.”

You attempt to console yourself. You shall compensate by scoring the top on the finals and rub it on the face of a certain ravenette. Smiling devilishly at the thought.

You hate to admit but a majority part of you keens to perform the best in this elective course that has remotely no relation with your major is to beat that one particular student in your class.

Kuroo Tetsuro. 

The overachieving dumbass nearly topping every exam that he takes. Waltz around the campus with a smirk that urges all the nerves in your body to break through and act on their accord to strangulate him. It’s been only the second time that you matched a course with him but no one in university was more competent than him when it came to pop a vessel in your forehead. 

You don’t even recall how the dynamic between you two ended up like the way it is but you would rather throw yourself from a cliff, down into a lake of acid before thinking about being civil, let alone be friends with him. 

Maybe you are exaggerating, you consciously think, before the memory of him completely destroying your arguments in a debate just a few days back resurfaced in your brain. 

The smug smirk and quirked eyebrows that he flashed your way after the professor referred his points as “seemingly unbeatable” and “you could learn a thing or two from him!!” made your insides fill with bitter grudge against him once again.

But are you the one always getting the short end of the stick? Absolutely not. You are positive that your feelings are reciprocated by him whenever you raise your hands to critic his works. The narrowed hazel eyes and scorned face mirrors all your emotions whenever you bite back his words with equal wit and banter, effectively shutting him up. And that fills you with brimming satisfaction. 

However, amidst this back and forth competition of getting the better grade and constantly critiquing each other, your eyes don’t miss out the way he looks. The unmissed tension that lies between the space whenever you both get in close proximity always leaves you a little breathless, like you’re holding your breath whenever he’s this close. The way his lips looks so glossy whenever your eyes land on them. Your mind subconsciously wondering how they might ta-

Tsk

You snap the book shut and click your tongue in annoyance. Why are you even thinking about him? Pretending that your brain did not just conjure the thought seconds ago, you open your book and return back on doing your work, your mind occupied with newfound competitiveness against him. 

--

The clock hit 10 pm when you rose from the chair, your back stiffened from being in this position, like any wrong movement could crack it. You decide on a quick shower to relieve yourself from the piling stress and stiffness. 

Just as you were finishing up with your skincare, humming while a towel robe drapes your body and hair saturated with water, a series of doorbell broke through your comfortable bubble. Constantly pressing the button like some stubborn kid wanting a trick or treat. 

“If you keep on ringing like that, you best believe I'm tricking your whole lifetime” you mutter as you hurriedly prod towards the door. Opening it with a bit more force, you are met with your stumbling roommate, head hung low and the smell alcohol reek off her. Her feet barely doing any work to balance her and no sooner than that, she topples over, wrapping herself around you.

“Yui?! Oh my goodness. YUI! Are you okay?” you barely register the second person accompanying her as you try to retrieve your passed out bestfriend.

“I don’t think she’s gonna wake up anytime soon”, the deep voice rang through your ears. Your brain processing it two times to reconfirm you actually heard that before your eyes finally landed on the second company. 

His hair was spiked up as usual in his bed hair. Eyes the same batch of hazel and honey. A white dress shirt adorned his upper half, sleeves rolled till the forearms and finally your eyes zooms on his nearly cat-like face. 

“What on earth are you doing here?” your tone carrying equal measures of accusation and surprise. He scoffingly laughs, “well I certainly did not drop by for a chat and some tea time with you. If you haven’t really noticed, your bestfriend is shitfaced to the point of no return. So me, being the gentleman I am, dropped her off.”, you roll your eyes till it reaches your forehead, a snide chuckle escaping your mouth.

“Humour me. You and gentleman don’t exactly fit in one sentence.” you taunt, drawing a sigh out of him. 

“Just like you and compassion, kindness, gratitude, appreciation do not?” he sneers. Before you can retort, you feel Yui’s weight slip off of you and you hastily try to balance her before she falls face down.

But an unconscious person carries weights like a sack of boulders, making it difficult for you to handle. You look over Yui’s shoulder to see Kuroo still standing, a look of pure amusement plastered on his face as he enjoyed the mess in front of him.

“Mind helping?” you bite back at him, barely able to hold the now tumbling Yui. Kuroo swiftly steps in, draping one of Yui’s hand over his neck and balancing her. 

“There’s a nice word called “please”, but of course you wouldn’t know.” you hear him mutter breathily. 

“People lend a hand voluntarily without asking in such situations but ofcourse, kuroo the entitled tetsuro needs a laminated invite card” you dryly say, watching his eyes narrow and mock hurt creeping up on his face. 

“For someone looking pretty as you, you surely got a foul mouth” kuroo hums and you act like your heart didn’t do an unsolicited somersault at that, you clear your throat, muttering a low "anyways" and focus on guiding your bestfriend from the threshold of the door to her bedroom. 

Grin crawls on kuroo’s face knowing he did hit it where it was supposed to be. 

Once settled into the bedroom, you carefully take off her shoes, and remove little of the makeup that she got smeared all over. Her hair was matted with tangles and a little remnant of her puke dried on the side of her lips, that you quickly wipe with a wet towel. 

“What made you all drunk like you lost your lover, Yui?” you wonder out loud. Yui was in no condition to answer so the only response you received from her were snores.

Kuroo chuckles behind you, the sounds of his laughter making you turn. He was leaning against the study table. His stance radiating confidence and ease even in the silent room.

“Haven’t you got a party to attend?” you ask him. He clicks his tongue, “nah not feeling it anymore. I already got out of there with your piece of a work best friend so don’t really see a point going back.”

“Did she talk your ear off with her breakup lore?” you genuinely laugh. The sound of it reaching Kuroo’s ear, further travelling down to his heart, tugging at a string. 

“I wouldn’t say she was a sad drunk, she was hollering, singing tunelessly throughout the car, surely embarrassed the shit out of me”

“Well, if there’s anything that is left of you to get embarrassed, that is. Pretty sure she cockblocked you rightly” you say slyly.

“Says you. Weren’t you destroyed in pieces in that debate? Should have learned a thing or two from me” kuroo snorts out his sardonic laughter as he parrots your professor’s words back at you. Purposely riling you up. 

You step in closer, jabbing your pointer at his chest, “listen you. You made points stupid enough to leave anyone clueless right at that time” you hiss. Stupid counter-attack but he really grinds your gear with comments like that. 

“Points stupid enough to be “unbeatable”. Let’s accept it, sweetheart, I was better. Wouldn't kill you to do this” he grabs your pointer finger, bringing it close to his lips. For a sec, you think he's gonna kiss but he soon lets it go.

Acting like a million thoughts didn't run through your head, you quip against him.

“Uh huh? who’s leading the assignments and questionnaires then?” you proudly retort to which Kuroo shakes his head. His face inches closer, closer till remnants of his cologne hits your nose. 

“Is this why you stayed at home? Busy being a nerd? Didn't digest your defeat well?” you can feel the jeering lilt in his voice, and closely enough you could even see little evil horns sprouting at the top of his head. 

“looking for me in the crowd? Also being ahead in your work doesn’t count as being nerdy. It’s productive. I’m pretty sure I’m way ahead of you while you slack away in parties” 

“Oh yeah? What if I was?” Kuroo steps towards you, scooting a bit to the right. Now towering over your figure. You unknowingly took a step back and press against the edge of the table. You could make out how sculpted his body was underneath the white shirt, illuminated with the golden light radiating from the study table. His hands reach against your sides, knuckles brushing against the towel robe. You momentarily forget you were in nothing but a robe like that and soon heat creeps up over your cheeks and neck. He dips down till he’s face level and now you could make out the pools of honey that his eyes possess. The shirt was unbuttoned till the first two buttons and that exposed a healthy part of his collarbones and the expanse of his neck. The space between you thick with the tension and shared breath and your eyes once again land on his lips, to which you lick your own. 

Kuroo cages you between him, the scent of your shampoo now directly reaching his nose. It’s so significantly you that he audibly inhales, the sweet fragnance of creamy vanilla and coconut engulfing his senses. 

" you were what?" you glare.

"What if I was looking for you in the crowd? Had a few things to say anyways" his stare was intense, voice holding a little rasp and breathlessness that skipped a few of your breaths as well.

Kuroo wouldn't lie, he actually felt grateful for the drunken Yui back there for landing him into this situation.

The moment you had opened the door and he discovered you like that, he was itching to be closer to you. His knuckles brush against the soft fabric of your towel as he grips the table on either sides of you. His eyes landing on the way you lick your lips and he tries his best to not get ahead and close the gap between them. His mouth curves into a smirk at your faltered expression, drinking in the way you look so cute. 

How can a girl with whom he engages in a tooth and nail fight when it comes to academics can invade his thoughts like that? Randomly popping in his thoughts throughout the day and making his insides feel giddy. The front he has to put up to prevent his real emotions reaching his face makes him feel like a teenager with a stupid crush. So he acts his usual self, suppressing all the little hints of affections and thoughts he harbours for you.

But to his relief, he is sure that he is not the only one who feels the exact same way. Annoyance, competition mixed with the little hint of affection. Constantly wanting to push each other to perfection and having thoughts that blends perfectly with one another. Without the constant bickers, you both would be a team that is formidable. 

You don’t know how much time has passed while you are still like this. Your hands rest against the table right beside his and you look at him. Not wanting to break the little staring competition god knows who started. Kuroo reaches over your ear, his breath tickles you slightly as he whispers your name. Your heart thrums like it is daring to leap out. His voice holding a musky timbre and the way it sounded like dulcet almost made you forget all the times he made you want to strangle him. 

“Tetsuro…” you reply with a breathy air, not daring to break the silence that has befallen. The light snores were drifting away into the background and the only place mattered to you was this little section where you and kuroo were attached. 

“Tetsuro huh? Not sure I’d ever let you call me kuroo again, darling” his lips curve into a smile and you shamelessly ogle them. Apart from the times he manages to be the menace, he really is handsome. it is not your first time registering it but the way you are looking at him like it’s the first time is really debatable. 

“I’ll call you an insufferable cunt instead” 

“Ouch that hurts” he grumbles, still unmoving. His left hand slide over the table and it’s almost encircling you. His face scoots closer to you as if a millimeters distance will close the synapse between you. He reaches over your ear once again, finding amusement in the way it causes you to shiver ever so slightly. “You have to know this, Y/n.” kuroo huskily says. 

Anticipation bubbles inside you, as you itch to know what he’s gonna say next. 

“It’s just…I…” you wait with patience, intrigue written all over your face.

“I…already submitted up the report that you slacked on and had to finish it, leaving out on all the fun.” he brings out a file that you had freshly printed out before shower, “impressive work, darling. But as always there are some mistakes you ought to fix” 

“KUROO TETSURO GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE” you bombard him with a series of slaps across his chest while he half-heartedly dodges them, his unfiltered hyena laughter ricocheting off the room. Yui groans in the background to which you both pause before you silently launch your onslaught of attacks.

In a series of punches and slaps, you drag him towards the exit door when he grabs your hand, stopping you. Tugging your closer, this time his hands wrap against your back and once again he crouches down, whispering against your ear, an act that you discover freezes you against him.

Unfortunately enough for you, he seems to realise that too. 

“You should let Yui get shitfaced like this often so that I get the lucky opportunity to see you in a towel robe more. See you tomorrow, sweetheart.” His fingertips traces your jawline before his hands reach down your head and give a gentle pat.

uhh..what.

The tapping of foot indicates he has left, his presence still enveloping you, along with the hint of his cologne wafting through the living room. You contemplate on calling in sick tomorrow.

Damn you, Yui.

I'm not sure how to feel about this. may not be my absolute favourite but this is very self indlugent (not surprising). This is very rushed and it's me writing about kuroo after such a long time so lmk how I did!!

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated.

tagging: @tetzoro , @kuroosexuall , @itadorey (cos I saw u not being able to see the posts on dash :(( ), @sookisaurus @quirrrky @sir-kuroo (I looked at the tags and went :0 I deadass thought I had tagged you, my most longest kuroo lover moot in this app how could I not include you im so sorry boo)

#sam.writes #sam.in.hq #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq x yn #hq x you #kuroo x yn #kuroo x you #kuroo haikyuu #haikyuu x reader fluff #kuroo x reader fluff #haikyuu x you #haikyuu!! #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #kuroo #kuroo fluff #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro fic #kuroo tetsuro fluff #kuroo x gender neutral reader #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x y/n #hq kuroo #nekoma

[yunarim]

hello! If you can, can you write a head cannon(others are fine) with the femperfect who had an ability to neutralize magic with a simple physical contact? Like the magic will automatically disappear once it makes contact with her so she often wears gloves, and I would like to see the overblots reaction(if you can't do all you can just do malleus ^^) thank you!

yuu can neutralize the use of any kind of magic with a touch.

… ✦ characters : overblot squad … ✦ tags : female reader, books 1-7 major spoilers, hurt/comfort, cursing in leona's and vil's parts, mention of blood in leona's part, jp translation terms (dorm leader, VDC), can be read platonically in all of parts except for vil, idia & esp malleus ones (i imply romantic way tho), me experimenting with the format or something … ✦ song : monochrome frame ⏤ kanon wakeshima … ✦ recommended : light mode [ … ✦ ao3 ]

… ✦ Riddle Rosehearts ┆touching . . . neck ⏤ ✧ Her wearing gloves wasn’t exceptional. They all were, and since Yuu didn’t have her specifically designed dorm uniform, indeed, it was quite common for her to wear gloves. 

⏤ ✧ Riddle would often find her look around before washing hands and taking off her gloves.

⏤ ✧ One day he realized he waited for her to do that and observe if she hid something underneath this accessory item but ended up dispelling his own doubts - her hands were just beautiful. 

“Oh, do you eat this with your hands?” She asked at an unbirthday party, glancing at a pink cupcake on the plate before her. 

“Yes, as a rule. If you’re worrying about getting messy, do not fret. The cupcake doesn't crumble, and Trey made sure the cream isn’t too greasy and doesn’t stick to the fingers.”

Yuu smiled, taking off her gloves and wrapping her fingers around a small cupcake. 

“Woah, such a nice taste! Tell Trey he did well.”

Still, he wondered, what was the mystery shrouded in darkness of her gloves. 

⏤ ✧ Yuu was gentle in her actions, she never judged, smiling tenderly and telling him to take his time and not to rush things. 

⏤ ✧ Unlike a certain duo getting on his nerves.

⏤ ✧ Never in his life felt he so powerful, so authoritative, so… valid. 

⏤ ✧ Something underneath was telling him it wasn’t right to throw insults at her and just… yell like he was a little child, not knowing how to handle his own emotions.

⏤ ✧ Yet maybe he was, calling her insolent and foolish. 

⏤ ✧ She was just a magicless human! Why rush to him, tearing her gloves off her hands and screaming something with such an obstinate gaze fixed on him?

“My goodness, Riddle, come to your senses!”

⏤ ✧ Her touch felt so ephemeral and light on his deadly cold skin, and even though his almost devilishly malevolent grin didn’t scare her, Yuu still bit her lip after Riddle’s phrenetic laughter. 

⏤ ✧ A sudden flash of light made him switch his attention to what happened to him just in a mere second. 

The overflowing power that pounded in his vessels with a burning seething abruptly left him in an instant, devastating his mind and body.

He collapsed, exhausted, to the ground, barely finding the strength to raise a pair of bulging eyes to her and exhale brokenly.

“What did you?.. Huh…”

⏤ ✧ He was at loss for words, not even caring about Trey’s concerns at the moment. 

⏤ ✧ Light flickered on where she touched him, and he welcomed the sensation without realizing it.

“You… you do have magic after all?”

⏤ ✧ One little gentle touch, and all of his enormous powers are gone. So simple yet devastating.

“I would call magic not the fact I neutralized you, but rather…”

She embraced him, welcoming into her tender hug and encouraging him to let all his negative emotions free, and he laughed, hiding his teary eyes in her shoulder.

Maybe she was right, and this was her real magic.

… ✦ Leona Kingscholar ┆touching . . . shoulders ⏤ ✧ He wasn’t surprised that Heartslabyul little tyrant or what do they call him even was defeated with the help of Ramshackle dorm girl.

⏤ ✧ Women are strong. And that’s a rule.

⏤ ✧ But one look at Prefect’s hands got him thinking that maybe she was strong another way. Such hands couldn’t bring harm to anyone, he was sure of it.

⏤ ✧ Her rather adamant gaze on him was such an entertaining sight to witness. 

Leona chuckled when she stepped on his tail. She did apologize for her behavior, of course, but he knew from the very beginning that she wasn’t entirely regretting her actions.  

“I’m really sorry,” her voice was firm, steady and solid enough for him to fix his gaze on her a little longer than he thought he would.

“You aren’t, Prefect.”

“Do I know you?” 

She didn’t. Yet he knew her after what happened, his eyes locked on her hands in an examining way. 

⏤ ✧ A little thought of asking Riddle what the hell is wrong with her hands since no trace of magic was found on her. ⏤ ✧ She was just a normal girl minding her business, and it was supposed to be this way.

⏤ ✧ He wasn’t against her planting flowers when he was around since she remained quiet, her head full of worry because of those little accidents he sabotaged with Ruggie’s help. 

He did know he should stay away from her hands. 

Especially in that state when his own looked so rough, long pointed claws clenching in fists and digging into the palms, scarlet blood mixed with viscous ink trickled down his hands.

⏤ ✧ Such a reckless human being, knowing nothing about his disappointment, rushed to him without any doubt. What a joke. 

⏤ ✧ Even hyenas turned against him, and would she even make any difference? Of course not…

⏤ ✧ He was trying to convince himself he stopped for a mere moment because she was a magicless woman. 

And yet somehow she almost grabbed his hand, claiming he was being unreasonable and unstable and some other pathetic bullshit.

He brushed off her hand, knowing it would do something to him. Something he realized he wasn’t so opposed to accepting when she yelled out his name, this time putting both her hands on his shoulders.

“Do this shit once more and you’ll fucking witness my real wrath, Leona, now calm down!!”

He fell into her embrace, her hands still on his shoulders but not gripping them firmly. She sighed in relief, gently stroking his hair, and smiled.

Shit, Leona thought, laughing to himself and almost craving her warm touch, grabbing her hand and squeezing it, while dust accumulated in a sedimenting cloud was dissolving around them, so no one could really see him being suddenly vulnerable.

She was dangerous. And maybe he liked it.

… ✦ Azul Ashengrotto ┆touching . . . cheeks ⏤ ✧ How curious! A supposed-to-be-magicless human performing miracles with just a little touch! 

⏤ ✧ He thought of depriving her of Ramshackle dormitory first, but now, after she bewitched Riddle and even Leona? No, he couldn’t miss such an opportunity to take her powers. 

⏤ ✧ He could have everything one might dream of in at the snap of a finger, and a siren’s voice, a ballerina’s gracefulness, a mind of greatest’ scientists ⏤ one harmless contract, and a wish could be granted. 

⏤ ✧ And yet Yuu. Girl from another dimension with that always gloved hands of hers. She was such an interesting person to observe. 

He gathered information, oh sure he did, he already had two opponents down thanks to her, and he couldn’t afford being another one himself.

“How about your neutralizing powers?”

“Ha, you wish, mind dealing with overblots then?” 

Oh, Yuu was amusing, indeed, but Azul just knew he would deprive her of her ability one day. Sooner or later. 

⏤ ✧ Despite rejecting his offer and agreeing to do an extremely ridiculous task instead of having her ability deprived, he would still find her in Mostro Lounge, her fingers on the glass full of drink he personally made, her lips gently pressing to its corners. 

⏤ ✧ A tender smile spreading on her face was quite distracting, which Azul wouldn’t ever admit, his gaze fixed on her delicate hands. 

⏤ ✧ She was captivating and it was scaring him. 

Ah, really, foolish humans, knowing about his past and making fun of his own intelligence. 

He was working so hard, but one magicless girl suddenly got all the attention and appreciation he always wanted just because she could neutralize magic with a touch?

Azul thought he hated her at the moment ink was splashing everywhere, drops of tar scattered in splatterings, falling on her clothes as well as her hands, ungloved this time.

Mind dealing with overblots… right? 

Part of him wished she would just touch him and they would be over it, but still he hesitated when she approached carefully, no signs of fear in her eyes. She was truly magnificent. 

“Let me handle this responsibility, Azul,” she said, pressing her fingers to his cheek and caressing it. A flash of light turned him back to normal state, the only difference was him crying and leaning to her touch, as if starved for it. “And you please remain the way you are.”

And he will.

… ✦ Jamil Viper ┆touching . . . hands

⏤ ✧ That Ramshackle dorm girl having an ability to neutralize others’ magic with just a one touch has become an axioma by now. 

⏤ ✧ Having any problem with the amount of magic used? Or maybe overused? Then no need to worry, NRC now had Yuu to handle all that.

⏤ ✧ He couldn’t care less about her, but still found himself thinking he felt sorry for her. He didn’t wonder how it felt to be the one everyone relies on when it’s hard, but other times forgot you exist. He knew it by heart.

… Huh. Or maybe not?

“You should give yourself more credit, you’re doing excellent. Always remember it,” she said to him one day, her fingers clasping around his wrist reassuringly.

An electrical impulse ran down his whole hand, a sudden warmth spreading in his vessels.

He chuckled, a small knife cut didn’t bother him at all. Why would she say it so unexpectedly thoughtfully to him when she stayed in Scarabia? 

Everything in his plan was perfect, and yet her words distracted him for a moment. He was too preoccupied with his own feelings and conflicted emotions to handle her… care?

⏤ ✧ No way. It was not her ability he secretly admired for being so helpful. It was her shrewdness and the way she saw people through. 

⏤ ✧ Did she feel he was about to do something malicious and not so praise worthy? Otherwise why would she say such things to him? 

⏤ ✧ There was no way she genuinely cared for his well-being.

He couldn’t remember when was the last time his emotions were so tangled and complicated so that he couldn’t sort them out. Snakes aimed right at her hands she was reaching to him weren’t scary, and even the way he smirked when her attempt to touch him failed didn’t cause her to stop. 

A small part of him wanted her words to be true but he knew all the things she said were a mere mendacity to fool him. 

“You’re not someone else’s shadow, Jamil.”

He pushed her hard enough for her to fall on her knees before him. His anger spread in the ink splashing everywhere, but she remained her gaze fixed on him nevertheless.

He thought that maybe… maybe it was worthy to believe her.

He chuckled when he outstretched his hand to be shaken himself, and Yuu smiled at him, taking his hand in her.

… ✦ Vil Schoenheit ┆touching . . . eyelids

⏤ ✧ Good for Yuu she still managed to control her own psyche by dealing with so many splashes of demolished emotions in such a short amount of time.

⏤ ✧ Still, Ramshackle Prefect was complicated to him. Vil genuinely thought there was something wrong with his sudden desire to take care of her.

⏤ ✧ She was close to being perfect by now, despite having those horrible eye bags appeared because of sleepless nights she took helping Azul with arranging new drinks in the menu and all the times Vil caught her excusing herself during their VDC rehearsals in order to check on Leona or Riddle or whoever she kept an eye on after overblotting.

Yuu was wonderful, truly. But instead of appreciating herself she preferred to praise everyone else.

And Vil wasn’t an exception.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she giggled when he bent towards her face to apply a concealer. “A true hero, really.”

Hero?.. He? Ah, Prefect, what were you saying? 

He sighed, taking her hands in his and asking whether he could take off her gloves or not as she nodded, allowing him to apply a hand cream on her skin. What a pleasant feeling…

“Even if you’re a manager, you’re still our representative. No way you would show up on stage with these eye bags of yours. And what did I tell you about having some sleep before VDC? You really…”

She smiled, saying something about having a bad feeling before going to sleep. How truly discerning she was at that very moment. 

⏤ ✧ He couldn’t be a hero, at least her hero, when he chuckled so maliciously at her attempt to reach for him. Now no one could, he was fairest of them all, outshining especially her.  

⏤ ✧ He applied a curse on her which restrained her from touching him ever so slightly, and that would be it until he willingly allowed it. He believed in his strong volition, but still…

“Every hero has their moment when they have a whole world turned against them, Vil,” she said demandingly, almost choking on the dark fog coming off from Vil’s body. “And since when do you act as if you’re such a mediocre character! Where’s Vil who would step on everyone and slay as a fucking queen you really are!!”

He laughed genuinely at her wording, not noticing her getting up from her knees after being blown away with the magic wave he created, and pulled him closer by a translucent veil, pressing a gentle kiss on his eyelids.

“I would prefer cheek instead, thank you,” he chuckled, light sparklets surrounding him. “You ruined my makeup.”

“You also ruined a whole stage, but okay.”

… ✦ Idia Shroud ┆touching . . . forehead

⏤ ✧ The one who Idia wanted to avoid the most was none other than Ramshackle Prefect.

⏤ ✧ All eyes were on her by now, and that meant he would rather die than talk to her.

⏤ ✧ If not only the whole STYX demanded him to get in touch with her in order to get the data regarding her ability, gather info on how her powers work, otherwise she would be taken by force and…

⏤ ✧ He DIDN’T want all of those at all!! She already swept every SSR character off their feet already, and now interacting with him? What the hell!

⏤ ✧ Ugh, not him actually spotting her trying to beat the boss in a PSP game. Where in the world did she find a working PSP even? 

⏤ ✧ Her fingers were clicking furiously on the buttons… those were the hands that dealt with five overblots? Unbelievable.

⏤ ✧ Unbelievably pretty⏤ WHAAH he didn’t want to even think about her that way what the!!

⏤ ✧ Idia was avoiding her like the plague. Even after all things happening at STYX he still preferred to listen to others’ complaints and oh whatsoever important rather than facing her, but his responsibilities came first above everything.

And when he thought it would be hard to convince her to do some tests in order to analyze the data received from them she willingly agreed, smiling at him like it was nothing.

“Okay, but help me with beating that boss later,” she sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingers. Idia wondered whether her ability was helping her herself. “I’m going crazy right here.”

“U-ugh, f-fine… It’s not even t-that hard tho…”

“It is!” She protested, turning to him and witnessing pinkish hue flaming on his hair. “It’s just you’re too good. I admire you for that.”

⏤ ✧ Nononono he wouldn’t fall into that trap, he already heard enough about her being so unnecessarily nice!!

⏤ ✧ Shit. He fell, and fell hard.

Why would deny her touch when he would make her try doing it at least? He had cool armor, he was floating midair. She couldn’t even hear him properly when Vil appeared before her, covering her with his back and demanding her stay behind. 

It was normal for him to behave that way. Covering himself in a darkness where nobody could reach for him, and yet Yuu could somehow. He jolted for a second when she yelled at him, telling Vil to step aside. 

She still couldn’t touch him. He wanted to believe that no one could, but somehow the image of her fingers clicking on a game console popped up in his mind, causing his heart to skip a beat shamelessly. He was so pathetic and⏤

“I thought you would help me beat the boss, Idia, not me helping you beat the shit out of yourself!!” 

She was insane for asking Epel to take the chariot and fly over to him, then leaning towards him and trying to touch him. She grabbed his armor, hissing under her breaths while he wasn’t getting her actions at all, trying to cover himself from her. From the rest of the world.

“Fine then! If you’re the final boss I should beat, then so be it!”

No, why was her face being so close to his, that’s bad!! 

His mind blew completely after Yuu pressed her lips to his bare forehead and threw him onto the chariot.

“Did I manage? Will you help me now then? Hehe.”

“Sh-shut up!!”

“Make me.”

Note: never ever piss Yuu off again. (Well maybe just a little because she was so hot ahem⏤)

… ✦ Malleus Draconia ┆touching . . . lips

⏤ ✧ Yuu was a rather peculiar child of man. Wielding no magic powers, and yet Malleus felt something in her from the very beginning. 

⏤ ✧ First he observed her when she was busy renovating the Ramshackle garden, she seemed so peaceful and collected, humming something under her breath.

⏤ ✧ He would bring her flowers every night without her noticing only to find her bringing blankets and a container with a hot tea in it and spending a whole night waiting for something… or rather someone to come.

⏤ ✧ “A stranger who brings me bouquets every night, please let me know you’re here. It’s quite cold outside.” She said one night, her gaze fixed on green sparkletts floating around her. 

⏤ ✧ Next day he appeared before her, placing a flower crown he made on her head. Small gypsophila flowers intertwined with scarlet zinnias, decorating her delicate image.

⏤ ✧ “Ah really, why would you appear only now. With such a pleasant gesture even! Wait for a moment then.”

She gathered some flowers she had grown by herself, then took her gloves off and did another flower crown for him personally. Something fluttered in his chest the moment she touched his horns, smiling softly, and laughed with her clear sweet voice, recoiling after decorating his head with a flower crown.

His heart was pounding in his chest, his whole body shuddered at her touch, and in that moment he knew he was close to making a deal with the devil so that the lingering feeling of her fingers would never leave him.

“Would you mind teaching me how to make those? I guess I’m pretty bad…”

He chuckled, admitting he never felt something so pleasant and light before, as if her whole body was radiating something celestial, her hands feeling absolutely pristine and divine.

⏤ ✧ Every night they met she would tell him stories about what happened to her. So many students overblotting, and yet… The way she stuttered for a moment every time she mentioned overblots was confusing to him as if she wasn’t telling something really important. 

⏤ ✧ He wanted to trust her nevertheless. She was tender in the way she looked at him, glimpses of happiness blossoming in her eyes every time he appeared in the garden, welcoming her gently. 

⏤ ✧ He craved her touch, the image of her putting a flower crown on his head still lingered in his mind, never fading nor dissolving, remaining the most precious memory of her.

“You never fail to impress me, child of man,” he said once during VDC right after Vil overblotted and he arrived.

“How come, Tsunotarou?” he laughed at how astonished others were at you calling him by that silly nickname. 

“Witnessing you have no fear towards me is truly a blessing.”

She smiled at him then, her cheeks slightly dusted with a beautiful pinkish hue. 

“Having you as my dearest friend is a blessing too!”

⏤ ✧ Friend…?

⏤ ✧ Right, friend. And what friends are needed for? 

⏤ ✧ Apparently, Malleus thought Yuu would be delighted to see him putting everyone in a sleeping state. If he can’t be someone even dearer to her, then he would be her most devoted guardian.

⏤ ✧ She resembled a fairy, telling him about her tremendous adventures, so it would be natural for him to tell her a fairy tale in return.

“Do not resist the temptation, child of man.”

His voice, so alluring and somnolent, enveloped her, her eyelids feeling leaden. He was standing right in front of her, looking at how her body trembled under his enticing enchantment. He knew by now he shouldn’t touch her, even though her eyes told him otherwise, begging to lean to her.

“Although it would be interesting to fall under your spell and feel that divine feeling, please allow me to grant you with a happy ending you truly deserve.”

“You… never asked me… what kind of ending I truly want…” Her voice was fading, and she could barely stand at that moment, but Malleus knew.

If she takes one step closer, that would be the end for him. 

So she did, thorns enveloping her, but she managed to grab Malleus by his clothes somehow, her face being extremely close to his, his astonished gaze fixed on her, blurry and sorrowful.

“Perhaps a true love kiss would wake you up from this dream, Malleus.”

She pressed her lips to his, tenderly whispering those words and smiling through the kiss when a bright light surrounded them. 

Malleus picked up her exhausted body, oblivious to the dissipation of his own magic, and looked at her worriedly, ignoring the slowly awakening students.

“Ugh… don’t underestimate me. You still haven’t taught me how to make pretty flower crowns.”

And she was right. “Indeed. That’s the least I can do for showing me the ending I truly do adore.”

⏤ ☆ notes : omg thx for requesting!! i got carried away in malleus part (a little bit.... kinda... forgive me for that) but still i hope you like it! ~

⏤ ☆ tag list : @isacoremeow

© yushiiae 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧.

#twst x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #riddle x reader #leona x reader #azul x reader #jamil x reader #vil x reader #idia x reader #malleus x reader

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: We have the means……

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)  

YesterdayShow less

“What do you mean you will not let us land?”

From the confines of his captain’s quarters the bridge crew could not hear the anger radiating from Captain Hazel Abbot. Projected opposite him was the current source of his ire, Sevren Dayton. He was captain of the Verung patrol ship currently blocking his relief vessel from landing on Tevren VI and delivering critically needed medical supplies.

“The native population of Tevren VI has been designated a technologically inferior species and therefore any intervention from space faring species prohibited.”

Dayton spoke as if he was quoting a rulebook word for word which only further infuriated Abbot.

“The Terran Republic does not recognize the standards of the Verung,” Abbot began politely, “and since we are not in Verung territory I must inform you that you have no authority here.”

Dayton’s eye twitched for the briefest of moments but Abbot knew he had struck a nerve. If there was one thing Verung hated it was when other species bowed down to them like they were the third coming of space jesus.

“Under article three section four dash one one seven nine of the Treaty of Nibhishein, the Terran Republic agreed to defer to the Verung in disputed territories.”

Abbot pulled open his data terminal and entered in the mentioned treaty. His eyes darted across the scrolling text before frowning. “The treaty you reference is a trade treaty signed after the Verung War.”

“I believe you mean the “War of Terran Compliance”.” Dayton corrected, but Abbot would not be baited.

“Regardless this matter is excluded from the confines of the treaty as no matter of trade or military aspect is at play.”

Dayton refused to give ground however. “By handing over medical supplies you are instigating the basis for trade; therefore your actions here are covered under the treaty.”

Abbot threw his hands in the air and rose from his chair with such frustration that he knocked over several documents, scattering them to the floor in a blizzard of paper.

“There is no trade here. If they do not get these medical supplies the people of Tevren VI will die within a year.” Abbot’s voice was stern as the boundaries of his patience were fast approaching. “We cannot sit back and let that happen.”

“That is exactly what will happen.”

The measured tone of Dayton’s voice silenced Captain Abbot if only by the disbelief of what he had just heard. Dayton continued further to Abbot’s horror.

“If you were to save these people as you so wish you would be altering their natural evolution. We of higher technological standings cannot play gods, judging who lives and who dies.”

“Do you not hear yourself!?”

Abbot’s rage could no longer be contained over the sheer stupidity of Dayton’s logic.

“You would have us sit by and watch as millions of living breathing people die horribly?!”

Dayton looked into the holographic projector with disgust written all over his face. “It is the will of the universe.”

Abbot looked at the Verung captain dumbfounded. He slouched back into his chair and hung his head between his hands. He could hear the fizzle of the projector unit still active but didn’t care to face Dayton as his mind raced.

“Will you stand down?”

Abbot looked up at Dayton still on the projector and straightened himself up. He pressed the creases from his uniform and wove his hair back into shape before addressing the com unit built into the projector unit.

“Helmsman,” he began as Dayton’s face looked smug, “begin landing procedures as planned.”

“What do you think you are-“ Dayton began but Abbot was not finished.

“Master at arms, if the Verung attempt to block our descent into atmosphere and pose a threat to this vessel you have permission to open fire.”

Dayton’s expression went from shock to outrage as the master at arms acknowledged. Captain Abbot now fixed the Verung with a deathless stare as he clasped his hands together.

“I thank you for your perspective but we have a people to save. If you attempt to halt us again we will consider it an act of aggression and respond appropriately as you have just heard.”

“My government will be informed of this.” Dayton remarked through clenched teeth.

“Good.” Abbot replied. “Then let them know that one does not need to play god to do the right thing.”

#humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01

[an1mu5]

vessel's pre-venue jitters [nsfw - gn!reader]

-had to pause writing my lewis fic cause i listen to sleep token while i write and had a wicked idea pop into my head. now i can't stop thinking about vessel having mad anxiety before a show and the reader, who's also in the band, helping him calm down-

(i did not plan this out, i wrote it all on the spot, i just needed to get this out of my brain - i'm still prioritising my lewis fic)

word count: 886

cw: nsfw, swearing, sub!vessel, dom!reader, oral sex (m!recieving), reader's anatomy is not mentioned, no use of y/n, first fic posted! - author doesn't know what else to put here????

god i want him to mount me like thatfjsgtrwdsgvfyuiuh

you were a part of the band and served as a second guitarist next to iv, and you were always quite close to vessel - in ways that the others would always tease you about. although, you kept assuring them that there was nothing between you both, even when you used little petnames with each other.

you were searching for vessel right before a show to seek validation for a quirky idea you had about a little something you could do on stage. you never made rash decisions on the spot for fear you'd mess up the performance, very unlike the others.

you find vessel, still in one of the dressing rooms behind stage rather than getting ready to go out and perform.

you then notice that he's facing away from and has got his head against the wall, muttering small things to himself, and shaking slightly.

you approach to ask him what's wrong, to which he jumps a little, clearly not expecting you of all people to find him here.

"just... gimme a minute... get out there, i'll follow later..."

you're not having it. you make him sit down and notice the light sheen of sweat on his neck, which is already testing the integrity of the black body paint coating his skin. and he hasn't even done all his little dancey dances yet!

you ask him again what's up with him, kneeling down in front of him to appear less intimidating. he simply sighs. his shaky hands reach for yours, searching for that anchor to ground himself.

"just a bit nervous, love..." he mumbled as his hands interlocked with yours. "dunno why..."

you do your best to comfort him but none of your words seem to work, he always has a negative thought step in and frustratingly deflect your consolation with it's iron shield of self-deprecation.

as the time ticks quickly and you've now likely just less than 10 minutes before you have to go out on stage, and you definitely can't let him go out there like this. you need to release his tension somehow.

it's in this moment when you abandon your value of not making rash, on-the-spot decisions.

you slip your hands out from his, roll your mask up just above your nose, and begin make quick work of his belt, which ultimately made him panic a bit more.

"shit- w-what are you doing?!" he tried to stop you, but you simply swatted his hands away and began to shimmy his pants down his thighs.

you shushed him, telling him to just lay back and focus on the sensations. you assured him that you'd ease his nerves.

was it his fault that he trusted you?

he definitely goes commando under the costume, fucking fight me, i will die on this hill. he's also like 7-8 inches, yet you still believe you can take him all when you watch the length of it roll out like a red carpet.

you feasted on both his fat cock and the little moans you illicit out of him with stripe you lick up his long shaft, enticed as you witness him go from soft to rock hard after mere moments of you touching him.

your hand rested on his thigh while your other was tenderly fondling his balls as you suckled on his swollen, leaky tip. it was a struggle for him to keep quiet, who knows who could be lurking outside the unlocked door of the dressing room.

he could probably pass it off as him practicing his vocals should anyone have heard him.

his hand came up to nest on top of your head, gripping at the fabric of your mask as you slowly begin to take an inch of him into your mouth.

he struggles not to buck up and fuck the ever-living shit out of your throat.

you make quick work of him, taking as much of him in as you can, wasting no time in sucking him off. he softly whimpers out your name.

he finishes quickly with a loud stifled moan, you made it hard for him not to when you're bobbing up and down on his length like that, your tongue flattened, and your cheeks hollowed to optimise his pleasure.

he shoots his fat load deep down your throat, you swallow it all gratefully. your mouth pops off his cock, which is beginning to soften as he pants. he's certainly a lot calmer now.

however, he doesn't know if he could look at you the same while performing without getting hard again.

you may have eased his nerves but what have you done to his mind?

he tucks himself back into his pants, you pull your mask back down over the bottom half of your face, and you both leave the dressing room without uttering any words to each other.

vessel has a bit of a haze clouding his head while you regroup with the rest of the band, who are definitely smirking at you both for being gone until last second.

"you two snogging back there, or what?" iii teased you, making ii and iv giggle.

vessel was a little embarrassed, but he ignored it, finding comfort in the fact that they didn't exactly what it was that you two were doing.

you simply told them to get fucked as you all began to flood onto stage.

hey, hoped you enjoyed this! i haven't read it over, i wrote it all on the spot and am now posting it. please let me know if you have any icks or recommendations on how to make this better!

thank you for reading!

-leo :3

#sleep token #vessel #vessel sleep token #vessel x reader #gender neutral reader #sleep token x reader #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token fic #smut #sleep token smut

[batterymaster01]

The Astutocentaurini & Death Part 1: Trinary Mortality

Death is a very complicated subject for the Astutocentaurini. Since each person is made of four detachable zooids, their constituent living units almost never die at the same time, and the lifespan of each zooid is limited by the slow loss of their ability to exchange nutrients, oxygen, and nerve impulses with advanced age. To complicate things further, the cranial zooid always dies first, which often leaves the headless body alive to either live out the remainder of its life in constant care or starve to death in a fruitless zombie-like search for a replacement head (essentially any small object that radiates heat).

Such unorthodox physiology has resulted in an unconventional perspective of mortality. Unlike humans, who tend to see life and death as a duality, most Astutocentaurini cultures interpret this cycle as trinary. According to their belief, each person is composed of two interdependent entities, the "self" (the cranial zooid) and the "vessel" (the collective post-cranial zooids). As the name suggests, the self represents the core of a person's consciousness and identity, while the vessel is typically viewed as something along the lines of a mount "ridden" by the former. Due to this, they hold the belief that individuals live one life but experience two deaths: the death of the self ("self-death") and the death of the vessel ("vessel-death"), which can occur either separately or simultaneously depending on the circumstances of the expiration. As mentioned in the first paragraph, however, death of the self typically occurs first when it comes to age-related death, followed much later by death of the vessel. This ideology has many cultural variations, each with its own funerary rights for both the self and the vessel, respectively. In most cases, however, both will typically be buried in the same grave upon passing.

#speculative biology #athyrmagaia #sophont #xenobiology

[autistic-inmate]

SUPERNATURAL LUCIFER X FEM!READER

(Reader is referred to as sister)

- You joke around with Lucifer and your brother, Dean, doesn’t like it :)

fluff 😇

1.2k words

I walked into the room that my brothers were in, "Where's Clarence?"

"Not sure, said he had some angel business to deal with." Dean muttered as he continued to stare at his laptop screen. I sighed and fell down onto one of the chairs "I'm booorreedd." I whined and nobody said anything, "Ok I guess I'll go annnd.." I paused while I thought about what to do, "Find a case." Normally they would 'advise' not to because it could be dangerous on my own, but they didn't even look up. Maybe I should elaborate, "Actually you know what? I'm gonna go find a vamps nest." Ok they definitely wouldn't let me go alone. But I still got no answer.

"Ignore everything I just said, I can't be bothered. I think, I'm just gonna go talk to one of the angels." I hoped that would get their attention considering they dislike most of them. "Hey, I should go talk to the devil, I mean he's probably pretty lonely." Ok that must have gotten there attention. Nope, still nothing.

Alright well, "Lucifer. You know? Satan?" That caught their attention and Dean glared at me but I smiled innocently. Sam looked at me over his laptop, "What? Sorry, I'm just trying to figure this out and I feel like I haven't slept in years, did you say something about Lucifer? Has something happened?" I could tell I hit a bit of a nerve by mentioning his name but how else was I supposed to get their attention. "No, well yes I said I should go talk to him 'cause he's probably lonely." I smiled innocently at them again but they didn't look very happy.

"Don't even joke about that. I don't want you anywhere near him." I could tell Dean was serious but I didn't understand why. Well, I did, I knew why. He's killed people, he wanted Sam as a vessel, he tried to start the apocalypse and he is Satan. But I know a side to Lucifer that they don't, a side to him that's not all death and destruction.

I was about to speak but I felt the temperature drop. I saw the panic in Sams face and Dean reached for his gun by instinct. "You called, darling?" Oh joy, Lucifer is here.

"What a pleasant surprise." I turned to face him with the fakest, most cheesiest grin I could manage. "You were thinking off me so damn much that it basically came to me like a prayer, why were you thinking about me, Y/N?" He smirked as he walked closer to us and I rolled my eyes. "I was thinking about how much of an ass you are, my brothers here were agreeing." I smirked right back at him and he scoffed "I know you like me really and you enjoy my company more than anyone else's, you're not fooling anyone." He shrugged slightly like what he had just said was painfully obvious.

"Ok that's enough, I can't take it anymore. Lucifer what the hell are you doing here, really?" Dean looked pretty mad that I was joking around with the devil but who can blame me, he's quite funny when he's not trying to start world war three.

"You act like I'm about to try and start the apocalypse Deany, I mean c'mon, I'm totally over all that now." He smiled like he just told Dean he'd bought him some flowers and baked him a cake. "Right of course, I'm sorry for assuming the worst from the literal devil, you must've just popped in to give me chocolate and watch a movie with us." Dean spoke sarcastically and Lucifer pretended to be offended and shook his head. "Wow. I know you don't like me, but that was harsh. I mean, I really did come here to watch a movie. Not with you exactly, but that is the reason. I can't believe you think so lowly of me Deano." Lucifer matched Deans sarcastic tone and it just pissed my brothers off even more, meanwhile I found it to be good entertainment.

"First of all, stop adding letters onto my name. Secondly, if you mean that you came to watch a movie with my sister? You can forget it. I won't let you get anywhere near her." Aaaaaand protective brother mode is officially on. "I'm already near her." Lucifer scoffed as he walked closer to me and threw his arm around my shoulders. "Dude get your big ass arm off of me." I tried to shrug his arm off but he added another arm so he was giving me a really weird side hug, successfully trapping me in his arms.

However before I could complain anymore, a sudden gunshot echoes throughout the room and it makes me flinch. Lucifer let go of me with a grunt. "Ouch." He pouted like a child that didn't get his own way.

I turned to look at him and realised that Dean had shot him. "Was that really necessary, Dean? I can handle myself against big ole pouty satan over here." I felt him poke me at the insult so I looked back at him to see him still pouting and I giggled. "Yes. It was completely necessary. I told him that I wasn't gonna let him near you, Y/N. I don't like how close you two seem, all buddy-buddy and shit, it's not right. Has he got you under some sorta spell? Do you need help, Y/N? 'Cause I definitely do not have a problem with killing the devil himself." Dean looked between the two of us practically giggling like a pair of school girls.

"Yes Dean, he has me under a very powerful spell." He didn't look impressed with my sarcasm. "Whatever, but you hurt her and I swear I will find a way to end you." And with that promise he left the room. We both looked at Sam and it was pretty awkward for a second before he cleared his throat "Yeah, Well I- erm- I need to carry on with this, so.." He got up and walked out with his laptop.

"Wow. You know, you could be here to kill me and both of my brothers just left me to be murdered." I joked and turned around to face him.

"You know I'd never hurt you though, right? You are one of the very very few humans I can tolerate." His smirk was replaced with a genuine smile as he looked down at me. "I know." I nodded and it was quite for a moment as I looked at him, taking in his features. Damn, his eyes are so pretty and his hair looks so fluffy, I want to just run my hands through it so fucking bad.

"So," I cleared my throat like I was trying to get rid of the tension in the room. "What movie do you wanna watch, Luci?" My eyes widened slightly as I realised what I had called him, but it was too late, he had already heard it. "'Luci' huh?" I was about to start apologetically rambling before I noticed a grin spread across his face. "I like it, but only from you. I don't want some demon walking around calling me 'Luci ', it'll ruin my reputation." He chuckled, "Oh and I'm 99.9% sure that you forgot I can read your thoughts, your eyes are pretty too." His smirk was back as he cockily walked out of the room, leaving me stood on my own in embarrassment.

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