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alittlebitoftruthcan · 2 years

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Let us first talk a little about the disease called man. Man is a disease because deep down the very being of man is split, it is not one. Hence continuous disease, uneasiness, anxiety, angst, anguish. Schizophrenia is just a normal state of affairs. It is not that a few people become schizophrenic: man is born schizophrenic. It has to be understood. Man is born in dis-ease, born as dis-ease. When you entered your mother’s womb, the first moment of your life was based on two parents, the mother and the father. Your very beginning was dual, divided—male/female, yin/yang, positive/negative. The first unity of your being was already based on division. Half of you came from one parent, the other half from another parent. From the very beginning you have been two. So schizophrenia is not something that happens to a few unfortunate people, it is just the normal state of affairs. Man is born split, hence continuously there is a duality, an indecisiveness, a wavering. You cannot decide who you really want to be, you cannot decide where to go, you cannot choose between two alternatives, you remain ambiguous. Whatsoever you do, a part of you remains against it. Your doing is never total. And a doing that is not total cannot be fulfilling, and a doing that is chosen only by one part of your being against the other part, will create more and more rift in your being. This has to be understood. Unity is in the end, not in the beginning. You can become a unitary being, you can become non-dual, you can come to yoga—yoga means unity, unison, integration, individuation—but that is in the end, not in the beginning. In the beginning is the dual, in the beginning is the division, in the beginning is disease. So unless you understand it and make an effort to transform it… The merger has not yet happened; it has happened on one level only—on the level of the body. On the level of the body you have become one, your mother and your father have melted—on the plane of the body. You have become one body. Out of two bodies a new unity has arisen, but it is only on the body, in the body, not deeper than the body. Deep in your mind you are split. And if you are split in your mind there is no way to go beyond the mind. Only a mind that has become a unity, integrated, one, becomes capable of going beyond it. This sutra of Buddha is tremendously significant. A very simple sutra, but don’t take it literally. Of course literally also it is true, but it is the whole progress—how to become one, how to dissolve the twoness on all levels of your being, from the most gross to the most subtle, from the circumference to the center… how to drop all duality and come to a point where suddenly you are one. That point is the goal of all religions, the goal of all yogas, the goal of all prayers, all meditations, the goal of Islam, Christianity, Hinduism, Jainism, Buddhism—the goal of all the seekers. Because once you have become one, your misery disappears. Misery is because of the conflict. Misery is because your house is divided, misery is because you are not one, you are a crowd—a thousand and one voices inside you pulling you and pushing you in all sorts of ways and all directions. You are a mess, a chaos. It is a miracle how you manage not to go mad, because you are boiling with madness. It is a miracle how somehow you go on remaining sane, how you are not lost into this crowd. But whether lost or not, you are sitting on a volcano which can erupt any moment. Remember this: madness is not something that happens to a few unfortunate people, madness is something everybody is prone to. Madness is something which you are carrying within you like a seed—it can sprout any moment; it is only waiting for the right season, the right climate, the right opportunity. Any small thing can trigger it and you—you simply go berserk. You are berserk because your foundation is split. It is possible to become one but then one has to be very aware about this whole situation. I have heard: Mulla Nasrudin went to his psychiatrist and asked if the good doctor could not split his personality. ‘Split your personality?’ asked the doctor. ‘Why in heaven’s name do you want me to do a thing like that?’ ‘Because,’ said Mulla Nasrudin, ‘I am so lonesome. Because I feel so lonely.’ Don’t just laugh at it. Maybe that’s why you never work hard to become one unity, because this duality gives you a certain company. You can talk with yourself, you can have a dialogue—everybody is having a dialogue, continuously. Sitting in your chair, what are you doing when you close your eyes? The continuous dialogue is there. You question, you answer, from this side, from that side. Watch this dialogue. If this dialogue stops will you not feel very lonesome? Will you not feel very alone? Will you not feel very empty if this dialogue stops? Will you not suddenly feel that all noise has disappeared? Will you not become frightened that only silence is there? No, you go on feeding this dialogue. You go on helping this dialogue to be there. Either you are talking with others, or if it is not possible because others are not always available, then you are talking with yourself. While you are awake you are talking with others, while you are asleep you are talking with yourself. What is your dream? A drama that you enact inside your being to create a society, because you are so lonesome. In the dream you are the director, you are the story-writer, you are the actor, you are the screen and you are the audience—you alone, but you create a beautiful drama. The whole day and the whole night what are you doing? Talking with yourself? This constant talking, this constant dialogue with yourself—is it not boring? Yes, you are bored, you are bored with yourself, but still you have chosen the lesser evil—you think that if this dialogue stops you will be even more bored. At least there is something to say, something to do inside. Left alone with no dialogue you will be simply lost. This dialogue keeps you a little alive, throbbing with life. Mulla is right. He says, ‘l am feeling so lonesome.’ Remember, the whole effort of SADHANA is to help you to become alone, because only when you are ready to become alone, when you are ready to fall into inner silence, when you are no more clinging to this constant talking, inner talk, then only can you become a unity. Because this constant inner talk helps you to remain dual, divided. Just the other night a sannyasin came to me and he said that in the night sometimes he falls from his bed and only in the morning he becomes alert. And one day it happened that he found himself ten feet away from his bed. So what is happening? Now he must be getting into deep dreams, nightmares, and the dreams must be so deep that even if he falls from his bed… he found himself ten feet away from the bed—that means the slumber must be like a coma. I asked him one thing: ‘Do you talk too much in the day?’ He said, ‘No.’ Then that explains it. There are two types of people: talkers and listeners, T-people and L-people. Talkers talk the whole day, then in the night they have to listen; then they go to listen to a religious discourse or something—they go to the church in the dream, to the priest in the dream. The whole day they have been talking; one has to compensate—they listen in their dream. People who have to listen in their day, and have become listeners, talk much in the night; they shout, they say things that they always wanted to say but they could not manage in the day—nobody was ready to listen to them. It happens to people that when they go to a psychoanalyst and the psychoanalyst listens to them, patiently, attentively—of course he has to listen because he is paid for it—their dreams start changing. Their talking in their dreams by and by subsides, the quality of the dream changes, because now they have found somebody who listens to them—they have become the talker and they have found a party who listens attentively. Their dreams become more silent, they are not talking and shouting in their night. Their nights are more silent, more at ease. Remember, whatsoever you miss in the day you will do in your dreams. The dream is complementary, it compensates and completes whatsoever has remained incomplete in the day. If you are a beggar in the day, in the night you will dream that you are an emperor. If you are an emperor during the day, in the night you will dream that you have become a Buddha—a beggar. That’s how it happened: Buddha was born in an emperor’s palace but he started dreaming about becoming a beggar. When after twelve years he came back home, enlightened, his father said, ‘Stop all this nonsense! You are my only son. Come back, I’m waiting for you. This whole kingdom is yours. And in our family there has never been a beggar.’ Buddha laughed and he said, ‘Maybe, sir, in your family there has never been a beggar, but as far as I am concerned, I have been dreaming for many lives of becoming a beggar.’ When you become very rich you start thinking that poor people must be living in tremendous beauty, relaxedness. When you live in a city, a megalopolis like Bombay or Tokyo or New York, you think villages are beautiful. Ask the villagers. They are hankering to reach to Bombay, to Tokyo, to New York. They dream. When you are poor you dream about the rich, when you are rich you dream about the poor. Watch your dreams: they will show you that something that is lacking in the day is being fulfilled. In the day you are one part of your polarity, in the night you become another part of your polarity. You are two. So not only does a dialogue continue in you in your dreaming, but in your moments of awakening there is also a dialogue. If you are a bad man while awake, you will become a saint while you are asleep. If you are a saint while awake, you will become a sinner while you are asleep. That’s why your so-called saints are so much afraid of sleep, they go on reducing their sleep—because the whole day somehow they managed to remain saints, but what to do about the night? The whole day they have been celibate, they have not looked at any woman’s face, they have avoided life—but what to do in the night? All those faces they have avoided but could not avoid, surface in their being. Beautiful women, more beautiful than they have ever seen in the daytime, erupt. They think that it is Indra, the god of heaven, who is sending APSARAS to destroy them. Nobody is sending any apsaras, nobody is interested in these poor fellows. Why should Indra be interested? For what? No, this is compensatory. In the day they control their saintliness. In the night when they relax—and they have to relax, they have to rest—when they rest, everything is relaxed, their control is also relaxed. Suddenly all that they have been repressing comes up. Your day and your night are in constant dialogue. Psychoanalysts say that watching your day life is not as significant as watching your dream life, because in the day life you are pretenders, hypocrites. You go on showing faces which are not true. In the dream you are more real; you are no more hypocrites, no more pretenders, you don’t have any mask. That’s why all the psychoanalysts try to analyse your dreams. This is ironical but it is true—that your dream is truer than your day, that while you are asleep you are more authentic than when you are awake. This is unfortunate but this is so. Man has become so deceptive. What I’m saying to you is this: unless you become a unity this will continue. In the day you can control, you can become a good man. In the night you will become a bad man, you will become a criminal in your dreams. You will do the same things that you have been controlling the whole day, exactly the same things. If you have fasted in the day, you will feast in your dream. Your denied part will take its revenge. And you cannot go both ways together. That’s the disease called man, that’s the angst, the anguish of man—you cannot go both ways. You cannot be good and bad together, you cannot be saint and sinner together, that is the difficulty. You have to choose. And once you choose, you are torn apart, you are in a dilemma, you are on the horns of a dilemma. The moment you choose, difficulty arises. That’s why many people choose not to choose; they live a life of drifting—whatsoever happens, happens. They don’t choose, because the moment they choose, this creates anxiety. Have you watched, observed, that whenever you have to make a decision you become very very anxious? Maybe it is a very ordinary decision. You are purchasing a pair of shoes and you cannot decide which pair, and anxiety arises. Now it is rubbish—but still anxiety arises. Anxiety has nothing to do with great decisions, anxiety has something to do with decision as such. Because you are two—whenever you decide, both your parts try to dominate. Your mother tries to dominate, your father tries to dominate. And of course you know well, they never agreed about anything, they don’t agree in you also. Your mother says this pair is good. Your father says don’t listen to her, she is foolish; this pair is right. Your male energy says one thing, your female energy says another thing. Your female energy has different attitudes; it looks at the beauty of the pair of shoes, the shape, the form, the colour, aesthetics. The male energy has a different attitude. It looks at the durability of the shoe, the price, the power—whether the shoe has a powerful shape so when you go walking on the streets your male ego is exhibited through it. Each thing that the male ego chooses has to be somehow a phallic symbol. The male ego chooses a car with great speed—a phallic symbol, forceful. You will always find impotent people sitting in great phallic cars—impotent people. The more impotent they become, the more powerful a car they choose. They have to compensate. The male ego always chooses that which will fulfill the male ego: I am powerful—-that is the basic consideration. The feminine ego chooses something which gives another sort of power—I am beautiful. Hence they never agree. If your mother purchases something, your father is bound to disagree with it. They are not made to agree, their visions are different. It happened: Mulla Nasrudin tried many girls, but his mother would reject. So he came to me. He said, ‘Sir, help me. Whomsoever I choose, my mother is so dominating and so aggressive and she immediately rejects. I am tired. Am I going to remain a bachelor my whole life?’ I told him, ‘You do one thing. You choose a woman considering your mother’s likes and dislikes. Only then will she approve.’ Finally he found one woman. He was very happy, he said, ‘She walks like my mother, she wears clothes like my mother, chooses the same colours, cooks the food the same way. I hope she will like.’ I said, ‘You go.’ And the mother liked, she liked tremendously and Mulla came but he was very sad. I said, ‘Why are you sad?’ He said, ‘It seems I am going to remain a bachelor for my whole life.’ I said, ‘What happened? Your mother didn’t like?’ He said, ‘She liked, she liked tremendously—but my father? He rejects. Now it is impossible! My father says, ‘She is just like your mother. One is enough! And I’m fed up. Don’t you get into the same trouble! What are you doing? Again the same mistake?’’ These two polarities in you are the basis of your anxiety, and the whole effort of a Buddha, of a master, is to help you to go beyond this duality. This sutra is very significant. Before I read the sutra I would like to tell you a very symbolic parable. John Fowles has given this parable in his beautiful book, THE MAGUS. The Prince and the Magician. Once upon a time there was a young prince who believed in all things but three. He did not believe in princesses, he did not believe in islands, he did not believe in god. His father the king told him that such things did not exist. As there were no princesses or islands in his father’s domains, and no sign of god, the prince believed his father. But then one day the prince ran away from his palace and came to the next land. There to his astonishment from every coast he saw islands and on these islands strange and troubling creatures whom he dared not name. As he was searching for a boat a man in full evening dress approached him along the shore. ‘Are those real islands?’ asked the young prince. ‘Of course they are real islands,’ said the man in evening dress. ‘And those strange and troubling creatures?’ ‘They are all genuine and authentic princesses.’ ‘Then god must also exist!’ cried the prince. ‘I am god,’ replied the man in evening dress with a bow. The young prince returned home as quickly as he could. ‘So you are back,’ said his father the king. ‘I have seen islands, I have seen princesses and I have seen god,’ said the prince reproachfully. The king was unmoved. ‘Neither real islands nor real princesses nor a real god exist.’ ‘I saw them.’ ‘Tell me how god was dressed.’ ‘God was in full evening dress.’ ‘Were the sleeves of his coat rolled back?’ The prince remembered that they had been. The king smiled. ‘That is the uniform of a magician. You have been deceived.’ At this the prince returned to the next land and went to the same shore where once again he came upon the man in full evening dress. ‘My father the king has told me who you are,’ said the prince indignantly. ‘You deceived me last time but not again! Now I know that those are not real islands and those are not real princesses, because you are a magician.’ The man on the shore smiled. ‘It is you who are deceived, my boy. In your father’s kingdom there are many islands and many princesses, but you are under your father’s spell, so you cannot see them.’ The prince pensively returned home. When he saw his father he looked him in the eyes. ‘Father, is it true that you are not a real king but only a magician?’ The king smiled and rolled back his sleeves. ‘Yes my son, I am only a magician.’ ‘Then the man on the other shore was god?’ ‘The man on the other shore was another magician,’ said the king. ‘I must know the truth, the truth beyond magic,’ cried the prince—the truth beyond magic, remember these words. ‘There is no truth beyond magic,’ said the king. The prince was full of sadness. He said, ‘I will kill myself. If there is no truth beyond magic, then what is the point of going on living? I will kill myself, and I am saying to you, honestly.’ The king, by magic caused death to appear. Death stood in the door and beckoned to the prince. The prince shuddered. He remembered the beautiful but unreal islands and the unreal but beautiful princesses and then he said, ‘Very well. I can bear it. If everything is magic and nothing is beyond magic, then I can accept death also.’ ‘You see my son,’ said the king. ‘You too now begin to be a magician.’ Now this parable is very very significant. It is very easy to change one magic for another. It is very easy to change one ideology for another. It is very easy to become a Christian from a Hindu, or a Hindu from a Christian. It is very easy to change from the world and move to a monastery, or from the monastery come back to the world and get married. It is very easy. But you are moving and changing nothing but magical worlds. Unless you realize who you are, unless you come to the point… who is this one who is deceived? Who is this consciousness upon which this whole play of illusion goes on working, enchanting, hypnotising? Who is this basic consciousness? Yes, a dream can be untrue, but the dreamer cannot be untrue. Even for the dream to exist, a real dreamer is needed. This is the conclusion of the whole eastern search for truth. Let it be clear to you. In the day you live in a world; you think it is real. Your thinking does not matter much, because in the night when you are asleep you forget this real world completely. Not only do you forget about it, you don’t even remember that ever you knew about it. This whole reality simply disappears. In the dream world you start thinking dreams are real. The dream when it happens is as real as this world. Now, right now you are sitting before me. Is there any way to decide whether you are really listening to me or you are dreaming about me? Is there any criterion to decide? You may be simply asleep and dreaming. Or maybe I am asleep and dreaming about you, or maybe it is true. But how to decide? Just the feeling that it feels real cannot make it real, because in a dream it feels that the dream is real. So just your feeling cannot be enough guarantee for reality. Because you feel it looks real does not make any sense, because in a dream you feel absolutely that it is real. You have never doubted in your dream. Of course you doubt when you are out of your dream, but that is not the point. If someday this dream that you call your waking life is broken—and it is broken one day, that is the meaning of becoming a Buddha—when this waking dream is broken and suddenly one realizes that it all was just magic, illusion, a dream that you were living through, then it becomes unreal. Just as every morning you wake up and the whole night and the dream world disappears, and suddenly you realize—there is nothing. In the night the dream looks real, in the day whatsoever you call reality looks real, but they are suspicious, because in the night the day reality disappears, in the day the night reality disappears. And you have never been able to compare them because you cannot have them both together. Comparison is possible only when you can have on one side a pile of dreams, on the other side a pile of your so-called reality. Then you can compare. But you cannot have them both together. When the dream is there reality is not there, your so-called reality I mean. When the reality is there, the dream is not there. How do you compare? There is no way to compare. So the eastern sages have been saying that there is no need. The only thing which is real, or about which you can be certain, is you; not what you see, but the seer. One can be certain that for a dream to exist—the dream may be unreal or real, that is irrelevant—but for a dream to exist, even if it is unreal a real seer is needed. In the night, YOU were real, the dream was unreal. In the morning, the dream is no more there, only YOU are there. Again another dream unfolds. When one becomes enlightened even that dream disappears, but you are again real, you are still real. There is only one reality and that is your inner consciousness, your witnessing soul. Everything else may be real, unreal, and there is no way to decide it. It is said about Chuang Tzu that he dreamed one night that he had become a butterfly, moving from one flower to another, rushing in the garden. In the morning when he awoke he was very puzzled. He was a great teacher, a great master, one of the greatest Buddhas ever born on the earth. His disciples gathered and they looked at him, and he was very sad. They said, ‘Master, you have never been sad. What has happened?’ He said, ‘There is a problem to be solved for you: and the problem is that I, Chuang Tzu, dreamed in the night that I had become a butterfly.’ They laughed, they said, ‘Now the dream is gone, you are awake, why bother about it?’ Chuang Tzu said, ‘Listen to the whole thing. Now, a problem has arisen: if Chuang Tzu can dream, and in dream can become a butterfly, why can’t it happen vice versa? A butterfly can go to sleep and dream that she has become a Chuang Tzu. Now who is who? Whether Chuang Tzu dreamed that he had become a butterfly or the butterfly is dreaming that she has become a Chuang Tzu. This is the problem that is making me very sad.’ It is said that no one from his disciples could solve this conundrum, this KOAN. How to solve it? How to decide who is who? But if there was somebody deeply meditative, he would have answered. In fact, Chuang Tzu has posed the question just to know whether somebody has really become meditative among his disciples. Because then neither the butterfly is true, nor Chuang Tzu is true, but the one who is puzzled, the one who watched the butterfly, who is watching Chuang Tzu: the one who watched Chuang Tzu becoming a butterfly and who watched the butterfly becoming Chuang Tzu. That watchfulness, that awareness, that witness, that SAKSHIN, that is the only reality. This is the meaning of the concept of MAYA—that all that you see is unreal; only the seer is real. Go on moving towards the seer, otherwise you live in a magical world. You can change from one magic world to another. Man lives in lies; people call their lies their philosophies. Freud has said somewhere, a very penetrating insight, that man cannot live without lies. As man is, Freud seems to be right. Man cannot live without lies. Man without lies is difficult, because then you will need much courage. Your lies make life smooth, they function like lubrication, they make you move more easily. Somebody believes in a god, that makes life a little smooth. You can throw your responsibility on somebody. Somebody believes that there is a world beyond. Maybe here we are miserable, but there paradise is waiting for us, ready to welcome us. It helps. Marx has said that religion is the opium of the people. Yes, he is also true in a way. All hopes are lies, all expectations of the future are lies. Yes, religion can be the opium, but so can communism—anything that gives hope for the future, in this world or in another world; anything that helps you to sacrifice your present for something that may happen, may not happen; anything that gives you a feeling of meaning; anything that gives you a feeling that you are a hero; anything that helps to feed your ego. Once the Maharani of Gwalior invited me to Gwalior for a series of talks. After the first talk she heard she was very much disturbed; a very Hinduistic mind, a very dogmatic mind—orthodox, old-fashioned. She was very much disturbed. She came to see me in the afternoon and she said, ‘Sir, whatsoever you say appeals, but it is dangerous. And I have come with one request: please don’t destroy people’s faith.’ I told her, ‘If a faith can be destroyed, it is not worth. If a faith is a faith that can be destroyed, it is a faith in lies. A faith that is really a faith in truth is never afraid of being destroyed, it cannot be destroyed because truth cannot be destroyed.’ Hindus are afraid, Christians are afraid, Mohammedans are afraid, Jainas are afraid, everybody is afraid—don’t destroy our faith! In their faith they are just hiding their lies, their magic worlds, their dreams, their expectations. They are very touchy. If you just poke into their ribs their faith is skin-deep, not even that. They immediately become irritated because their faith is not anything deep in their heart, it is just a belief in the mind. The Maharani of Gwalior said to me, ‘I wanted to bring my son. He is very interested. Listening to you, he became fascinated—but I prevented him. I have not brought him to you—you are dangerous and he is young, and he can become too much impressed by you. So I have not brought him at all.’ What is this fear? Are you clinging to lies? Only lies are afraid of being broken, only lies need protection. Truth in itself is self-evident. So if you have some faith which is just a lie, it makes you secure, I know; it helps to adjust with the world, I know—but it is not going to help you ultimately. Sooner or later you will be awakened out of your dreaming and you will see your whole life has been a wastage. There is no need to cling to anything outside, because it is not yet in any way possible for you to decide what is true and what is false outside. Right now it will be better that you just move inwards to it and forget all about the outside. Don’t be bothered about Hinduism, Christianity, Mohammedanism; don’t be bothered about Vedas and Gitas and Korans. Just go in and let one be your goal: to know who is this consciousness, what is this consciousness, who I am. This sutra is a gradual indication of the inner journey. Listen to it. THE BUDDHA SAID: IT IS BETTER TO FEED ONE GOOD MAN THAN TO FEED ONE HUNDRED BAD MEN. Who is a bad man and who is a good man? What is the definition? The bad man is one who is inconsiderate of others. The bad man is one who uses others and has no respect for others. The bad man is one who thinks he is the center of the world and everybody is just to be used. Everything exists for him. The bad man is one who thinks that other persons are just means for his gratification. Keep this definition in mind because you ordinarily think the bad man is the criminal. The bad man may not be the criminal: all bad men are not criminals. All criminals are bad, but all bad men are not criminals. A few of them are judges, a few of them are very respectable people, a few of them are politicians, presidents and prime ministers, a few of them are even parading as saints. So when we will be talking about this sutra, remember the definition of a bad man—Buddha says a bad man is one who has no consideration for others. He simply thinks about himself only—he thinks he is the center of existence and he feels the whole existence is made for him. He feels authorized to sacrifice everybody for his own self. He may not be bad ordinarily, but if this is the attitude, then he is a bad man. Who is a good man? Just the opposite of the bad man: one who is considerate of others, who gives as much respect to others as he gives to himself, and who does not pretend in any way that he is the center of the world, and who has come to feel that everybody is the center of the world. The world is one, but millions of centers exist. He is very respectful. He never uses the other as a means. The other is an end in itself. His reverence is tremendous. Watch, watch your own life. Are you using your wife just for your sexuality? You may not go to a prostitute. Ordinarily you think that a person who goes to a prostitute is bad—that is a very gross definition. If you are using your wife just as a sexual object, you are as bad as anybody else. The only difference between you and the person who goes to a prostitute is that you have a permanent prostitute, that your marriage is a permanent arrangement and the other man makes arrangements day by day. You have a car in your garage and he uses a taxi. If you don’t respect your wife, then your wife is a prostitute—if you don’t respect her as a person in her own right. What does it mean? It means if she is not feeling, if she is not in the mood to make love, you will not enforce her; you will not say, ‘I am your husband and I have the right, legal right…’ No, you will respect. You will respect her intention. Good if you both agree. If the other is not agreeing, you will not coerce in any way. You will not quote scriptures that a wife has to sacrifice to the husband, you will not say that a wife has to believe in the husband as if he is a god. All this is nonsense, all this is a male-oriented trip. If a wife is using her husband only as an economical thing, financial security, then it is prostitution. Why do you condemn a prostitute? Because she sells her body for money? But if a wife just thinks to make love to the husband because he has money and with him there is security and the future is not uncertain, and she goes on staying with him with no love, with no love in her heart, and she sleeps with this man, then she is prostituting herself. Then in her idea the husband is nothing but his money, his bank balance. When Buddha says who a good man is, he defines the good man as one who respects the other as much as he respects himself. Jesus says, ‘Love the other as you love yourself—that is the definition of a good man. His respect is tremendous, his reverence is tremendous. Even if a child is born in your house, you don’t enforce your ideology on him. You may be a Mohammedan, you may be a Hindu. A child is born in your home; you don’t enforce the child to become a Hindu or a Mohammedan. Because if you enforce the child, you are not respectful towards the child. You are just using an opportunity because the child is helpless, and the child has to depend on you. He has to follow you. If you take him to the temple or to the church he has to come, because it is necessary for his survival to say yes to you, whatsoever you say. If you are using this opportunity, then you are exploiting a helpless child. Maybe it is your child, but you are exploiting him. If the world consists of good people, children will be totally free, not enforced into any religion. There will not be Christians and Hindus and Mohammedans in the world: there will be only good people, growing people, and they will choose wherever they feel their heart fits. Maybe it is a temple, or it is a church or a mosque or a gurudwara. They will choose their religion, that is their freedom. They will choose their life, that is their freedom. You don’t enforce. You love your child, but you don’t give your knowledge to him. You love your child but you don’t poison his being with your ambitions. You love the child but you don’t possess him. You help the child not to grow according to you, but to grow according to his being, to be himself. Then you are a good person. IT IS BETTER TO FEED ONE GOOD MAN THAN TO FEED ONE HUNDRED BAD MEN… because if you feed bad men you feed badness; if you feed good men you feed goodness. Help the world to become better. Don’t leave the world just the same as you have found it—make it a little better, make it a little more beautiful. Let there be a few more songs, a few more celebrations, let there be a few less wars, a few less politicians, let there be more love, less hatred. That is the meaning when Buddha says FEED ONE GOOD MAN—that is better, far better, than feeding one hundred bad men. IT IS BETTER TO FEED ONE WHO OBSERVES THE FIVE PRECEPTS OF BUDDHA THAN TO FEED ONE THOUSAND GOOD MEN. Now who is this whom Buddha calls one WHO FOLLOWS THE FIVE PRECEPTS OF BUDDHA, the PANCHASHILAS? The panchashilas are, the five precepts are: no possessiveness, no theft, no violence, no untruth, no sexuality. One who follows these five precepts of the Buddha, he is not just good, he is not just good to others, he is not just moral—he is starting to be religious. That is the difference between the good man and the religious man. The good man lives through intellect: he thinks, contemplates, he tries to find out ways through thinking, and he comes to feel, ‘As I exist, as I have the right to exist, others also have the right to exist; as I would like to be free, others also like freedom.’ This is his considered opinion. He thinks about it. He is not religious; he is a very very intelligent man. A Bertrand Russell is a good man, a moral man, but he is not religious. Whatsoever he comes to think good, he will do. But goodness comes as a logic, as a syllogism—it is a conclusion of thinking. The religious man is not only good by thinking, he starts being good by being, he starts to grow into meditativeness. The religious man follows these five precepts. They are all negative: no theft, no untruth, no sexuality, no violence, no possessiveness. The religious man is negative, because he himself has not yet experienced what truth is. He has come to feel the truth through somebody else: he follows the Buddha, he lives close to a master, he has seen somebody becoming a flame, he has watched it happen somewhere—but it has not happened in himself. He is attracted, he is convinced of the truth of it, but still it is from the outside—he is a follower. That’s why Buddha says: IT IS BETTER TO FEED ONE WHO OBSERVES THE FIVE PRECEPTS OF BUDDHA THAN TO FEED ONE THOUSAND GOOD MEN. His approach is still negative, because the positive truth can be attained only by you. Somebody may have attained. Watching him, being in deep rapport with him, you may feel that yes, there is truth—but that is remaining outside of it, it is not your experience. You are thirsty and you see somebody who is coming from the river, his thirst gone. You can see from his face, from his eyes the glow, that his thirst is quenched. And you can feel that he must have found a source of water, and you follow him towards the river, but still you have not quenched your thirst. But better than to be just good. Then you are not moving just by your intellect, now you have started moving by your intuition. Now you are not just a head, you are moving, leaning towards the heart. To find a master is the only way to become a religious person. Without a master you can be at the most a moral person, a good person, but you cannot be a religious person. Because how to believe something which you have never tasted? How to believe something which you have never experienced? How to believe in something which you have never seen happen even to somebody else? When a Buddha passes in the world, many people are thrilled, their enthusiasm surges high, they start feeling that yes, the world does not end with the worldly things, there is something more to it. The very presence of a Buddha, his coolness, his silence, his overflowing bliss and compassion, his enlightened luminous being, just his vibe pulsates you towards a new life, opens doors of the unknown. But still, Buddha says, you are following; you are not yet capable of your own light. Your eyes are dazzled, but you have not attained to your own flame. IT IS BETTER TO FEED ONE SROTAPANNA THAN TO FEED TEN THOUSAND OF THOSE WHO OBSERVE THE FIVE PRECEPTS OF BUDDHA. Then, Buddha says, it is better to feed a SANNYASIN—SROTAPANNA means a sannyasin, one who has entered into the river; one who is not standing on the bank and watching others swimming in the river, thrashing around, enjoying, celebrating in the coolness of the river. The religious man is standing on the bank. He can see that there are people in the river, tremendously happy, but he has not been yet able to gather courage to take a jump. He has still much involvement with the bank, in the world. He has much involvement in ordinary, mundane things—money, power, prestige, family, body, health—a thousand and one things. He is not yet courageous enough to let go. Srotapanna means one who has surrendered, who has entered the stream. Srotapanna exactly means what I mean by sannyas: the courageous person who has taken the jump. It is almost an insane jump, because those who are standing on the bank will laugh, and they will say, ‘What are you doing? Where are you going? You don’t know swimming. First learn swimming, then enter.’ But how can one learn swimming without entering in the river? Their logic is impeccable: they say first learn, first know, then go. But first learn on the bank, otherwise you are taking a risk. The river may be too deep for you and you may not be able to come back home. And who knows where it is going? And these people who are in the river, maybe they are all deluded, maybe they are all mad. Just look, the majority is standing on the bank, only a few people are in the river. The majority cannot be wrong. The people on the bank say, ‘The few can be wrong, the mass cannot be wrong. There are only a few sannyasins in the world, very rare are Buddhas in the world—maybe they are deluded. Don’t be in a hurry. Maybe they are deceiving others—who knows? Maybe they have some other hidden motives. Wait and watch. Don’t do such a thing in a hurry.’ But such things are done only in a hurry. If you wait and watch, waiting and watching becomes your mechanical habit. Then you simply go on waiting and watching. That’s what many are doing for many lives. BUDDHA SAYS: IT IS BETTER TO FEED ONE SROTAPANNA THAN TO FEED TEN THOUSAND OF THOSE WHO OBSERVE THE FIVE PRECEPTS OF BUDDHA. Because the srotapanna will have some experience of the stream. He will have his own experience to depend upon, he will have some taste of the stream, he will have the cool experience of the stream—that it relaxes, that worldly cares and anxieties disappear, that one stops struggling, anguish by and by moves distant and distant and goes far away. Ordinary cares, anxieties disappear. One becomes more collected and calm. But this can be known only by a srotapanna, a sannyasin. A sannyasin has taken an existential step. He has moved into the abyss. He has risked his life. Buddha says respect a man, feed a man who has risked his life. Maybe you are not yet courageous, but be close to people who are courageous. Courage is also infectious like everything else. Find people who have entered the stream, be with them, feed them, at least that will give you an idea what is happening to somebody. You may start dreaming, desiring it. Your hidden energies may start surfacing. You may start feeling the challenge of the unknown. The religious person is negative, the srotapanna is positive. The religious person follows somebody else, the srotapanna has entered into the stream of life, into the stream of consciousness. He has dropped his ego. Now he is not any more a follower of a Buddha. This has to be understood. Ordinarily if you are my sannyasins people will say that you are my followers. By becoming a sannyasin, in fact you have become part of me, you are no more a follower. Before you became a sannyasin you may have been a follower. Then you decided that following is not enough, that you are ready to go with me headlong, that you are ready to go with me wherever I am going. Now, once you are a sannyasin you are not a follower, you are part of the energy I am, you are just one with me. People ask me, ‘If we don’t take sannyas, will you not help me, will you not help us?’ I say, ‘I will help, that is not the problem, but you will not be able to take it, because you will go on remaining separate, you will go on remaining on the bank.’ The river is ready to take you to the ocean, the invitation is already given to you, it is a standing invitation, but you are standing on the bank. What can the river do? It cannot snatch you away from the bank. And it wouldn’t be good, even if it was possible, because you have to drop into the river on your own accord. Only then is it freedom. If you are snatched by the river, if I take you away forcibly, it cannot help you. It can destroy you, it cannot give you freedom. How can it give you ultimate freedom, moksha? From the very beginning it will be a bondage. So I will not take you like a flooded river takes people, I will have to wait. You will have to come to me, you will have to enter into the stream, you will have to become part of the stream. The srotapanna, or the sannyasin, is positive. Now, instead of non-truth, truth arises in him. Non-truth was just a preparation so that truth can enter. Instead of non-violence or no-violence, love, compassion arises in him. Non-violence was just a preparation for it. No violence, no untruth and other negatives are just medicinal. You are ill; the physician gives you a medicine to destroy the illness. When the illness is destroyed then health arises in you. Medicine never brings health, it only destroys the disease. Health cannot be brought by any medicine, there is no health-giving medicine. Health is your inner being—once the hindrances are removed your waters of life start flowing; once rocks are removed your fountain bursts forth. Health is something natural, no medicine can give it to you. Disease is something unnatural. Disease enters you from the outside; an outside medicine can take it away. Health is your innermost core, it is you. When you are naturally yourself you are healthy. The religious man is under treatment, he is hospitalised. The srotapanna has come back home—he is no more hospitalised, he is not under treatment, his health has started sprouting. His spring of life is flowing well. He is positive. His goal is not non-violence, his goal is not non-truth, is not untruth. His goal is not to delete something, eliminate something, his goal is not to destroy something; his goal is to help that which is already bubbling, radiating in his being. IT IS BETTER TO FEED ONE SKRIDAGAMIN THAN TO FEED ONE MILLION OF SROTAPANNAS. Buddha goes deeper and deeper. A SKRIDAGAMIN is one who will die and will come once again in life. His samadhi is just coming closer. Srotapanna is one who has jumped into the stream from the bank; a skridagamin is one whose river is coming very close to the ocean. He is getting ready to take the ultimate, the final jump. But he will come once more. Just that much difference. A srotapanna will be born seven times—that much is the distance from the bank to the ocean. A sannyasin will be born seven times; a skridagamin once more, only once more. Then his accounts will be closed, then he will have passed through the final graduation from life, then this world is no more for him. But once more he will come, maybe for his post-graduation. IT IS BETTER TO FEED ONE ANAGAMIN THAN TO FEED TEN MILLIONS OF SKRIDAGAMINS. The ANAGAMIN is one who will not come. Anagamin means one who has passed beyond the point of coming back… crossed the shore of this world. Once died, he will not be coming again to the world. He is just on the verge of the ocean, the river is just there—just there on the threshold, ready to jump. He will not even look back. The skridagamin is looking back, hesitating a little, would like to come once more. This world is beautiful, it attracts. It has many celebrations, many flowers bloom here. The skridagamin is one for whom subtle desires are still lurking somewhere in the deep unconscious. Yes, he knows that one has to go, but a little more he would like to linger on this shore. Before he takes the final jump and disappears forever, he would like to taste this life once more, just as a farewell, to say good-bye. The anagamin is one who will not look back, he will not even say good-bye. He is totally finished. The skridagamin is perfectly certain that a better world is waiting, but still a little longing for the past. You always feel that—a little nostalgia. When you are leaving a house where you have lived for twenty years, have you watched?—you look back. Or you leave a town you have lived in for twenty years, where you were born—you look back. Even when the train leaves you go on looking out of the window, your eyes a little wet with memories, nostalgia, the past, the whole past. You have been here for so long. You loved here, you hated here, you had friends, you had enemies, you had many sorts of experiences here; you owe too much to this life. Yes, you are ready to go, you are already in the train, but still eyes of longing look backwards. The skridagamin will come once, the anagamin will not come. His departure is total, perfect. He will not look back, he has no nostalgia. The future that is happening, that is going to happen, is far more beautiful; this world simply has disappeared from his consciousness. The golden peaks of god are waiting for him, the oceanic infinity is waiting for him. He does not hanker any more for the bounded existence of a river. Yes, there were many flowers on the bank and beautiful trees and shadows and many dreams, but that is gone. Gone is gone. BUDDHA SAYS: IT IS BETTER TO FEED ONE ARHAT THAN TO FEED ONE HUNDRED MILLIONS OF ANAGAMINS. The arhat is one who has dropped into the ocean, disappeared. The anagamin is one who is just on the verge of disappearing, just on the boundary line—one step more and he will become an arhat. Just a little distance and he will become an arhat—one drop more, just the last straw is needed on the back of the camel and the camel will collapse. The anagamin is boiling at ninety-nine degrees; one degree more… The arhat is one who has crossed one hundred degrees and evaporated. Arhat is one who has evaporated. The arhat is one whose ego is lost, who has become part of the whole. He no more exists as himself, now he exists as the universe, as the whole. In fact that is the meaning of the word ‘holy’: one who has become whole. Arhat is holy. Not holy in the sense Christians use the word ‘saint’—no, not in that sense. The Christian word ‘saint’ is very ugly. It comes from a root ‘sanctus’: sanctioned by the church. That is ugly—how can you sanction? Who is there to sanction? No government can issue certificates for saints—even the government that exists in the Vatican, even the Pope has no authority. A saint cannot be certified, but the Christian word ‘saint’ means one who is certified by the Pope. Arhat does not mean saint in that way. Arhat means one who has lost himself in the whole and has become holy. IT IS BETTER TO FEED ONE PRATYAK BUDDHA THAN TO FEED ONE BILLION OF ARHATS. Then who is this PRATYAK Buddha? Arhat is one who has followed Buddhas and arrived home. Pratyak Buddha is one who has never been a disciple to anybody, who has come searching alone—his journey has been absolutely alone, his path has been absolutely alone. A pratyak Buddha is a rare phenomenon. There are millions of arhats down the centuries, but very far and few in between are pratyak Buddhas, who have struggled absolutely alone. And of course, they are needed, otherwise arhats will not be possible. Pratyak Buddhas are needed so that others can follow them; they are the pioneers, they are the breakthroughs, they create the path. Remember it: pratyak Buddha is one who moves in the jungle of life for the first time and creates a path by his very movement. Then others can follow. Those others will reach to the same point, to the same goal, but they will be arhats. They have not made the path, they are not the path-finders, they are not the path-builders. More respect is needed to be given to a pratyak Buddha because no path was there: he created the path. IT IS BETTER TO FEED ONE OF THE BUDDHAS EITHER OF THE PRESENT OR OF THE PAST OR OF THE FUTURE THAN TO FEED TEN BILLIONS OF PRATYAK BUDDHAS. Then what is the difference between a pratyak Buddha and a Buddha? A pratyak Buddha is one who creates the path and never bothers if anyone is following him or not. He has no compassion. He is a lonely traveller and he has found alone, so he thinks everybody can find when he has found. What is the point of going and telling people? He is not a master. A pratyak Buddha makes the path—not for others, remember. He is just moving and the path is created by his movement… a small footpath in the jungle. Because he has moved, others follow him; that is for them—he never cares. He is a lonely traveller, and he thinks what can happen to him can happen to others. When Buddha himself became enlightened these two alternatives were before him: whether to become a Buddha or a pratyak Buddha. For seven days he remained quiet: there was every possibility he may have chosen to be a pratyak Buddha. Then the whole humanity would have missed something of tremendous value. It is said that Brahma came with all his gods from heaven—it is a beautiful parable. They bowed down at the feet of Buddha and they prayed to him: ‘Open your eyes and teach us whatsoever you have found.’ But Buddha said, ‘What is the point? If I can find, others can also find.’ He was leaning towards becoming a pratyak Buddha. His logic was perfect: if I can find, then why not others? ‘And,’ he said, ‘even if I teach, those who want to listen, only they will listen to me. Those who are ready to go, only they will go with me. They can go without me. And those who are not ready to go, they won’t listen and they will not go even if I shout from the housetops. So why bother?’ The gods discussed between themselves what to do, how to convince this man. A great opportunity has happened in the universe and if he becomes a pratyak Buddha, then again the message will be lost. Of course, a few people will again find the way, but there is a possibility to make a superhighway. And a footpath can disappear very soon; the trees can overrun it again. It has to be prepared in such a way that for centuries to come people can follow, and the trees and the jungle will not destroy it, will not cover it again. They discussed, they argued amongst themselves, then they found an argument. They came to Buddha again and they said, ‘You have to teach, because we watched, we looked all around the world. Yes, you are right, there are a few people who will immediately follow you. And we know that those are the people, even if you don’t say, they will find—a little later, maybe a few more steps, but they will find; we are certain about it, they are already on their search. So maybe your teaching will bring the goal sooner, but nothing much more is going to happen—you are right. And there are people—millions we know, we have seen, we have looked into the hearts of humanity—who will not listen, who are deaf to any person like you. So, talking to them is not of any meaning. But we have seen a few people who are just in between the two, just lurking on the boundary. They will not go if you don’t speak. And if you speak they will listen and they will gather courage. So just please, for those few people.’ And Buddha could not argue, he had to concede, and he became a Buddha and dropped the idea of becoming a pratyak Buddha. Buddha is one who has found his path; not only that—he created that path in such a way that many more can follow it… who has tremendous compassion for others, for all those struggling human beings who are groping in the dark. IT IS BETTER TO FEED ONE WHO IS ABOVE KNOWLEDGE, ONESIDEDNESS, DISCIPLINE, AND ENLIGHTENMENT THAN TO FEED ONE HUNDRED BILLIONS OF BUDDHAS OF PAST, PRESENT OR FUTURE. And then he comes to the last point, the zero point—even beyond a Buddha. As far as human intellect can go, Buddha seems to be the last point. That’s why we call Gautam Siddhartha ‘the Buddha’, because that is as far as language can go. But there is a point beyond language, there is a point which is not expressible—beyond symbols, ineffable: that Buddha calls going beyond even being a Buddha. Then one is not even in any way thinking that he is enlightened, then one has no discipline, then one has no character. Then one is not—one is simply empty space. Because in a Buddha at least a little desire to help others exists, a compassion for others. But that too will be a bondage. That means the Buddha still thinks, ‘Others are and I am, and I can help others.’ Still the last subtle boundary of ‘I’ and ‘you’, of ‘me’ and ‘thou’ exists. The last point, Buddha says, is a zero point where all knowledge disappears, all experience disappears—even the experience of nirvana—because there is nobody to experience it. It is difficult to say anything about it, only negative descriptions are possible. You can find this point in all the religions. They have different words for it. Jews, Christians, Mohammedans, Hindus, call this point God. That is their way of saying ‘the beyond.’ But the Buddhist way seems to be far superior. Jainas, Sankhyas, Yogins, call this state MOKSHA, absolute freedom. Or others call it KAIVALYA, absolute aloneness. But still, all these words confine it. Buddha has not used any word, he simply says: IT IS BETTER TO FEED ONE WHO IS ABOVE KNOWLEDGE, ABOVE ONESIDEDNESS, ABOVE DISCIPLINE, ABOVE ENLIGHTENMENT, THAN TO FEED ONE HUNDRED BILLIONS OF BUDDHAS OF THE PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE. These are the possibilities within you. Ordinarily you exist as a bad man, so you are existing on the minimum, on the lowest rung. Try to become a good man. It is better than to be bad, but don’t think it is the goal—it is all comparative, it is all relative. I have heard: Mulla Nasrudin was in love with a woman. He went to the girl’s father and requested that he should be allowed to have his daughter’s hand. The father was completely willing, he said, ‘I’m absolutely happy, I have nothing to say against it, but my wife will not agree. She thinks with your long hippie-like hair, with your poetic style of life, with your unisex dress, she thinks you look effeminate.’ Mulla brooded over it and he said, ‘She is right—in comparison to her.’ Everything is comparative. The good man is good in comparison to the bad, but in comparison to the religious man, he is just like the bad man. The sannyasin is good in comparison to the religious man, but how to compare him with the skridagamin?—and so on and so forth. The more you travel on the inner path, the more higher peaks become available to you. Never rest content unless you have reached to the very last, the uttermost. And the uttermost is beyondness—where nothing exists or only pure existence remains. That purity is the goal and in that purity you become One. Until that purity is achieved, somehow duality goes on—first in a gross way, then in a subtle way, then in a very very subtle way. First in the conscious, then in the unconscious, but it goes on; then even in the superconscious it persists—it goes on making shadows. So remember it, the goal is to disappear completely. The goal is to transcend all duality, all definition. The goal is to become one with the whole.

Osho (Finding Your Own Way)

#osho #buddha #enlightenment #path #good and evil #sannyas #respect #reality #split #nonduality #oneness #alone #dreams #anxiety #decision #lies #marriage #master #buddhism #lbotca

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oldnwise · 2 years

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Stirred, and Definately Shaken (some Darth Vader & Obi-wan sass)

(The start of some fun fic Im writing in between other writing)

Given that he was fighting a concentrated dose of the Dark Side, a juggernaut of raw power who believed in smashing things with as much force as possible (in more than one sense) Obi-wan had been doing fairly well. Until he wasn’t.

He’d managed to dig himself out of Vader’s ‘low ground’ manouver and drag his aching body back into the fight, he’d even managed to smash important bits of the power units on the black armor but ultimately he took his bravado a bit too far with the heroic leap. He’d really wanted to smash that mask, open up that face so that he could finally see what, and who it was he was fighting.

He’d just misjudged his opponent’s resilience a little because he came down onto the point of a suddenly lifted lightsaber. Unlike a real sword, you didn’t dramatically hang on it; the spitting beam went through his chest beneath the shoulder and his momentum carried him forward, slammed him into Vader and they both fell.

He passed out before he could think about dying. ===================================

Darth Vader studied the familiar figure lying on the medical bed, watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, sensed his unconscious life presence like a low level itch. Obi-wan was naked under a thin sheet covering him from his feet to his waist. Above that, his body was being attended to by a medical droid under the watchful eye of his own private doctor. Tubes were inserted in his nose leading to a ventilator and other patched lines monitored his life readings. The droid was detaching the last of the bacta bandages from a puckered operation wound on the man’s upper right chest.

The original lightsaber wound had been small, as point thrust wounds generally were. Just a burnt circle of flesh, unless the saber moved to slice afterwards. In this case it hadn’t, because Vader had flicked it off as Obi-wan had fallen against him.

“Well?”

The doctor bobbed his head as he adjusted the medical monitor. “My Lord, the replacement lung is doing well at the moment. It has worked up to its normal operational capacity and appears to be matching the other lung just as it should.”

“Appears to be?”

“Yes sir. We will not, of course, know for sure until the ventilator is detached and it has to properly..”

“Then do it.” He could sense the doctor wanted to argue about further monitoring, normal post-operative care and so on but despite respecting the doctor’s capabilities, his patience was even less than it generally was. “You may return to supporting him if it is necessary.” He’d give the man that much.

“Of course, sir, at once.” The doctor issued instructions to his droids and they carefully, slowly, withdrew the air tubes. And then they watched, and waited.

There was no change for a few minutes as the doctor explained the machine-fed air was still circulating through Obi-wan’s respiratory system. Once that was metabolised his body began to respond. The rise of the chest became uneven, and the monitoring machines began to react, edging up towards the red. The doctor’s hand hovered over the tubing as Vader spoke.

“Wait. He will recover.” Stubborn, stubborn man, one who he knew so well, who fought even when there was no hope and he sensed that tenacious spark rise to the challenge. The mechanical replacement began to work hard and the two parts of the body meshed, one mechanical, one live and it wasn’t wasted on him how that might almost be poetic in its duality.

If I believed that poetry was more than just words…

And he saw Obi-Wan’s eyelids begin to twitch, his nostrils flutter as they took in air, scenting the world even when he was not fully awake. His lips opened slightly and he moaned. The doctor reacted as they always did, to pain.

“Should I address that, sir? He will be in a fair amount of pain when he wakes.”

“No. Withdraw the analgesics. Let him feel being alive. It will be part of the experience.” ==============================

He’d woken in medical centres often enough to recognise it then. The air was warm, full of scents. His own stale body odours, bacta medicines, other unfamiliar chemicals and the faint smell of ash carried on air currents from somewhere else. Sensation arrived in an order of march; the sound of monitoring equipment beeping regularly, the soft scuffle of feet and mechanics, voices amid the general background noise of activity. He was thirsty, had a terrible headache and his chest…his chest really hurt. That got his eyes open, had him gasp in and out through a dry, phlegm-filled throat and trying to clear that made him cough.

And that REALLY hurt.

Trying not to cough when you were choking on bile was a big ask. He wanted to cough, he wanted to vomit, he wanted it to stop and everything clashed together as he did the first two and wasn’t granted the third. He also, in between the throes of anguish, noted he’d voided himself. Droids hustled around him, making agitated sounds as they tried to clean him and that only made it worse. Now he stank as well as everything else. He’d survived Vader only to end up in a total mess.

Can life get any worse?

When he sensed the arrival of the reason for his current calamity, he groaned. Of course it can.

Bleary-eyed from pain and tears he had no control over, he saw the dark figure stop abruptly. Apparently Vader’s sensory organs were working fine because Obi-wan got a flicker of distaste from him. He muttered in between gasps: “Well..this is..your doing so…do not..blame me…”

The tall figure moved cautiously forward and Obi-wan swore he made a move to cover his breathing apparatus with his gloved hand, before dropping it. He turned to the droids, and even with the modulated voice, the tone was obvious. “Have him thoroughly cleaned. Report to me when it is done.” And then he was turning to leave in a swirl of cloth and annoyance.

“Coward,” Obi-wan muttered and had the satisfaction of hearing a deep, frustrated growl.

#obi wan kenobi #darth vader #post Obi-Wan Kenobi series #star wars #not quite the way it happened in OWK Episode 6 #star wars au

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sashetha · 1 year

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OKAY, so it took me a hot sec to get through some of the art I wanted to get through before telling more about Orion, but I think it's about time I actually explain a bit, and to start while I may always call him Orion that's a bit of a missleading habit. "Orion" is in fact dead. He has been for a very long time. Only one among countless who'd fallen victim to a Xoove attack, when the robotic zealots had managed to track down a wandering devoman city. The one who had survived, had instead been his younger brother, Aiolos.

I won't get into the nitty gritty of it, but throughout his life Aiolos kept wandering and continued to live a life of much loss. The last place where he stayed for any lenght of time was as an acolyte under a void cult. He had by then already, built a reputation and begun his one-man war upon the enemies which had taken so much from him, but it was under the void cult that he reffined his ability to teleport and learned to polymorph, so he could take on a less conspicuous shape to travel freely once more. In short, there is a duality to "Orion", both physically and psychologically. He is a man of two very distinct faces and the form and name under which he usually presents himself (pictured above) is not truly his own, but rather an amalgimation of his most loved ones. Chief among them his older broher, who would also serve as his namesake.

His way of handing grief, has been by continuing to live out aspects of those he's lost. There is however a dissonance betwene the kind, loving people he remembers and the wounded, vindictive beast the boy named Aiolos grew up to become. I want it to be clear that he isn't meant to be coded as having DID, but in a sense his identity is split. The kindness with which he carries himself as Orion, the traveling monk, isn't entirely a lie, but also a part of himself that he feels the world has denied him. Neither is Orion an accurate rendition of his brother. Not only does he, as mentioned, posses aspects of other people Aioloshad come to love, but Aiolos own scars. Therefore, in a way Orion is not just a bundle of memories but also the person some deeper part of Aiolos wishes he could have been. All the while his "original" shape remains a personification of his rage is one that has become and instrument of desctruction more so than a distinct person. Therefore, if ever Oriona or Aiolos had a true face it likely remains lost somewhere between these two personas.

#Devoma #closed species #scifi #digital art #my art #Orion #artist on tumblr

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nikakistos · 3 years

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The Perfect Closure of EreMika

The title is pure clickbait (as always), there will be lots of tags (as always) and this post will be huge. As always. So, let’s examine and evaluate the perfect conclusion of the most important relationship in Attack on Titan. We will analyze why this is the best conclusion they could have gotten and of course we are going to talk about what their scenes meant for their relationship, their feelings for each other and the themes of the story.

First, let’s ask the question: What was the purpose of this chapter? Ending the fight obviously, but also giving closure to the relationship between Eren and Mikasa. Now, there were 3 questions that needed to be answered in order for the two of them to have closure.

Why did Eren say to Mikasa that he hated her?

What does Eren feel for Mikasa?

What would have happened if Mikasa had given Eren a different answer back in chapter 123?

Isayama answered all 3 of them in a spectacular way. Let’s see how he did it. The chapter literally starts with Isayama, via Mikasa, setting up the closure. This was achieved by having her wonder if this really was the end for her and Eren. Could it be that their last interaction ever ended with him saying that he hated her?

Isayama answers that with a big, fat NO.

That’s the purpose of Mikasa’s vision. Mikasa’s vision is not there to introduce us to Alternate Universes or to portray her as a delusional fangirl that can’t cope with reality. It’s purpose is to answer the above 3 questions. And that it does.

Essentially, Mikasa’s vision is a “What if” scenario. If Mikasa had chosen the ideal for her answer back in chapter 123, Eren would have abandoned everything and lived with her. This means that Eren is also in love with her. He said that he hated Mikasa, because he wanted her to forget him. That’s why he also asked her to throw away the scarf.

Mikasa though, being the truest representation of all major, positive themes in the series says no. She chooses to remember him. That’s essentially the meaning of life. That’s what Armin taught to Zeke back in chapter 137. Memories of everyday life. That’s the meaning of life. Back in Trost, Mikasa said that she couldn’t die, because she wouldn’t be able to remember Eren. Even back then, Mikasa always knew the true meaning of life.

Afterall, the series heavily criticizes the usage of memory manipulation. Deleting memories or altering them have been methods empoyed by the Royal Family for years, hiding the truth from the people. One of the themes of the Survey Corps is remembering their fallen comrades and carrying on the torch. Mikasa forgetting Eren would be an insult to the themes of the story. As would be if Eren was revealed to have been sending fake memories and dreams to Mikasa out of pity for her.

Finally, Mikasa decides to kill Eren. Not because he hated her or because he didn’t have romantic feelings for her. Because she had to save the world and because that’s exactly what Eren wanted. Back in chapter 133 Reiner foreshadowed Eren’s desires. He explained that it is very hard for Eren, mentally, to handle the murder of the entire human race. Through Reiner, Isayama reveals that Eren wants someone to end it all for him. That someone was Mikasa. That’s why Mikasa knew where to find Eren. His relieved face when he saw her swinging the blade said it all. That was Eren’s design and Mikasa delivered.

And so, the chapter that starts with Mikasa thinking that the only closure she would get with Eren was the “I’ve always hated you”, ends with the first and the last kiss between the two of them that puts all of her worries to rest.

Is Mikasa delusional?

I’ve seen this being thrown around, so i have to also tackle said point. No, Mikasa is not delusional. This wasn’t a fantasy that only she experienced. This dream of hers is the same dream that Eren had back in chapter 1. Eren experienced the exact same things she did in the dream. We even see him with his titan marks. It is clear as day that they shared these moments.

Also, i have to give credits to Isayama here for his usage of “itterasshai”. The word generally means “Go and come back safely” and is usually said to people leaving the house. For Mikasa, Eren is her home, but she is also home for him, as shown in the RtS arc:

These were the perfect parting words for the two of them. Nothing else could encapsulate their relationship better. Eren of course, won’t come back, but that’s the irony of the word here.

Moving on to the next point, Mikasa’s characterization in this final arc is about her seeing Eren for the person he truly is and stop ignoring his faults. It starts from the Marley arc and it concludes with chapter 123 where she realizes that this was simply part of Eren’s nature.

He always had it in him to become the monster that he became. However, he always had a different side to him. A side that had been shown to her a few times. At first, when he wrapped the scarf around her and later when he asked her “What am i to you”. Finally, it manifested as a desire to live quietly with her in their shared dream. It would contradict her development and characterization in the final arc, to have Mikasa start seeing an incomplete Eren again, after realizing earlier who he really was. Mikasa understood who Eren truly is and she accepted him and continued to love him anyway, even though she didn’t agree with his genocide.

It is not out of character for Eren to run away with her either. At least not in that instance. The series highlights the moment that he asked Mikasa “What am i to you” as a pivotal one. Sure, under normal circumstances, Eren would have chosen to fight, but we saw him breaking down just moments earlier. The only person that could have saved him was Mikasa. Alas, that wasn’t meant to happen.

In any instance, the biggest indicator that Mikasa is not just a delusional girl who kissed the decapitated head of the man she loved, when he never really loved her in the same way, is Ymir’s face at the end of the chapter.

Ymir, as i have mentioned in previous posts, is a girl who never knew real love during her lifetime. She didn’t understand what she was looking at, when she first say a couple kissing with their friends cheering them on. And after that she was sentenced to a cruel life, with a man who never loved her and only viewed her as a tool. This girl, remembers longinly that scene of the couple kissing for 2000 years. She was waiting for 2000 years to see real love again.

She witnessed that through Eren and Mikasa. In a scene that would have otherwise been painted in a negative light, Ymir’s warm smile at the sight of the final act of love between two people who never got to be together the way they wanted to, clears any and all doubts regarding Eren’s feelings for Mikasa and the latter’s sanity. Eren reciprocates Mikasa’s feelings and he was alive for enough time to kiss her back, before completely fading away. Eren and Mikasa replaced the married couple and Ymir replaced the crowd that was cheering at them from 2000 years ago.

Of course, one might ask, could Eren really kiss her? Didn’t she just take advantage of him? No, he did kiss her. The way the scene was directed, it shows us that the events, which take place in their dream, mirror the events in real life. Just look at Eren’s lips one moment before Mikasa kissed him and compare them to the picture above, where they kiss. They are different.

Also, you have to remeber that decapitation doesn’t kill immediately and does not immobilize facial muscles. That was the entire reason that Eren and Zeke managed to get the Coordinate. Eren survived long enough from Gabi’s shot to make contact with Zeke. Even his facial expression changes as you can see below:

More importantly, was there really any chance that Ymir would look at Mikasa beheading and kissing Eren, while also smiling in approval, if Mikasa was a delusional girl who was unable to understand Eren’s feelings for her up to the very end? Most of all, do you think she would have allowed him to die, without experiencing real love? She died in such a way and she stayed for 2000 years in the Paths waiting for someone to show her real love. Eren was her benefactor. Would she ever allow him to die in such a way, when she was being mistreated (sexually and in many other ways) by King Fritz? I doubt it. Actually no. I don’t doubt it. I’m sure this is not the way we are meant to interprete the scene.

Eren’s relationship with Mikasa, from the very start, is an allegory for the world of AoT. The world is cruel, but is also very beautiful. Eren’s story with Mikasa starts with him murdering in cold blood her kidnappers (cruelty) and then warmly and gently welcoming her to his family by wrapping a scarf around her (beauty). Their story ends with Mikasa decapitating him (cruelty) and kissing him (beauty).

Eren’s tendency for violence has always been portrayed as going hand in hand with his better side. That side has always been represented by Mikasa. It is only fitting for them to have their most beautiful moment happening almost at the same time as their most cruel one. This is how Isayama juxtaposes this duality:

If we interprete this scene as Mikasa being delusional and Eren not being in love with her we get a very disturbing and creepy scene, between an obsessed, psychosis-suffering girl who can’t understand the feelings of Eren, a genocidal maniac who never had any chance or willingness to live a normal life, even though there are hints of that, and a 2000 year old ghost who just happily smiled at the decapitation and forceful kissing of her emancipator. I am pretty sure this is not the message Isayama wants to send. Not simply, because it is a disservice to Mikasa as a character and to her relationship with Eren, which has been one of the most prominent and consistent part of the series from the very first chapter, but because it is also a huge disrespect to Eren as a character as well. Does anyone really think that Isayama would choose to write Eren’s death like that? Not a single important person in the entire story has gotten such an exit. Not even Floch. Even Zeke, who thought that his father never loved him and only used him as a tool, got to see that his father truly did love him, before finally dying. Of course Eren and Mikasa would get the same treatment.

What i mean to say is that Eren and Mikasa’s closure won’t be recontextualized in a way that will paint their feelings for one another and their relationship in a negative light. If anyone’s expecting that, he/she will be disappointed. Eren and Mikasa were confirmed as a canonical couple in chapter 138.

On the other hand, if anyone’s expecting that this wasn’t their real closure and that they will get an even happier ending, he/she is also coping hard. Eren died here in this chapter. There won’t be a scarf rewrap (i’m here to eat my words if it happens), because Isayama gave the couple a kiss. A kiss that was in the makings ever since chapter 50 dropped. And of course, there is not going to be a baby born to Eren and Mikasa. Like, no way it’s happening. Eren is not coming back to life as that would turnish the series and it’s ending.

In conclusion, Eren’s relationship with Mikasa ended in the same way it started. Violently and Beautifully. Tragically and Happily. They acted on their romantic feelings for each other the very moment they had to part ways forever. This is how Isayama hurts us. The essence of a bittersweet conclusion.

EDIT: EATING MY WORDS AS PROMISED. EREN DID REWRAP MIKASA’S SCARF. HE KEPT HIS PROMISE.

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n1kolaiz · 3 years

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"Man fears death and yet, at the same time, man is drawn to death. Death is endlessly consumed by men in cities and in literature. It is a singular event in one's life that none may reverse. That is what I desire."

Character Analysis: Dazai Osamu

Age: 22 || Ability: No Longer Human

I've done a lot of research concerning Dazai's character because of how complex he'd initially appeared to me. It is still a question as to what his personality type is; some say he's an ENTP while others argue that he's an INTJ, and his enneagram would most likely be 7w8 (The Realist), but that isn't the thing I'm going to focus on.

According to general databases and fan analyses, his temperament is dominantly melancholic. A person's temperament is basically how they react to and live in this world. For those of you not interested in such details, don't worry, I'll get to my point.

The melancholic behaviour is characterised by individualism, self-reliance, and reservation. People of the melancholic temperament are described as having been overcome with sorrow and depressive thoughts, which is beyond the feeling of "just being sad."

Nonetheless, they are generally calm beings, with a tendency to hide how they truly feel by keeping their composure, even in events that demand severe reaction otherwise. Other aspects of melancholic temperaments is that they are absorbed in the cruelty and tragedy of this world, and tend to get lost in their thoughts.

Sound familiar?

Dazai is seen to be as the comic relief of the adaptation, and he'd never fail to bring about a sense of lightheartedness to relieve the serious moments; we all know that for sure. Remember the time both him and Kunikida found Nobuko Sasaki in that godforsaken hospital, and how Kunikida asked him about his opinion on the current state of affairs?

But, despite having developed a calm and serene personality, Dazai's dark side was more apparent during the Dark Era. There was a type of intimidating and arrogant flair evident in his behaviour, or even on his face. It was the type of demeanour that came off cold and terrifying to the rather unlucky people he dealt with. In a moment's notice, they could literally die by his hands. And I believe most of them usually did. It was during this time, he was more brutal and vicious. He lacked remorse. Plus, Dazai's suicidal ideations were more dense during this Era, and his suicidal tendencies did not do anything to alleviate the depth of how dark his character was posed to be.

Side note: Unfortunately, people misunderstand this 'depressed' part of Dazai; they minimise his character so much to the point that people use only a single word to describe him: suicidal. He is, in fact, so much more than that. I'll elaborate more on that in a while.

"Hey, Odasaku, do you know why I joined the Mafia? I joined the Mafia because of an expectation I had. I thought if I was close to death and violence—close to people giving in to their urges and desires, then I would be able to see the inner nature of humankind up close. I thought if I did that… I would be able to find something—a reason to live."

Dazai's approach to life is that of an aimless soul, weary of the world's oppressions and exhausted from the concept of living itself. Nevertheless, what he said above about having an expectation made me realise something: he had a goal, which he wasn't that enthusiastic about achieving—seeking for a reason to carry on with life. So he joined the Mafia.

And there, he met Oda Sakunosuke.

Despite how resilient Dazai carried himself to be (especially during the Dark Era), this specific excerpt stands in direct opposition of how he effortlessly embodied all things daunting:

"With every step I take, I feel as though the earth has opened up into a bottomless pit as I fall endlessly. As Dazai pointed to his forehead and approached the muzzle, the look on his face – like that of a child about to burst into tears – had already been branded upon my eyes."

- quoted by Oda Sakunosuke, excerpt from Dazai Osamu and the Dark Era Light Novel.

When I read this, it sent my mind into a spiral of despair and confusion. It was so vague, yet it made so much sense. Dazai was desperate to escape from this life, but part of him seemed to live in conflict with his desire for death. I won't elaborate more on this, because this specific excerpt has personal meaning to me, as I'd expect it to have for others as well; so I wouldn't want to ruin anyone else's perception on it.

Back to my point: Odasaku was one of the only characters who managed to interpret the complexity of Dazai's mindset and was able to compartmentalise the specific details of his persona that made Dazai the way he was. Oda knew that Dazai wasn't just suicidal.

"For most things in life, it's harder to succeed than fail. Wouldn't you agree? That's why I should attempt suicide rather than commit it! Committing suicide is difficult, but it should be relatively easier to fail at attempting suicide!"

Others boasted about how he was just a suicidal maniac, and that was only because of how good Dazai was at concealing his own feelings whilst flamboyantly priding himself in new, risky techniques, which he sometimes elaborated on. But Oda, on the other hand, saw through his jokes, and empathised with his friend, never wanting to ever barge into his vulnerability without Dazai's permission, but still trying to be there for him.

"Listen. You told me if you put yourself in a world of violence and bloodshed, you might be ale to find a reson to live. You won't find it. You should know that. Whether you're on the side that takes lives or the side that saves them, nothing beyond your own expectations will happen. Nothing in this world can fill the hole that is your loneliness. You will wander the darkness for eternity."

Notice how Odasaku recognised Dazai's despair, before Dazai even dared to acknowledge his very own emotions? That was why, at Oda's death, he took the initiative to uncover Dazai's bandaged eye to show him that there was no use in concealing his feelings anymore.

Odasaku's last words to Dazai was to "be on the side that saves people," for he was aware that even though Dazai didn't believe there was a clear distinction between good and evil, he thought that perhaps Dazai would find meaning in his life, even if it was just a little bit of purpose.

In Dead Apple, we briefly relive this moment, but I'll write more on that some other time.

And when Dazai joined the ADA, he loses that dark side to him. No, wait, let me rephrase that: he loses a part of that dark side to him. He eliminated the raw sense of bitterness against the world from his face, and instead, he is seen to be a little more passive, and a little more adaptive. No doubt, he still does explicitly state his desire to die, but his wishes are very specific, if you know what I mean.

And a few years later, his journey with Atsushi began.

Atsushi and Dazai's relationship is just one of a kind. I think it isn't a matter of whether Atsushi needed Dazai, or whether Dazai needed Atsushi. It's the fact that they both needed each other. It's the way they both worked hand in hand, and how they sustained each other in ways they were lacking.

The two were polar opposites, but they had a tender kind of warmth embedded in their protectiveness for each other. Atsushi was just as lost as Dazai, but somehow, they worked together just fine. It was like their duality was meant to be. It was the type of symbiotic relationship, where their care for each other was implied, but very deep.

Does this also sound familiar... perhaps, in relation to Dazai's friendship with Odasaku?

Side note: Oda and Atsushi have the same enneagrams, which is Type 2, 'The Helper.'

There is a sort of balance that is brought about by two opposites. Odasaku taught Dazai many things, and I believe Oda learned a lot about a man's life from the way Dazai lived out his life with the innate desire to die. Atsushi sought for the right to live, while Dazai searched for a reason to live; in addition, Dazai validated Atsushi's feelings, and Atsushi was able to acknowlegde the amount of pain Dazai was going through.

Despite how Dazai's perspectives and beliefs stood in contrast with those of Oda's and Atsushi's, a type of inseparable bond connected the man who no longer felt like he was human, to the people who was the most human.

No Longer Human in the Japanese romaji is 'Ningen Shikkaku.' Ningen means "human," and Shikkaku means "disqualified." The late author, Dazai Osamu, wrote the book No Longer Human. He had gone through the rough throes of trauma and wrote this book as a semi-autobiography, whose plot was centred around a man who faked happiness, for he was tainted by the truth that everyone around him was fake themselves. He turned his life into a joke in order to protect himself from the delusions of this world.

This brings us back to the melancholic temperament, where a person was too deeply immersed in the sad truths of reality and the world itself.

And that's what Dazai's character and ability is based on: being disqualified as a human being, because he wasn't well-versed with what being human was actually like. The fabrications of being human sprung up all around him, but he wasn't willing to be fooled by how ingenuine the world truly was.

“I am convinced that human life is filled with many pure, happy, serene examples of insincerity, truly splendid of their kind—of people deceiving one another without (strangely enough) any wounds being inflicted, of people who seem unaware even that they are deceiving one another.”

- excerpt from Dazai Osamu's No Longer Human.

People who don't feel human emotions or don't react to circumstances the way humans do have a variety of ways of explaining how they feel inhuman. They are highly intelligent, which separates them from the average class of humankind, since they've analysed and untangled the truths of life in order to attain understanding, which they value above all else. But, this understanding of the world and its painful truths results in a deep kind of sorrow, which only a few people can seem to empathise with in order to help them out with that burden.

“Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth.”

-excerpt from Fyodor Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment.

Don't you think that this deep sorrow that lies in the heart of the intelligent, makes them the most human of all? They're too human, to the point where they don't feel human. Perhaps, it is a type of defence mechanism, where the mind numbs the heart from feeling normal human emotion, because logically breaking down such concepts is easier than feeling them. But it comes at a price. The heart is willing to recklessly comprehend and fathom any sort of emotion, including pain in its true form, but the mind bears more pain in understanding such concepts because it seeks to decipher every single agonising detail of how complex human emotions are. The mind thinks, the heart feels. There is a clear distinguishing factor between the two. Whether feeling hurts more than thinking, or thinking hurts more than feeling, or whether both these processes work hand-in-hand to make up the reality of life itself, is up for an individual to decide.

Only a few people can seem to empathise with intelligent people who are deeply sad at heart, in order to help them out. As for Dazai, it was Atsushi and Oda. They never took away the pain, but they made him grow from it; it worked vice versa, too.

Of course, there are less tedious and more appealing aspects to the concept of Dazai's intelligence. Dazai was seen as a threat to his enemies because of how manipulation and his keen skill of deduction made up how sharp his mind was. Besides, no one could commit '138 murders, 312 cases of extortion, and 625 cases of fraud, along with various and sundry other crimes,' without having a certain level of intelligence, right?

Dazai had the moral alignment of 'chaotic neutral.' He was more focused on using his intellect to achieve the desired end results of a predicament, and he wasn't afraid to use the wrong means. A famous example was when he deflated the airbags of Ango Sakaguchi's car in order to gain the assured protection of Kyouka Izumi.

Justice is a weapon. It can be used to cause harm, but it cannot protect or save others.

Another example was when he blew up Chuuya Nakahara's car.

Just kidding. That was just a simple pastime (；・∀ ・)

His moral alignment points to what Oda said about him: the part where he mentioned that Dazai didn't really see any difference between good and evil. As long as his ends were achieved, especially if it were in the benefit of his fellow colleagues, he wasn't afraid to exploit, threaten, or endanger others' wellbeing. Because, at the end of the day, the end result triumphed the morally bad methods utilised to achieve it, correct? He always had a reason for his motives and actions, even if those actions were evil and inexcusable.

(eg. action: the psychological abuse he bestowed upon Akutagawa Ryunosuke.

motive: to enable him to hone his own ability favourably and to curb his arrogance)

But the consequences of one's actions will always catch up with a person, no matter what heights they've achieved.

Okay, we're reaching the end of my rambling very soon, I promise.

“If I had to go, I’d like to go out just as beautifully.”

“I’d prefer you don’t go.”

This part of the post is highly inspired by iwachuwu!!

An important factor of Dazai's development is highlighted BSD Wan's episode 10:

I'd like to appreciate that this scene focuses on how much Dazai actually means to Atsushi. When Atsushi responds with "I'd prefer you don't go," he said it lightheartedly for he thought Dazai was joking. But he wasn't. And once Atsushi absorbed the fact that Dazai meant what he said, he was overwhelmed with anguish at the thought of ever losing Dazai. Dazai, on the other hand, had a sense of longing on his expression. There was that look of pure desperation on his face. He was so desperate, yet he knew he couldn't act on his desperation due to a promise he'd made to someone dear to him. But keep in mind, Dazai is unpredictable, so we can never be sure of what's going on in that headspace of his.

Nevertheless, this time, Atsushi recognised Dazai's suffering, as no one usually cared to do, and Dazai didn't put in any effort to hide how he truly felt, as he habitually did. And this mutual emotional connection happened countless times during all the times Oda spent with Dazai as well.

To summarise,

Dazai's character had been carefully wired and patterned out in a way only a few would put in the effort to understand. Dazai was more than just suicidal; he was a being wandering from place to place with no specific aim. He was too smart for his own good. Dazai understood too well of how the world worked and deemed it void of any sort of hope.

Side note: Yes, the truth does come at a price, but it all comes down to how a person understands the truth. As for Dazai (both character and the author he was based off upon), well, it was quite tragic. But that's the way it is for some people, I suppose. But everyone has a different path to travel on, remember that.

His transition from working with the Port Mafia to the Armed Detective Agency was proof of how well-executed his character development was. It was two different personas morphed into what he is today: a womaniser with questionable morals a person who is still standing even after the rough refining process endowed upon him by the realities of this life.

However, he had people along the way come and teach him a thing or two, which perhaps made his life a little more interesting. Perhaps these people were passing clouds that hid the void out of sight for just a moment, and Dazai was always seen to be grasping on to these moments, and letting them go whenever it was time to let go.

His outlook on life makes his intellect look all the more intriguing. It shows that not only does his intelligence contribute to his own wit and shrewdness, but also the practical sense of realism that explains how tired he is of the concept of living because of the truths there are to bear.

However he's enduring the pain right now is by far the most bravest thing a person could commit themselves to doing. It takes courage, and it takes strength, but only a few would ever take the time to recognise such efforts.

Dazai has one of the most beautiful character developments, but I do hope that the development doesn't reach its end anytime soon.

fanart credits: @S7dOZPN3jWBB6cW on twitter

“Now I have neither happiness nor unhappiness.

Everything passes.

That is the one and only thing that I have thought resembled a truth in the society of human beings where I have dwelled up to now as in a burning hell.

Everything passes.”

excerpt from Dazai Osamu's No Longer Human.

#bsd #bsd dazai #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs wan #bsd wan #bsd dazai osamu #bsd characters #literature analysis #literature #dazai osamu #bsd odasaku #bsd atsushi #bsd analysis #bsd atsushi nakajima #.ryley.speaks

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definitelynotkatesblog · 3 years

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Illustrated Man l Spencer Reid Fic

Pairing: Reader x Spencer Reid

Category: Fluff

Summary: Spencer comes home from a particularly difficult case, and begins to doubt himself. Reader helps him unwind and helps paint a picture of all the great things about him.

A/N: Helloooooooo friends! Yet again, I thought of a single line of dialogue I really wanted to make work so I spit a thousand words around it to bring it to life lol. Anyways! This fic is free of reader pronouns and gender identifiers, so anyone can read this and make the “I”‘a their own ☺️

P.S. I’ll see what I can do about not disappearing again for weeks on end, but I make no promises

Content warning: None! Except Spencer has his shirt off? But that’s it!

WC: 2.4k

The sound of the door clicking shut and Spencer vacating his lungs of all air drew my head up from my book.

“You’re home!” I cheered, closing my book and getting up to greet him.

He lifted his satchel over his head and gave me a small smile that didn’t touch his eyes. I nodded, mostly to myself, knowing that this meant the case was harder than most. On nights like this, Spencer was hard to reach. I padded my way across the living room and wrapped my arms around him like he might slip away if I didn’t hold him tight enough.

I pulled his head down to rest on my shoulder as his arms snaked around me, wrapping himself in me, too. We stayed like that a while until he stood up and cupped my cheeks in his hands, bringing my face up for a kiss.

‘Hi,” he said softly.

I smiled into his palms. “Hi.”

I took his hands in mine and kissed his knuckles, then led him to our bedroom to get him out of his work clothes. I helped him out of his cardigan and dress shirt, then left him to do the rest while I got him some water. When I returned, he was laying face down across the bed in a pair of sweatpants. His head rested on his crossed arms, and turned to face me when I laid next to him on the bed. I propped my head up one arm and gave him a half smile.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

He thought for a moment before giving me a recap of the case, leaving out the gruesome details. I listened and ran my fingers across his back, alternating scratches with swirling patterns on the soft skin. Sometimes my hand would find itself at the nape of his neck and work through the hair there.

As he spoke, his voice became more resolved and tired. He worked so hard, but the things he saw, the things this job had put him through weighed on him. He was strong and incredibly smart, but just because he carried it well didn’t mean the load wasn’t heavy.

I took a deep breath and spoke gently, not wanting to offend him. “Maybe you can take some time off?” I suggested.

He shook his head, his chin brushing his hands folded under his chin.

“The team needs me. These victims and their families need me.”

I bit my tongue. I needed him, too. But this was hardly the time to bring that up.

“But this job,” he paused for a moment before continuing, “It takes pieces of me I can’t get back, and I’m scared all I am is the parts I’ve managed to pick up off of the ground.”

I closed my eyes and wished away the tears forming in my eyes. I heard him take a deep breath but he didn’t say anything else.

“I have an idea. Stay there.”

His head lifted and his eyes followed me around the room to our closet where my painting supplied resided.

“I’m going to paint you.”

“Paint me?”

I turned around, a towel in one hand and my box of paints and brushes in the other. “Yes. You’re gonna lay here and talk to me about anything in the world and I’m going to paint you.”

His eyes scanned the contents of my hands. I could see the gears in his head turning for a moment before he shrugged and gave a small nod.

“Okay.”

I ran a hand through his hair and bent down to kiss his forehead before climbing on the bed and straddling his thighs, setting my supplies on the towel beside us. “Talk to me.”

His head cocked to the side as he contemplated his answer.

“Not about work,” I clarified.

I felt his laugh beneath me. “Okay then, what would you like me to tell you about?”

I tapped my bottom lip with the handle of my paintbrush. “Hmmm. Read any good books lately?”

I could feel his smile without seeing it. If there was one thing Spencer loved more than saving lives and doing crossword puzzles in pen, it was reading. “I revisited some Ray Bradbury on the plane home,” he said.

“Mmm, tell me about it.”

He took a deep breath beneath me and began. “I re-read The Illustrated Man. It’s a compilation of short stories told through interactions between an omniscient narrator and a man covered in tattoos that each tell tales of events that have not happened yet. The tattoos are magic, and they come alive to tell the stories they depict. The stories are mostly science fiction, but have elements of pretty universal truths that Bradbury is famous for addressing.

For example, in one story explores the deep seeded longing of one man to take a trip to outer space. Something that, in this story, is attaintanable. He works his whole life to be able to fulfill this yearning, but he is torn between going or staying with his family, whom he also loves. It begs the question of the existence of duality of desire and duty.

Then, in another, there’s this incessant rain. And this group of men are searching for cover and sunshine, but it’s wearing them down and breaking them. These small raindrops, just water, becomes torture. It’s interesting how something as small as raindrops can break both canyons and men.”

I listen as he tells me about each story behind the man’s tattoos, about how they’re all different but important and lend themselves to portraying the then-futuristic perception world around us. Sometimes, his voice gets sad at the implications of the stories, but other times he seems to appreciate the sentiment behind them.

I dip my brushes and admire the way they drag across his soft skin, leaving a wake of vibrant pigments behind. I hmm and ahhh at appropriate times, partially paying attention but mostly glad that he’s able to enjoy himself and is able to think of something other than the darkness in his world.

We stayed in our respective positions for the better part of an hour- him laying on the bed with his head on his hands while I straddled the back of his thighs, stroking brushes across the lines of his back.

When I’m finally finished, I roll my neck and place my hands on the small of his back, taking a moment to take it in. The idea of creating a universe compelled me; there was so much beauty and so much unknown in the expanse of space. The concept seemed fitting for what I hoped to help him understand. I’d mixed a navy blue paint for a base, and created swirls of light with yellows, creams, and whites to create a brighter contrast and background for the more intricate featured parts. One section had books, a coffee cup, a molecular model I’d hoped was an actual chemical, and a small red apple.

The next was a canyon, modeled after one of the scenic drives we’d taken the last time we visited Vegas to see his mom at her new care facility. We parked at a lookout spot and watched the sun set- gorgeous oranges, yellows, and pinks painted the sky over the rock. It was at that moment I’d never been more jealous of Spencer’s perfect memory.

Another section, closer to the bottom curve of his spine was a silhouette outline of the Christmas card the team had sent out two years ago. Spencer had a copy hanging by a CalTech magnet on the fridge, another on his desk, and a folded and fading copy in his wallet.

He loved that photo – the way it captured their joyous spirits and ability to be carefree despite the things that initially brought them together.

I took a deep breath and playfully patted his bottom. “All done!”

He threw a boyish grin over his shoulder and handed me his phone.

I snapped a few pictures, holding the phone up by my chin to capture the expanse of his back, then a bit closer to the individual parts. I passed the phone back over his shoulder and brought my clasped hands up under my chin. “Okay, so, if you don’t like it, that’s okay you can wash-” I rushed, but stopped short when I felt his breath hitch from underneath me.

He was silent for a moment, staring at the phone in his hand.

I took a deep breath. “Spencer, you contain multitudes. You’re a loving son, an amazing friend, a brilliant profiler, a great cat-sitter, an instant mashed potato extraordinaire, and my favorite boyfriend.”

I dusted an invisible speck of dust off his shoulder before continuing, giving my words a moment to sink in. I needed him to hear me, and to know these truths. “You are so much more than the things you don’t love about yourself. You are more than this job, you are more than the obstacles you’ve had to overcome. They’re a part of who you are, yeah, but they’re not all that you are.”

I shook my head, though he couldn’t see it. The knowledge of the man beneath me not knowing he was deeply loved seemed so wrong.

“You are so incredibly loved, Spencer. The people in your life are so lucky to know you and to be loved by you. Each and every one of your friends is changed and is better for having known you, believe me.”

He was silent for a short while, pinching and zooming in on the screen to see the different parts of him illustrated in his skin. He cleared his throat a few times. Part of me was grateful I couldn’t see his face, and he couldn’t seem mine. Though, I didn’t need to see the way his mind was working to know he was trying to find a flaw in my logic.

The amount of love I had for the man beneath me threatened to spill over in the form of tears.

“Favorite boyfriend?” he asked finally, feigning insult.

I laughed. “So far, yeah.”

I knew that wasn’t the only thing he’d heard, but probably was the only thing he could bring himself to comment on.

I scrambled off of my perch unceremoniously, stretching for a moment before straightening up and offering my hand. He laid with his chin resting on his fists stacked, staring at me for a moment.

“What?” I asked with a small huff.

“Being loved by you is one of the greatest joys of my life.”

I felt my mouth pop open, a bit taken aback at such a bold admission. A sweet smile touched his lips while he watched me try to scoop my heart back into my chest. He climbed off the bed gingerly, careful not to rock the tray of paint and brushes with his long limbs.

His large hand wrapping around mine grounded me from cloud nine and I could feel the smile forming on my lips. I turned and started heading towards the bathroom.

“Come,” I said, pulling him along behind me.

When we arrived in the small room, I halted and spun him so the back of his thighs were resting against the porcelain countertop and I was flush against his front. My hands came to rest on the edges of the countertop, caging him between my arms. I looked up at him, squinting slightly.

“I’d like to take a picture, is that okay?”

I knew Spencer was wary of having his picture taken; most of our pictures together were candids I’d puppy eyed my way into him letting me keep.

He narrowed his eyes back at me. My lower lip made an appearance, coupled with a knitted brow and cautious look from under my lashes.

He laughed and shook his head. “Okay.”

Before he could change his mind, I grabbed my phone and rushed back to my place in front of him, pressing my front to his.

I snaked my arms around his torso so our chests were together while his back bearing my painting faced the mirror. My arms poking out from between his arm and torso space made him look like an alien, but placing one hand on his hip while the other held my phone gave the pose a more artistic feel.

I snapped a few pictures, messing with the lighting and exposure, playing with shadows from the vanity and positioning him every which way. Every once in a while, I’d pull my arms from him and show him a few shots I liked but they never felt like the one.

He smiled and nodded encouragingly, taking my direction to tilt this way or arch his shoulder that way. I started to feel for him, we’d been there for 15 minutes at least.

I pouted and let my head fall back dramatically. “I give up,” I whined.

He gave a small smile and leaned down to kiss me. I met his lips with a smile of my own before resting my head against his chest.

“Try one more time,” he encouraged.

I nodded and wrapped my arms around him again. I poked my head out so it was just visible behind his arm, resting my chin on his bicep as I focused my phone camera to capture the two of us and my work on his back.

“Smile,” I said before snapping a few shots. Spencer’s body shook with his laugh as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of my head. My thumb grazed the shutter button, capturing the moment.

It was perfect.

His back was illuminated perfectly by the soft glow of the vanity mirror lighting, the muscles in his back tensed when he bent down, creating dips and curves that separated the focus points brilliantly. My hand wasn’t posed, just gently resting on his hip, a soft touch that lent itself perfectly to the lightness of the moment.

I pulled myself from around him and held the phone between us. His hand found the small of my back and he pulled me closer to him, sealing our lips together. Our lips were unhurried, enjoying the softness of the moment and the love between us. His free hand cupped my cheek as we broke apart. His eyes bore into mine, both pairs slightly glossy.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

I nodded and buried my head into his chest so he wouldn’t see the fresh tears springing in my eyes. His arms wrapped around me as he pressed more kisses to the top of my head.

——

Let’s talk about it!

#criminal minds #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds fan fiction #spencer reid #Spencer Reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid x reader #Spencer Reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #gn reader #criminal minds self insert #Spencer Reid gif #criminal minds gif #my writing

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direnightshade · 3 years

Text

Inferno

Warnings: Violence / Gun Violence, Post-Apocalyptic Themes, Angst, Unhappy Ending, Death / Major Character Death, Pandemic, Major Injury Word Count: 6,705

As always, you can find this over on AO3.

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An arid landscape stretches as far as the eye can see. The familiar rows of brownstones and businesses of Brooklyn have long since vanished, replaced by a sun-baked desert. On the horizon, two figures stand facing one another, their muscles tensed and their focus solely on the other. Neither notices Sackler’s advance toward them.

The leather palm of the fingerless glove that the gunslinger wears creaks with the brief flex of fingers. You are itching to reach for the weapon holstered at your hip, eager to pull the warm steel from its confines to unleash the fury that you’ve been waiting to deliver for years now. But now, you know, is not the time. You will not be the first to make the move. No, this is dependent upon him , the man dressed in all black who stands opposite you with a look of smug determination.

The rough terrain crunches beneath Adam’s shoes and the dust that kicks up clings to them with each step forward that he takes, but as he draws nearer he notes how the sky grows increasingly darker. Large, grey clouds, swollen with an impending storm darken the sky and blot out the sun until a familiar rumble in the distance can be heard. It isn’t long until the first bolt of lightning strikes, effectively halting his steps. The electric current crackles and sizzles on its path downward and it’s then that Sackler realizes the strangest thing: the bolt does not disappear into the ground but rather into the fingertips of the man in black who now holds his hands upwards towards the sky.

Adam’s gaze shifts to where you stand. Your hand has since migrated to the gun at your hip and your thumb has lifted the leather snap of the holster, making for a quicker, easier draw of the weapon. It’s like slow motion, watching the scene unfold before him as your head swivels while your hand grips the gun and lifts in one fluid motion. With a squeeze of the trigger, a bullet rips through the air, the bang of the gun mirroring the echo of the thunder that accompanies a second bolt of lightning that careens down towards the parched Earth.

The moment that the bullet nears the man in black, it’s as if someone has flicked a switch and time has resumed its correct rate of movement once more as the man lowers his hands and faces his palms out towards you, both deflecting the bullet and sending a stream of electric current in your direction. Your eyes widen and just as the current reaches you...

The familiar blare of an alarm clock startles Sackler awake, immediately causing his eyelids to part to now take in the sight of the stark white ceiling above him. Gone is the dry landscape of some foreign desert; he has found his way back to the comfort of home. A large hand settles atop his chest and he takes a moment to puff out his cheeks and exhale a long breath whilst he feels the steady rhythm of his beating heart beneath his touch. This is not the first that he has dreamt of you and the man in black, nor does he suspect that it will be the last, but this time, he realizes, was different. This time the man in black had seemed to have the upper hand, something in which he’d never managed to in dreams prior.

Sackler had never believed much in astrology or dream meanings and the like, but the brevity and the sheer vividness of each one chipped away at his stance little by little until finally he’d found himself up and out of bed, pouring over page after page of varying dream meanings. From the cracked, barren wasteland of the desert to the storm that raged above, every meaning—if Sackler looked close enough— could feasibly be tied back to one problem or another in his life. But even with the research and the meanings loosely tied to reality, he still found the tiniest seed of doubt sprouting in his gut—a little flutter of worry that something just wasn’t quite right .

The scrape of a wooden chair across the linoleum floor sounds out into the small apartment when he rises up from his spot at the table, suppressing the unease for the time being. Sackler grabs his backpack and slings a strap over his shoulder before making the short stroll across the space to retrieve his bike. He’d forget about this for now, chalking it up to nothing more than a dream. Because that’s all it could possibly be...couldn’t it?

***

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Shoshana stands beside Adam, her hand gently swirling the wooden stirrer to mix her cream into the coffee that she holds.

The noncommittal hum that she receives in response isn’t to her liking, however. She huffs and nudges Adam’s ribs with her elbow, careful to not waste a single precious drop of the still piping hot liquid.

When Adam turns his head to look at her, she speaks up again. “You have to come! Marnie already said you’d told her you’d be there.”

“Yeaaaah, yeah. I’ll be there,” he replies, eyeing the board overhead that contains a multitude of hand-written items available to order. A brief moment of silence follows and then: “Wait, what time does it start?”

“Adam!”

A pinch is delivered to his side, eliciting a dramatic yelp in response to minimal pain. “Wh— ow! What?!”

“It’s six o’clock. And don’t be late,” Shoshana says, pausing momentarily to blow gingerly across the heated surface of her coffee before taking a long, thoughtful sip. “You know how Marnie gets.”

Sackler’s lips purse, thumbs hooking around the straps of his backpack while his eyes continue to peruse the board overhead. Another moment passes before he feels a nudge, this time another elbow, in his side. “Why bother, just get it black like you always do.”

He huffs out an amused breath and smiles down at Shoshana who mirrors the expression prior to excusing herself and pivoting on her heels to make her exit. He watches as she steps out of the door, the bell overhead ringing to signal her vacation of the premises; when the familiar blonde head of hair disappears among the crowd on the other side of the exterior wall’s windows, Adam’s gaze slides over to the clock that adorns the nearby wall. One thirty.

With a sigh, he turns back to face Ray who is already in the process of sliding him the usual: one black coffee in a plain off-white insulated cup complete with lid. Tossing down enough money to cover both the coffee and tip, Adam flashes Ray a grin and turns to follow Shoshana’s path back out onto the street.

***

The unassuming brick building that sits on Willoughby is lit by a pair of skyward pointing spotlights, illuminating the red brick against the dark backdrop of nightfall. Inside, the stark white of the walls and grey concrete floors reflect the blinding fluorescents overhead. Art is dotted sparsely along the walls, ranging from geometric abstraction to realism. Hushed tones fill the space as would-be patrons, guests, and painters alike all speak to one another among the art.

The soles of a pair of scuffed tan leather boots carry Adam further into the gallery while his gaze sweeps the area, roaming from one piece to another. The hands that are shoved deep into his one good pair of pants flex within the stiff material of his pockets as he stops in front of a painting by someone with a name he doesn’t recognize. Like nearly every other piece of art in this place that he’s laid eyes upon, this one is loud; bold, bright colors are splashed across the canvas in such a way that it almost appears angry, as if someone had been in the throes of being upset when making this. Though, what the fuck does he know about art?

Adam snorts to himself and pivots, stepping away from this piece and moving on, one after another until…

“Hooooly shiiiiiit,” he murmurs quietly to himself.

“It’s a masterpiece isn’t it,” says a familiar voice abruptly to his right. “I’d say it’s my best work yet.”

Sackler’s gaze slides over to the nameplate that sits beneath the painting, though he doesn’t have to. He knows precisely this belongs to by their voice alone.

“I call it The Duality of Life and Death,” says Booth with an air of smugness. “You see, the Gunslinger, they’re the embodiment of life; all light and warm tones, whereas Death here is in all black, being kept at bay by the Gunslinger’s trusty weapon.”

He cannot believe what he is seeing. In fact, he is so focused on the painting before him that Sackler fails to register any and all words that leave Booth’s mouth. It is as if this artwork has been pulled straight from his most recent dream. Everything, right down to the bolts of lightning, tinged purple by the storm, is an accurate portrayal of the vividness of the dream he’d lived through the night prior. Impossible. And yet…

“Shut up,” Sackler mumbles just loud enough for Booth to hear.

“Excuse me?” Booth balks at the audacity of Adam’s sudden intrusion upon his well-rehearsed pitch and not so modest boasting about his talents.

“How much?”

The conversation lapses, and for a moment, all that can be heard is the sound of the murmurs of the other patrons. Booth huffs out a laugh, unsure of whether or not this is a genuine inquiry.

“Too much for you.”

“How much,” Adam asks again, this time more forcefully. His head turns and, for the first time since Booth’s arrival, he directs his full attention to the man beside him.

Another brief silence follows. “Fifteen hundred.”

“I’ll give you seven,” Adam counters.

A scoff follows the attempted negotiation. “Absolutely not. Fifteen hundred and not a penny less.”

Sackler’s jaw twitches in irritation and he knows without a shadow of a doubt in his mind that Booth is taking him for a ride with the price, but he simply cannot walk away from this. Not when the coincidence is far too great for him to ignore.

“Fine. You have yourself a deal.”

***

Hours later, Adam finds himself back in his apartment fifteen hundred dollars lighter and one painting in hand. Having disrobed down to the grey pair of boxers he still dons, he settles his weight heavily onto the edge of his mattress, his eyes fixated on the acquired painting that now hangs on the wall directly opposite of where he sits.

It’s uncanny, he thinks to himself, unable to shake the familiarity of it. Just as in his dream, the Gunslinger— you —are looking at him, and from even this great distance, your stare seems to pierce right through him. He stares and he stares and he stares until finally, sleep begins to wrap its tendrils around him, pulling him further down into a groggy state until he gives in and lies back against the mattress.

His eyes slowly slide closed, thoughts still on the painting, on his dream, on you . In the distance, an impending storm rumbles.

***

‘As many of you in the city have noticed, there has been a rather unusual weather pattern that’s settled over us, bringing with it an unsettling amount of rain and near hurricane level winds. Our storm tracker seems to indicate that this weather pattern is swirling in place, only delivering more debilitating rain that’s quickly turned to flash flooding in the area. The Hudson and East Rivers have both begun to breach their respective banks. But this isn’t the only unusual thing to come from the storm. There have also been strange electromagnetic pul—’

The nearby lamp flickers and then shuts off just as the television screen turns black, cutting off the meteorologist mid forecast. This has been, provided Sackler’s been keeping count accurately, the twelfth time this morning that the power has cut out. If this time is like the others, he can expect it to come back within the next five minutes.

He puffs his cheeks out prior to exhaling a deep breath, his eyes casting downward towards the phone in his hand—the very one he’d only just allowed himself to be talked into purchasing a mere three days ago. A large thumb taps the darkened glass screen to bring it to life. Twenty-eight percent, reads the small battery icon at the upper righthand corner. He sighs, opting not to waste more of the battery life by calling anyone. There’s no use, he knows. Instead, he tosses the device to the side, watching as it bounces against the worn cushions of the couch he sits on.

Outside, the storm rages on.

Rising up from his spot on the couch, the old wooden floorboards creaking beneath his weight, he crosses the small space of his living room to approach the window that gives him the perfect vantage point of the street below. Rain batters against the window, blurring his view, but below he spots a figure striding with purpose down the street.

Behind him, the microwave beeps and the light of his lamp clicks back on with the sudden return of electricity. Static sounds from the direction of the television and then:

‘In other parts of the world we’re seeing an emergence of a previously unknown virus. To date, there are no cases that we are aware of within the United States, but the CDC is urging anyone with the following symptoms to make a report—’

The story fades into the background as the figure draws closer and grows more visible even through the streaks of water that continue to distort the view from the glass in front of him. His eyes widen in recognition of the long, brown leather duster that hangs down nearly to the pavement. The holster isn’t visible beneath it, but the gun held firmly in hand is a dead giveaway.

“You,” he murmurs to himself in complete disbelief.

Without hesitation, and without allowing his mind to catch up with the actions he now takes, he pushes himself away from the window and makes a break for the apartment’s door, leaving behind the nearly dead phone on the couch.

***

ONE YEAR LATER

Plants of varying nature have long since begun to sprout through the cracks in sidewalks and pavement alike, their tendrils crawling up brick exteriors of buildings and brownstone homes. The hustle and bustle that the city is known for has quieted to a deafening degree; where once there were horns and shouts, now there is nothing more than the occasional whipping of the wind and, if one were so lucky, the rare sound of another survivor’s voice.

The illness that had swept across the globe crippled economies and decimated nations, including this very one. Businesses shuddered, families suffered, and in the end, no hope for a cure had been found.

Except for you, that is.

Ever since your arrival to the city where the man in black has taken up residence, it has been claimed by you that you are the only one who can put a stop to the man who’d brought a near end to civilization as Sackler knows it. Back in the realm from whence you have emerged, you have failed to stop him once, but this time, you vow, you will not falter in your mission.

The unmistakable metallic sound of a can being opened can be heard nearby. Sackler turns his head to look over at where you sit, your body curled over the pot that sits atop the lit tabletop burner. His face scrunches in distaste when he watches you dump the tin of beans unceremoniously into the empty pot in order to heat them up. It is the involuntary sound of displeasure that emanates from the back of his throat that captures your attention.

“What,” you ask as your head lifts to look in his direction.

He huffs out a breath and rolls his shoulders into a nonchalant shrug just as his attention shifts to the window of the apartment you find yourselves in currently. His head shakes once, twice, and then: “I don’t think I have it in me to eat another can of fuckin’ beans. At this point I think my blood’s made of it.”

The soft snort that emanates from where you stand pulls his attention back to you. He hadn’t heard you pick up the wooden spoon that you now hold, but he watches as you gently stir the warming beans, bringing them up to the desired temperature.

“It’s not like we have many options these days.”

Sackler notes how you refrain from looking in his direction, and instead direct your reply downward towards the soon to be meal. He grits his teeth together, jaw muscles ticking in visible agitation at the remark. It’s been one year, three hundred and sixty-five days, since the man in black’s arrival to Earth and only you, or so you’ve claimed, are the one that can stop him—only you can stop the sickness that he’s wrought on the planet and its people, and yet here you stand in his shitty apartment’s kitchen of all places, cooking some fucking beans.

It’s enough to drive him mad.

“We might not have options, but you sure as shit do,” he snaps, now having lost his patience. “That man, or whatever the fuck he is,” he says, pointing a finger in the direction of the window, “is out there. We know where he is, where he’s been for the last year and still you haven’t done shit about it!”

The wooden spoon once held in your hand now clatters against the side of the pot, the beans forgotten as Adam watches you twist off the flame and turn to face him with a sneer.

“I told you, it isn’t that simple. He’s dangerous , and he’s stronger than he’s ever been. And in case you haven’t noticed—”

“All the more reason to get it done, Kid! No use standing around here wasting time.”

“—I’m the last one of my kind left!”

Silence fills the space when your respective outbursts subside, and it isn’t until then that Sackler notices that you’ve taken steps to bring yourself closer to him. He wonders if you’ve noticed it too. Adam watches as your lips press together into a thin line, evidence of your displeasure with him and the situation the two of you find yourself in.

In a moment of seemingly perfectly choreographed movements, the two of you reach for one another, hands grasping at fabric, skin, anything and everything that you can reach. A groan of satisfaction tumbles from Sackler’s mouth the moment that he draws your body closer until you are firmly pressed against him, the sound greedily inhaled by you amidst a clashing of lips.

***

Hours later, when the light sheen of sweat covering your bodies has cooled, and the warmth of your skin is pressed against his, Adam turns his head and deposits a kiss to the crown of your own. In immediate response, you exhale a barely audible sigh.

There is a palpable energy that fills the space now; it is not the same explosive kind from earlier, the very one that led the two of you to the mattress you currently find yourselves on, no… This time it is different, uncomfortable. Sackler’s lips press together briefly, his jaw working in the familiar way you’ve come to notice in the short span of time that you’ve known him.

“I can practically hear the gears grinding in that head of yours, Kid,” he murmurs.

In reply you hum, though a moment of silence elapses before you respond. “We can’t,” you begin, the two words spoken with a quietness to rival your earlier sigh. Quickly, you lapse into more soundless thought.

Sackler’s arm tightens around your form, holding you closer to him; it is a wordless response that speaks volumes. Don’t , it says. Let us have this one moment of peace before the inevitable storm comes raging in and one of us finds ourselves swept away .

“Adam…” His name is a whisper, spoken so softly that if there were any other remaining souls in this building, not one would hear.

“Don’t,” he exclaims more forcefully than he’d intended. The words that follow are quieter, mournful, even. “Just don’t…” A shaky breath is inhaled and Sackler closes his eyes, an all too familiar ache beginning to make its home in the depths of his chest.

Beside him, bedsheets rustle as you lift yourself up out of the warmth and comfort of his embrace. Slowly, Adam’s eyelids part to look up only to find that you have propped yourself up by your elbow to peer down at him with a pained expression etched onto your features. A hand lifts and his eyes flutter closed once more when the sensation of your fingertips delicately tracing his cheek can be felt.

Such a tender touch only seems to feed the ache.

“We can’t be together.” The pain that he feels seems to be echoed in your own statement. It is a realization that drives the proverbial knife deeper and then twists. Your fingertips skim along his lips which now quiver with unshed sobs for a love that has died before it has even had a chance to bloom. “It’s too dangerous.”

A large hand wraps around your wrist, keeping you in place so that he may press kiss after kiss into your open palm in what feels like a desperate bid to prevent this moment from fading from existence. Adam shakes his head and slides your hand over to rest against his cheek, nuzzling into the touch before opening his eyes once more. This time when he looks up at you, he can see the tears that have gathered at your waterline, threatening to spill over onto your cheeks at any moment.

You exhale a trembling breath and when you close your eyes, the tears fall freely. Sackler lifts his hands, thumbs wicking away the moisture from your face as best he can. With a gentle hush, he guides you down to lay against him again, this time with your cheek pressed against his chest.

“You understand that, right,” you ask through the sobs that now begin to rack your body.

In response, Adam wraps an arm around your back, his other hand now cradling your head as you rest against him. “Yeah, Kid… I do,” he whispers in reply, his own tears now blurring his vision.

***

A rustling of wrappers can be heard, followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper. When Adam cracks one eye open, it’s to find that the light of an early dawn has begun to creep its way through the sheer curtain draped across his window, spilling in to illuminate your form as you work to close his backpack. He groans and lifts a hand to rub his palm against one eye, working the grogginess from it whilst he begins to sit upright.

“Whasssgoin’on,” he slurs, voice still thick with sleep.

He’s met by the thump of the backpack as it lands against his chest, and coughing out a breath, he wraps his arms around the material in immediate reaction.

“Get up,” you say, now turning your attention to your own gear, ensuring that you have everything that you need. “Get dressed and make sure you take that with you. We’re heading out.”

“Out?” The sleep that had laced his voice has dissipated entirely, now replaced with a brief bout of confusion. “Out where?”

Sliding your gun into its holster, you pivot simultaneously, the soles of your boots scuffing the old worn hardwood floor. “We have a stop to make. I need more ammunition and then we’re headed into Manhattan.”

It takes him a moment, but when the weight of your words hit him with full force, it’s impossible for you to miss the look of recognition that passes across his face. He scrambles from the bed, momentarily discarding the backpack in order to grab his clothes from the pile he’d discarded on the floor just a day earlier. At long last, after everything he has endured over the course of the last year, after everything that you have endured, as well as the two of you together, the day has finally arrived. And yet…

There is a small seed of hesitation that has sewn itself into the depths of his belly, sprouting up into worry.

***

Brooklyn remains as quiet as it has been for this past year; a gentle breeze cuts through a brownstone-lined street, rustling Sackler’s hair and causing the near floor-length duster that you wear to billow in its wake. The soles of your boots scuff along the pavement, kicking up pebbles that have torn up from the once heavily-traveled road. Beside you, Sackler adjusts the strap of the backpack that dangles precariously from his shoulder.

“You know you aren’t going to find any ammunition in any of the stores around here.” The words leave him matter-of-factly, as if he knows this to be true.

Your head swivels to look over at him and your eyes squint slightly as if to ask for further elaboration on the subject at hand. In automatic response, his hands lift, palms facing outward as if in defense though the two of you carry on walking alongside one another.

“Gun laws,” he says. “They’re super strict here.”

You huff out a grunt in reply and mutter a barely audible ‘that’s fine’ in return to which Adam quickly follows with: “T-that’s fine? What do you mean that’s fine? Hey! Hey , where are you going?!”

Stunned into momentary silence, Adam watches as you veer off course and make a beeline for one of the passing brownstones that sits vacant. “I don’t need a store,” you call out from over your shoulder.

With a swift, solid kick of your boot to the center of the door, you manage to dislodge the lock and allow yourself entry. The interior of the home is dark in spite of the sun that hangs high overhead just outside—a byproduct of city living. Upon further investigation, the home looks tidy, orderly, as if whomever used to live here locked up and left long before the sickness that swept the nation one year ago was able to settle in and take hold of the building’s occupants.

“Up here,” Adam says, the sudden boom of his voice cutting through your thoughts.

He is already halfway up the wooden staircase that leads to the second floor by the time you look over, taking the steps two at a time to reach the landing. It isn’t long until you are close behind, following him into one of the spacious bedrooms. Sackler’s backpack falls to the floor with a light thump just as he all but dives to the floor, his lean body stretching out as he peers beneath the bed. A hand reaches under, retrieving a small black case along with two boxes.

“Check these.” He rises up from his spot on the floor and immediately pivots to make his way into the large walk-in closet.

The sound of hangers sliding along metal rods can be heard as he pushes row after row of clothes aside in order to hunt down what he suspects will be a second weapon. By the time that he re-emerges, it is to find that you have scattered the boxes of ammunition from beneath the bed on top of the duvet. Beside the discarded ammo sits the black box, now opened to reveal Glock.

“This isn’t what I need,” you reply before turning your head to look over at where he stands at the threshold of the closet. “But that is.”

Just as you nod your head to the boxes of ammunition belonging to the very same revolver that sits on your hip, you stride across the expanse of the bedroom to approach him. Sackler hands the boxes to you without hesitation, watching as you squirrel the individual bullets away in the bandolier that sits snugly around your waist.

When the last of the ammunition has been tucked away, you lift your gaze to find Sackler staring back at you with an expression that you can’t quite pin down. There is an air of wistfulness about it and something else you cannot put your finger on.

“Ready,” you ask, lacing the question with an enthusiasm that is so manufactured that it feels bitter and foreign in your mouth.

Sackler nods but does not respond verbally. Instead, he turns and makes his way out of the bedroom first with you following close behind. Back by the bed, still lying on the floor, remains the backpack that Sackler had brought with him on the first leg of your journey.

***

Even from the Brooklyn Bridge, it is impossible to miss how the tallest residential building in the whole of the city looms above all else. But here, now, standing just beneath it on Park Avenue, makes all other vantage points pale in comparison. The front wall of the building that once housed luxury accommodations is all glass, pure and pristine—not a single pane disturbed or broken, unlike the remainder of the buildings that have gone neglected since the planet’s downfall.

“This is the one.”

“Yeeeeah.” Adam’s head tips back, eyes squinting to peer up at the sheer size of the building. “I figured.” When he rights his stance, head turning now to look over at you, he rolls a shoulder into a shrug. “Nothing says ‘the villain’s in here’ like the only untouched building in all of New York, and my guess, the world.”

You hum out an unintelligible reply—a grunt of sorts, something that requires no retort from Sackler, but receives one nonetheless.

“Hey,” he calls out, a hand snapping out to grasp your upper arm just as you begin to take steps towards the building’s front door. Only when you turn to face him again does he ease his grasp and then release it entirely. “Whatever happens in there—”

“Adam…”

“—whatever happens in there…” Sackler pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows harshly, eyes searching your own. “That son of a bitch is dead, yeah?”

He watches as your head nods, albeit a bit more slowly than he’d like. When he says nothing, you nod again, this time with more conviction. “Yes.”

In turn, Sackler nods and utters a ‘ good ’ before following you through the front door. The lobby of the building is just as the outside stands: untouched and in good condition just as the day that it had been prior to the man in black’s arrival to the city. Despite the lack of people in the space—security or otherwise—it’s impossible to miss the hum of anticipation that shoots through the air like electricity. Every hair on the back of Adam’s neck seems to rise with the feeling, and his eyes dart around the room whilst he continues to follow your lead to the nearby staircase.

“Woah, hold on,” he whispers as the stairwell’s door clicks shut softly behind him, his hand once again reaching to grasp your arm to effectively stop your advance towards the stairs.

“What?!” The words that you hiss out in reply echo slightly against the concrete walls and floor alike.

A gentle tug pulls you closer, and though you don’t resist, it isn’t lost on Adam how your eyes narrow ever so slightly at the abrupt halt of your plans. “Something’s... off … It,” he starts, sighing and releasing his hold on you to run a hand through his hair in exasperation. “It feels wrong.”

When your brows crease in momentary confusion, he elaborates.

“You don’t think it’s weird that no one’s here? There’s no, I don’t fucking know, evil henchmen or some shit to stop us?”

A huff of air is expelled just as you turn your gaze upward as if to look to the floors above where you will undoubtedly find the man at long last. Adam watches as your lips press together momentarily before you look back to him and whisper once more. “Does it really matter? He’s here,” you insist, your own hand reaching to grasp his forearm. “You feel it. I know you do.”

When silence fills the space between you, Adam nods once in affirmation to your statement. He does feel him, it’s impossible not to. The crackle of electricity in the air has only grown more intense even only having moved a few hundred feet upon entry into the building.

“Come on,” you say, loosening yourself from his hold just as your hand slips from his arm simultaneously. “Let’s finish this.”

***

Thunder rumbles beyond the panes of glass that makeup the exterior walls by the time the two of you reach your destination and the final floor of the eighty-five story building. The door staircase’s door leads to a small hall that in turn leads to a solid black door complete with a tiny peep hole that the former occupants undoubtedly used to peer out at any visitors. Sackler surmises that now such a peep hole is useless and unused.

The feeling of unease that has settled into the depths of his stomach only seems to grow when you reach for the handle, turning it without resistance and finding that the door is unlocked. It’s a trap, he wants to call out, but that—he knows—would only serve to verbalize the obvious. You are just as aware as he, and yet…

The two of you push onward, stepping into the penthouse apartment that overlooks the entirety of Manhattan. Beyond the panes of glass that makeup the living area, Central Park stands empty, bathed in the purple light of the rapidly impending storm. To your left, movement captures both yours and Sackler’s attention and when your heads collectively turn to find the source, a sweeping sense of dread drapes over Adam like the heaviest of blankets.

“I see you’ve finally found me.” The soles of the boots the man in black wears, land heavily against the cool marble tile that covers the floor where he walks. “It only took you, oh,” he pauses briefly, pretending to check his watch, “a little over a year now. I thought your tracking skills were far superior than that, Gunslinger. Perhaps I give you too much credit.”

“You don’t give them enough,” Adam sneers, taking his place beside you.

The man’s gaze slides from you to Sackler and back again. There is a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth before his lips part, stretching wide across his face in a toothy grin. Laughter fills the space as his head is thrown back momentarily. Though the sound fades, the amused grin remains when the man’s attention is turned to you, effectively dismissing Sackler.

“Who is this? Is this the reason you’ve taken your sweet old time?” The man tuts in disapproval, his gaze flitting to where Adam stands, sizing him up with a single sweep down and then back up again. “You always did have a weak heart,” he mocks. “It’s a wonder you are the last one of your kind standing.”

The clouds that roll in now block the sun entirely, casting a dark shadow over the city that spills over into the living room and draping itself across the three of you. Outside, lightning strikes nearby as thunder rolls ominously overhead. The hand that rests at your side twitches in eager anticipation of the quick draw that will undoubtedly occur sooner rather than later.

“You’re wrong.”

The man’s gaze once again slides over to where Adam stands, hands balled into fists as if in preparation for the fight to come. The charged air seems to thicken to an uncomfortable degree and for a fleeting moment, Sackler wonders if this sullen energy is radiating from the man himself.

Another strike of lightning illuminates the space, followed rapidly by another that seems to pass through the nearby floor to ceiling length windowpane. With a wave of an outstretched hand, the man sends the bolt in your direction, seeking to put an end to this before it can even begin. Your hand lifts to retrieve the gun from your holster, but quick of a draw as you are, not even you are quick enough for the event that unfolds before your very eyes.

Whilst the bolt comes careening towards you, a large body steps in front at the last possible moment, absorbing the blow.

“No!” You cry out in disbelief, pulling the gun free and firing off three shots in rapid succession, two of which hit their intended target.

As the man in black clutches at his torso, stumbling back behind a nearby piece of furniture for cover, you collapse down onto your knees beside a wounded Sackler.

“No, no, no, no, no, Adam.” The gun in your hand clatters to the floor heavily whilst your hands now roam over his body frantically. You know that there is nothing you can do, the blow has been dealt and the damage has been done. No amount of wishing can save him now.

Sackler chokes, splutters, and wheezes as he struggles to catch what little breath he can. “Kid,” he manages to gasp through labored breaths.

An anguished sob sounds from the back of your throat upon hearing him. Tears begin to fill your vision, spilling over onto your cheeks as your head tips forward to rest your forehead against his shirt near the blackened edges where the lightning bolt made contact with his chest.

“Kid,” he rasps again.

A large hand settles at the back of your head when you lift it just enough to peer down at him. He’s gone impossibly pale, and the realization makes your heart shatter into the smallest pieces imaginable. He is, you know, on the verge of death.

“I—”

“No, Adam. Don’t,” you hush softly, bringing your own hand to his hair, brushing it back from his clammy forehead. “Just rest, you’re going to be okay.” The words taste bitter in your mouth, like ash after a fire has decimated everything in its wake.

There is a slight shake of his head, and the hand at the back of your own presses just enough pressure for you to follow his lead, allowing him to draw you closer. Weakly, he lifts his head up from the ground to meet you on your descent. The tears come effortlessly now when your lips meet, and the hands that once roamed his form now hold his face as you kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

“Kid, I—” A series of coughs wrack his body as you help to lower his head back down to the ground. “I. Kid.” Sackler’s eyes roll as he inhales an arduous breath. “I lov—”

The breath leaves his body in a rush, chest stilling and body falling limp.

The golden rays of the setting sun part through the black clouds and cast themselves upon the scene as if to highlight the tragedy that’s just unfolded. But now is not the time for mourning; there will be a time and a place for this later, though every fiber of your being screams for you to stay with him now.

Rapidly you blink, seeking to dispel the tears from your eyes and rid yourself of your blurred vision. Slowly, you push yourself up and onto your feet, grabbing your gun as you go, your gaze still focused on the now lifeless body that lies in front of you. This mission, the one you’d been on solely for yourself and the realm from whence you have traveled from, is now a quest for the man you’d come to love so completely. For him you will do this. For him you will see to it that the man in black will be no more, that order will be restored to Adam’s world once more and that things will revert to the way they once were.

This will be his legacy.

-------------------------

Tagging my fellow Sackler lovers!

@livelongdolan @daydreamsofren @crimsoncounties @caillea @candycanes19 @gurl-ly @duty-isnt-always-honour @exit-goat @little-laamb @themuseic @kylosbitch @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @desiraypark @mariesackler @millenialcatlady @mazeltovcocktail555 @historyandfandoms50 @leatherboundbirate @fathersonandhouseofgucci @xxcatrenxx @alpha-lobito @cornmousequeen @tashastrange89 @10blurredsmoke10

If you'd like to be tagged on works going forward, give me a shout!

#Adam Sackler #Sackler #Adam Sackler x Reader #Sackler x Reader #Gunslinger!Reader #Adam Sackler x Gunslinger!Reader #Sackler x Gunslinger!Reader #Dark Tower AU #cw: violence #cw: gun violence #cw: angst #cw: unhappy ending #cw: pandemic #cw: major injury #cw: death #cw: character death #adcu fic exchange

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gojoscloset · 3 years

Text

“Hello, I just read your writing d**k appointment and I like it very much. And suddenly, I saw that you open the request NSFW dialogue prompts. Would you please write prompt 60 “Looks like someone wants to be a dad/mom” with Gojo or Megumi please 🥺”

Bahaha omg I’m so sorry I’m late as hell I’ve been busy with a lot mentally cause I have the attention span of a goldfish.

Please please enjoy, thank you so much for requesting lol. I’m back on my bullshit ✨

60. “Looks like someone wants to be a mom/dad”

WARNINGS: N S F W

Reposted from previous account

Smut obvs.

Breeding kink???? (if you squint)

Cream pie

Mentions of Pregnancy

No proofread??

————-

“Looks like someone wants to be a mom.”

You didn’t dare look away from what you thought had to be one of the cutest pairs of baby shoes you have ever laid your eyes on.

“Hmm? What do you mean? I just thought they were cute!” you lifted the pair of shoes up and gave your boyfriend a grin.

But Satoru was no idiot.

You see, these past few months have been filled with nothing but waves of emotions and ideas that you would have never thought you would have contemplated this early in life, but a pregnancy scare earlier in the year shook your world and turned it on its axis.

Of course you had imagined a life with Satoru, possibly married in the later years, and a potential family way wayyy down the line. However, you were content with where you two stood. A strong and healthy relationship, 2 consenting adults in love. But you also had to remember you were 2 powerful sorcerers in love. So even with your line of work, kids at the moment seemed really out of the question. Hell, even being in a relationship with someone like Satoru was a blessing with the lives you two lived. So even the idea of bearing his child seemed like you were asking for a lot from the universe.

When your period came late, all your little fantasies and thoughts of having a family took a step closer to becoming reality, you melted at the idea of becoming a mother and all your fears and doubts were thrown out the window.

But alas, the joy left just as fast as it came you were back on your regular schedule the day before your doctor's appointment. Relieved of course, but things weren’t the same.

Day after day you caught yourself indulging more and more in the idea of what your life would be like with a child. Would your first child be a girl or a boy? Whose features would they take on the most? Oh how you prayed to the gods that they would look more like Satoru than anything.

Would you be a good mother? Would Satoru be a good father? There was no doubt in your mind that he would be.

Don’t even get started on the names.

Your gaze would linger when you would pass up children and their parents at a park. Or when you would pass up baby clothes at the shopping strip, you would stop in your tracks and imagine your future child wearing that outfit.

Secretly you would shop for clothes online just to ‘see what they look like’ Or secretly read first time mom forums on breddit just to ‘See how it feels’ but it was so much more than just a passing curiosity.

And of course, You weren’t the only one who noticed the change.

You and Satoru have been in the love game for a respectable amount of time, and have spent the seconds, hours,days,weeks,months,years, in each other's presence. He would absolutely be able to acknowledge when you’d turn your head in the kids section or when your gaze would linger on the little girls in princess dresses at the market, corners of your lips curling just a little.

Or when a toddler at the grocery store handed him a fake phone,in which he pretended to answer with such enthusiasm you would almost believe he was actually on the phone with someone,he could visibly see how your heart melted at the sight. You looked at him like you wanted to marry him on the spot for the rest of the day. A personal favorite memory of his.

Satoru was a dumbass, but he was not stupid.

You didn’t know how much he loved seeing these little things, the little changes in you. Behind his tinted shades and through his long lashes, he would carefully watch your duality go from powerful sorcerer to something maternal.Something you never did in all the time he has known you until after the scare.

It made him want to jump your bones on the spot and put a baby in you every time, but you never brought up the topic despite seeming to be interested in motherhood, and respectfully he left it alone. But you had been caught red handed almost always.

Satoru held himself back when he had various opportunities to talk about it, do you know how hard that is to do as Satoru?

He wanted to press on. He wanted to pry and ask you all kinds of questions regarding the sudden change, but he knew that there was a time and place for everything, and now was definitely not the time nor location.

“Hey, not bad!” He allowed his glasses to slip off the bridge if his nose ever so slightly to get a better view.

“I would wear these if they came in my size”

He joked, you smacked his arm playfully and laughed.

“Cmon lets g-“

You were about to place the shoes back on the rack but he stopped you before you did. He pulled out his phone and snapped a few photos of the shoes and tag.

“I was being serious” he stated plainly, earning another laugh from the both of you.

——

The rest of the day went on as normal, for the most part. The little interaction at the store replayed not only in your mind but Satoru’s as well.

‘Did I make it too obvious?’

‘Did I overdo it with the shoes?’

‘Is it time to talk about it?’

—-

‘Toru..’ you whined but that didn’t stop him from continuing to bend you like a pretzel while plowing into you.

“Don’t be shy now, you look so good like this. ...And those faces you make....” he licked his lips reaching out to grab your jaw, thumb running across your lip.

Even though you were whining about the embarrassing positions he kept putting you in, your body was on fire and didn’t want this to end.

With every position he managed to go deeper and deeper, hitting places only he knew how to hit. He utilized the curve of his dick just how you liked it, grazing your favorite spots with every thrust.

The way your walls fluttered and clenched against his made them his favorite spots too.

It was crazy to you how Satoru knew your body like nobody else did. He knew every curve, every dip, every corner. He knew what made you weak in the knees and what you disliked with a passion. He knew what made you cream, what made you wet, what made your back arch and your toes curl.

“You like that Hmm?” He bucked his hips, folding your legs up, pushing your knees as close to your chest as possible.

He gazed into your eyes, watching the way your face wrenched in pleasure. He needed that, he loved that. Being able to see your expression contour and twist because of him, god it got him off.

He looked down at you, his usually spiky hair now flattened with sweat, strands sticking to the side of his face. He bit his lip, and gripped your hips with force, bruises were guaranteed.

He brought you closer, you slowed your breathing to control the ride. You two had been fucking long enough to know the Cues, the way your body twitched and the little sounds you would make when you were close triggered the muscle memory and he moved in the way he knew would push you over the edge.

“D..Don't slow down!” You commanded, throwing your head back into the sheets, the familiar tingling sensation starting at your core, his pace picking up, hands trailing down your abdomen, fingers circling around your clit, wet with its own slick.

He couldn’t help but suck on his own bottom lip watching your body rock in rhythm with his, the way your breast bounced, he couldn’t help but grab a handful.

“That’s right baby….” he spoke softly, voice just above the lewd sounds you two we’re making. The squelching, skin slapping skin, the gasping sounds when he would thrust back into you.

He was getting carried away, letting the words just spill from his lips. “Mmmm fuck yeah baby, you feel so fucking good.” He groaned “fuck around and put a baby in you-“

You had been with this man for many many moons, had been through thick and thin, but nothing had prepared you two for that awkward moment.

All movements ceased the second he stopped talking. Both of you pulled away and just looked at each other, embarrassment demonstrated on both of your faces.

Both of you seemed to think about the Barget incident, and then every other incident which made the dirty talk hit different.

“Sorry” Quickly he spoke, in hopes of somehow saving his ass in case things went south.

“W-what for?” You continued to try and mask your feelings about the situation(s), but nothing could get past his eyes.

He was no idiot, you knew that, but you still tried him, because sometimes he lets your shit slide. But not this time.

“Please y/n, I’ve seen the change in you.”

The air was thick, momentarily, but the smile on his face gave you clarity.

“The lingering looks, the shoes at the store… I’ve noticed” his large hands cupped your face, thumb brushing calming shapes against your cheek.

“Is there something we need to talk about?”

He released you from your position and sat up straight.

“Toru…do you really wanna talk about this now?????” Sheepish under the circumstances

“Don’t give me that. We’ve been together too long for you to try and play this game with me.”

His hands found their way to you once again. Pulling you by the wrists, he sat you up and made you look at him as he continued to speak.

“Communication remember?” He was soft, yet stern.

“You haven’t been the same since the missed period incident.” Your jaw dropped, he was on it even with the timing.

There was no sense in hiding anything anymore, this man knows all, this man sees all.

“I’d be lying if I said you were wrong….you see..” you began to pour your heart out, trying your hardest to keep eye contact with him.

“The pregnancy scare heightened the want for a family with you, Satoru. I envision a lot of things, and you being in my future for a long long time is one of them...”

He held your gaze while looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. He listened intently like you were whispering the secrets of the universe to him.

“But I never brought up the topic of family because we’re-“

“Sorcerers” He finished the sentence for you, the small smile he held earlier now turned into a flat line.

The speed in which he did was almost enough to make you flinch. Bittersweet in a way,at least this confirmed that he too thought about a family with you at one point but considered the circumstances.

A“Exactly..” you continued. “And the scare made me realize what I want in life..with you. But it’s out of reach and it’s not something I wanted to project onto- “

His large hands placed themselves in either side of your face and Satoru showered you with kisses.

“I. Love. You. So. Much.” He spoke in between kisses.

“I love you too, but- AH!!! What are you doing??!”

Satoru pulled you by your ankles, placing himself in between your legs once again.

“Putting a baby in you, that's what.” He gave you such a sweet and loving look, it didn’t match the words that spewed from his lips.

“T-that’s not funny…” Quickly, you covered your entrance before he even thought about it.

“Exactly, because it wasn’t a joke sweetheart.”

“Wait, but what about-”

“We’ll be fine, i’m the strongest, remember?” he gave you a playful wink and grabbed your wrists, playfully prying your hands away, he wasn’t going to do anything though, not without your consent, but seeing how flustered he could make you fed the already enlarged ego he owned.

“Now tell me, do you want a boy or girl? Ooh, what about their names?”

“ Satoru… wait… are you sure? Don’t you wanna think about it a little more?”

He let out a playful laugh and pointed a finger dramatically at you, “Are you sure?”

Without missing a beat you nodded, you wanted this so bad, and by the looks of it, so did he.

“That’s all you had to say, let me take care of you, my pillow princess”

-------------

The sultry night was young.How many times have you came already? It didn’t matter.

His arms were wrapped around your entire body, holding you in place as he bounced you up and down his shaft.

“My pretty girl… my sweet sweet princess.” He whispered against your skin, tongue grazing from your collar bone up to your jaw, tasting your sweat. He wanted to breathe you in, and make you his air. The words replayed in his mind as he fucked you senseless.

“and you being in my future for a long long time is one of them...”

“Toru…” Your breathing hitched,, his praise made your walls twitch around him. He got the hint and immediately went to work. In a swift movement you were beneath his form. His skin glistening with a layer of sweat.

“ How do you want it?” he groaned, draping your leg over his shoulder while grabbing the other one, spreading you wider. You were grateful for the change of position, you have been wanting to touch him for a while now but the grip he had you in earlier was not letting it happen.

Your hands hungrily made his way to his chest and arms.

“As long...as I get it…” you managed to mutter through moans. His thrusts became erratic, a sign that he was coming undone as well.

“Look at me..tell me how you want it....tell me how you need it” he licked his lips with desire. You managed to look at him through half lidded eyes, giving him exactly what he wanted, he always did the same for you.

You lifted your hips up some, grinding harder against him, letting more of him fill you up, you could swear you felt his head kiss your cervix. You did a kegel, walls giving his dick a hug.

The actions earned you a breathy moan, he almost lost his cool, it threw off his pace momentarily but when he picked back up, the speed was doubled.

“You like to play dirty, hmm? “

“The only way I like to play…”

“Very well then” he said through grit teeth, finger moving to where you were connected, rubbing your clit in circles without mercy. You were pushed over the edge quickly, mouth Ajar, and body convulsing against him, his movements did not falter.

“That’s my good girl”

He lowered his body down mouth to cage you between his arms, droplets of sweat falling onto the sheets as he tried to avoid sweat falling into your eyes.

“Are you sure?”

He asked once again, not moving an inch until you gave him the go.

You simply stared up at him, goofy grin he always carried on him plastered onto his handsome face.

You gave him the go once again and he bucked his hips.

This particular moment was sweet sweet bliss. Normally Satoru would be careless with his movements when it came to chasing his orgasm, but not this particular one. His touches would linger, fingertips burning themselves into your skin with passion, making their way from your hips to your hands, large fingers filling in the gaps between your own.

His kisses were oh so immaculate. Sweet and soft, but most importantly, abundant.

And the way he spoke your name. Only Satoru could make his words come out like they were coated in honey.

His hips snapped and he gave your hand a squeeze, face in the crook of your neck, the hot breath against your skin forced chills down your spine, with you

“I love you so much…” he groaned into your ear. With a few more bucks of his hips you felt his seed spill into you. You were running on fumes at this point, overkill with the overstim, but that’s how you liked it.

You felt your clit throb, your walls still fluttering against him from your previous climax like they were sucking every last drop of out of him.

He looked down at you silently, but the look on his face, the calm waters in his eyes said everything he needed to say. You couldn’t tear away your gaze, you were already high off the blue dream.

His eyes moved from yours to your lips, they looked needy to him. He bent his head down and planted a kiss, despite the scenario, it was chaste. Innocent. Refreshing.

“I love you.” He repeated, though he had no doubt you felt the same. “I know you do...there is not a single doubt in my mind...and I love you oh so very much, more than I could ever put in words.”

There was another comfortable silence, however, the small smile that was on your face quickly turned into a flustered look when he pulled out of you and spread your legs open, looking at the mess he made inside of you.

“W-what the fuck are you doing?!!”

You laughed nervously and tried closing your legs, but he held them open, too strong for you to try and fight against it.

“I just wanted to see the masterpiece I made. Plus-“ he positioned himself between your legs again

“I’m not done, I want to make sure I get the job done right.”

He gave you a wink, and immediately you knew you were in for a long night.

A very very long night.

#jjk headcanons #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x y/n #gojo satoru #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x reader #satoru gojō x reader #satoru gojo #Nasty Nept✨

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aseioh · 3 years

Text

Of Stars and Moonlit walks pt.3/?

Chapter 3: Evening with a view ( TRIGGER WARNING: PLEASE NOTE THIS CHAPTER DEALS WITH SUICIDE OF A FAMILY MEMBER. )

Days blur into weeks as life continues to buzz around the Castle. With harvest season fast approaching, Alcina and her daughters has been busy. Thankfully, most of their ‘wine making’ operation is contained in the basement. Donna has never ventured below the castle, and even though she offered to help with their ‘harvest’ Alcina declined good naturedly. After all, the process of creating “Sanguis Virginis” was a family secret -even though all the Lords knew what was inside the wine- still she appreciated the offer.

Donna herself has been busy with helping Heisenberg in his factory, between this and her own work as Mother Miranda’s chief interrogator for prisoners, she was often left haggard at the end of the day. But beneath the tired feeling, Donna was proud of her work.

After all she was needed, she wasn’t disposable.

Donna remembers the first time she entered Heisenberg’s Factory and found it stifling. The metal doors that never seems to open and the constant smell of oil that permeates the air made her want to regurgitate her breakfast.

‘Heisenberg himself carries the same smell, along with the smoke of his preferred cigar.’ Donna muses as she makes her way to the hidden lift at the side of the front warehouse. The lift itself was a new addition, after Heisenberg noticed Donna’s reaction to the metal doors he graciously installed the one way lift for her.

“A direct access to our workspace! We need to be efficient and what better way than an ‘in and out way’. No need to walk around the factory floor.” Heisenberg boasted as he revealed it to Donna at the end of their first week working together.

Donna has never been more grateful with her ‘brother’.

The two of them shared a passion of building things, a trait Mother Miranda noticed early on and took advantage of. Donna with her dolls and Heisenberg with his technical proficiency, the two would always discuss their newest projects after every meeting.

When Mother Miranda said that she needed to expand her control, and increase their territory Heisenberg volunteered to make her a ‘mechanical army’, and with Donna’s help with in the early stages the plan was going along nicely.

Today had been a rather slow day for the two of them, after the field test of ‘Soldat’ prototype Heisenberg offered a break on their work. Of course, with nothing new on their plate discussions quickly turned to Donna’s stay at the Castle as well as its colorful inhabitants.

“So how’s the stay at the gilded castle?” Heisenberg inquired, as he lazily smoked his cigar, the red dot at the tip reminds Donna of the Soldats central weak point, something they need to remedy if they want the mechanical man to have a chance.

Donna sipping her tea frowns at the question. “Quite fine actually. I wished you would stop teasing Alcina, Karl. One day she’ll get so angry at you that you’ll end up as confetti on the floor”

“ohh, are we having a party Mistress” Angie pipes up from her stool.

“Now, now you know I’m only joking. and Alcina’s too strung up, it’s funny to piss her off. Besides I’m genuinely curious, are they treating you well? No headaches or nightmares? I know you get stress in new environments”

“I’m fine Karl, Alcina and the girls are lovely. Even Angie is having fun” at that the Doll nods enthusiastically. “As for the headache, its manageable, the herbal tea helps”

“and the last one?”

“Like I said, manageable.” She said with finality

“Right, you know I care about you Donna. If anything happens, you’re more than welcome to stay here. You’re friends are getting antsy sometimes but all is well here. I’m sure they’ll be happy when they know that their Mistress is in the same room as them”

“Thank you”

“Right enough about that.” Heisenberg extinguishes his cigar and stands up animatedly, walking to the side table with blueprints laying on top, he motions for Donna to follow him.

“So I have this new idea… what do you think if we attach a huge propeller at the head of one of the soldat”

The afternoon at Heisenberg’s factory just became interesting again.

----

In her dreams she wasn’t fast enough.

It was always the same scenario, her and Mother standing near the viewing docks of the waterfall. The sound was deafening but she can distinctly hear Mother talking and saying that she will always be there for her and urging Donna to run back inside the house.

Donna turns intending to follow her Mother’s order. She hears a soft “goodbye love” and when she looks back Mother is gone.

Gone. Gone.

Gone…

She makes her way at the edge of the viewing dock and looks down…

---

It was Bela's turn to patrol the corridors of the castle, with the harvest of maidens it isn't uncommon to see one or two of their 'prey’ to try to escape. As she makes her rounds near the guest wing she hears a scream.

‘Donna!?’

Bela hears Donna scream and rushes to the woman's room, thinking that someone had managed to escape and made their way to Donna's room or even worse. Bursting through and seeing there are only embers near the fireplace, Bela was about to light a candle when she was stopped.

"STOP!” Donna and Angie both shouted, the duality of their voices unnerved Bela. Donna was hunched over the bed, her hands shielding her whole face.

“Are you alright Donna?” Bela doesn’t sense anyone is in the room, and she felt her shoulders sag, she didn’t even realized that she was holding her breathe. Getting a better bearing of the room, she understands why Donna stopped her. ‘Ah, she's not wearing her veil’ quickly turning around the other direction she makes her way to the fireplace and stokes it back to life.

Donna still feeling the effects of the nightmare answers in short burst.

Bela doesn't know how to react on these situation, usually when one of them does experience nightmares they would just usually walk around the castle to decompress and shake the feeling off. On worst occasion when it was really bad they would knock on their Mother's door to seek comfort.

‘How do you comfort a woman?’

An idea forms in Bela's mind “Would you like to have a short walk? That usually calms me down when I suffer nightmares” Donna considers the invitation, sensing that Bela will not leave her easily she agrees beside she doesn’t really want to be alone right now. She wouldn't want to worry Alcina if she finds out she had this outburst.

“Yes, I would like that” Adjusting her veil she stands up and makes her way to Bela. “Angie will you stay here. Alcina probably heard that scream, will you tell her that I'm with Bela if she comes by?”

"Yes mistress” Angie agrees and settles by the wingback chair near the fireplace . Donna approaches Bela, touching her shoulder. Sensing that it’s alright to turn around, Bela faces the woman, based on the tensed shoulders and wringing hands in front of her, she makes a bold move and gently takes one of the hands.

"Come, I know the perfect place where we can go.”

‘She has warm hands.’ Donna though looking down on their joined hands. She wonders when the last time someone held her hand this way.

She comes up empty.

A quick detour to the kitchen for some tea and Bela leads them to the Castle Garden.

Thankfully, it was a warm night.

By this point Donna has managed to settle some of the earlier tension she's been feeling. She even managed to smile a little, although her companion cannot see it.

“I will always be surprised at how big this Castle is. Tell me are you also the one that tended to these plants?” Donna motions to the assorted flowers encircling the garden.

“Unfortunately not, we have the gardener take care of this area. I'm afraid I cannot tend to them when it becomes too cold.”

“I see.”

Silence follows, as they made their way to the center of the garden where a small gazebo was located.

“Are you feeling well now?” Bela asked after some time, hoping that the open air and the calm night has settled Donna’s nerve.

“Yes, thank you. You were right the short walk really helped.”

Bela can tell with Donna’s posture that she was still not a 100 percent alright, so she decides to distract the woman with questions. “How did you become one of the Four Lords?” at the question Donna’s head snapped up.

‘Shit!’ Bela blanched further, if that was even possible for her. ‘what the hell kind of a question is that? Mothers’ going to kill me’

Donna studies the woman in front of her. She weights her options on whether to tell Bela the truth or not.

‘You weren’t fast enough’ the intrusive thought taunts her on.

“First, do I have your word that what I’m about to tell you here will not leave and that you will not divulge my secret to your sisters?” Donna asked seriously as her voice takes on a lower timbre

“Yes”

“My Father was the village doctor and we have always lived at the Beneviento mansion. One day my Mother met an accident when we were out near the waterfall. I say an accident because that was what Father said, Mother slipped while I was turning to go back to the house”

“And the truth?”

“She jumped. I don’t know why and until now I have never learned her reasons, but one moment she was there and next she was just gone.”

‘Gone’ she hated that word and the absence it implies.

“My Father never recovered from the heartbreak, then one day he met an accident and I was left alone. Alone in the truest sense possible. The only one I have left was Angie” Donna pauses trying to catch her herself and willing her mind to not spiral down further.

“There were the house servants and the gardener a nice old man who taught me how to care for my plants, but other than them I was a ghost. Just counting my days, existing without living. Then one day Mother Miranda showed up.” At that, Donna smiled recalling the time that the woman suddenly appeared on the anniversary of her mother’s death.

An Angel with black wing. Or was it the Devil?

“She offered me salvation from my loneliness; she gave me the gift to influence others. The moment I’ve received her power, I gave a little of myself to Angie and I was never alone ever since.” Donna lets her story end. Looking at the young woman in front of her, she was surprised to find tears streaming down Bela’s face.

“I’m sorry, I know it was an upsetting tale-“ Donna starts only to be interrupted by Bela standing up and embracing her.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Bela whispers as she rest her cheeks on Donna’s head “But I hope that you will never feel alone again, Mother’s here, Cassandra and Daniela are here-“

“And you’re here as well” Donna finishes Bela’s sentence

Chuckling “Yes, not to mention, Heisenberg and Moreau. Donna, I swear as long as I’m here you will never feel alone” Bela declares as she tightens her embrace

Donna sinks further into Bela’s embrace and for once, she felt it.

She felt peace.

The two stayed in the same position for some time, With only the moon and stars as their witness.

#resident evil village #donna beneviento #bela dimitrescu #Donna x Bela pairing #Beladonna #Of Stars and Moonlit walks #karl heisenberg #alcina dimitrescu

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

Note

Hello there friend! It is a me once again 😌 Dare I request some fluff?

27. piggy back hugs

MY FRIEND! Of course you can request some fluff since I broke your heart with my last drabble! >:D

BEHOLD, Fane, the chivalrous dragon! >:3

***

The Emerald Graves bore a duality that Solas found was a persistent theme in his life. Blissfully serene, but beautifully chaotic. Laden with sorrow, but thriving with joyous life. Awash with scars of the past, but still with the peace of the present. The lush forests with their tombstone trees, the various creatures that frolicked and loped, the babbling streams with old Elvhen monuments or statues lining their banks, and ruins upon ruins of a home that was taken as readily as it had been given. All of these things held the duality of nature, the light and dark, but there was, perhaps, one thing he found himself only seeing the dark side of an otherwise shimmering gold coin.

And that were roots, gigantic and jutting as surely as the wooden bodies that bore them. The trees within the Graves were large, towering, and their sturdy, ancient roots matched that tenacity, tearing through the verdant ground and bursting upwards as if those who had fallen were rising from their hallowed grounds.

However, it had not been the hand of a fallen Emerald Knight that sought Solas now as he walked beside Fane; his dragon's emerald eyes glistening with quiet gold as they stared forward, occasionally darting towards a rustling bush before a nug would scurry from it, eyeful march resuming its forward steps. It was just the two of them, Fane having ordered a split of their party to cover more ground, mark more landmarks for later observation and consideration, and as per usual, he took his place beside his dragon; always beside, never behind. It was an arrangement they both had declared silently, but knowingly, the bond of centuries answering for them.

Sadly, it was proving to be increasingly difficult to keep that arrangement as they proceeded deeper and deeper into the grove they had stumbled upon, the path narrowing, but only bringing them closer together, not apart, even if the alternative would be easier, but truthfully, Solas had no one to blame but himself for their venue, ancient energy making itself known within his mind and along his skin. It was a beautiful area, however, laden with colorful blooms of Embrium interspersed with Prophet's Laurel and Royal Elfroot. He would have to make note of this particular spot, but once they found the Elvhen artifact, it would be no issue relocating the prosperous path they tread.

Or rather, the treacherous path they tread, the ground rife with thick, winding roots that made it difficult to traverse without stumbling or getting caught up for a moment. Fane was having no trouble, long legs easily stepping over or a heavy boot merely crushing the wooden with a crack before its bearer would continue onward. He, on the other hand, was a little less...assured, occasionally catching the tip of his foot along a loop from where his leg would draw up short.

Solas let out a quiet growl of frustration as he, yet again, felt his foot catch, nearly stumbling and tumbling into the taller man beside him. These roots were truly irksome! He had traipsed into many a forest, many a crumbling ruin laden with obstructions all their own, but these specific obstacles were proving to be cunning and infuriating!

"You said it was around here, right?", Fane's voice sounded in his ears, deep and mildly flat as usual. The shifting of metal and leather telling Solas arms had been crossed. "Usually I can sense them, too, but I don't this time. Huh."

Solas glanced up from where he was glaring at the ground to see one pale, freckled cheek jutting out slightly as his dragon did his normal habit of pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, but unfortunately, he was unable to wax poetic over it as he was trying to traverse the maze of roots they had wandered into. Why were there so many?!

"It is...", Solas began, halting his words as he carefully side stepped and tiptoed over a rather pesky bunch of gnarled wooden arms. He kept his eyes glued to the ground as he continued, "..deeper in. The Veil has various abnormalities in these forests, so perhaps it is affecting your--", he tried to finish, but was cut off as another thick root had one of his feet twisting like it was twisted, looping and aggravatingly elegant. "Fenehdis lasa!" The curse spilling out unbidden as sudden pain had him grimacing and stumbling forward a bit.

Solas nearly tumbled forward due to having to take the majority of his weight off his foot, but, as quick as vipers, Fane's hands shot out to grab a hold of his shoulders, digging into fur and cloth to pull him back from meeting the earth. He winced a bit, pinching pain radiating through his foot and up to his ankle as he leaned towards Fane. Curse it all! How he managed to walk through life at times was a mystery! If this were the Fade he could disperse these blasted roots without growing tired!

"You okay?", Fane asked, voice dropping deeper with worry as his face came into view, eyes sparkling like iridescent runes and pale visage holding a sunlight glow from the sunlight filtering from down from above. Those all encompassing eyes held concern and typical protectiveness, the hands gripping Solas' shoulders tightening a bit.

"I..am fine..", Solas managed to get out, but winced in the next moment when he tried to ease his foot onto the cool ground, sharp, searing pain shooting up through his ankle. "I..merely twisted my ankle a bit." It felt more than a bit, scorching and throbbing, but the last thing he wanted was to induce more worry onto Fane, but with the way emerald eyes seemed to narrow with exasperation told Solas that that was but a dream.

"Describe the pain.", Fane said, practically demanding, inherent growl working its way forward from concern and Solas' attempts to divert.

Solas sighed, turning his head up a bit more to connect their gazes more completely. Emerald and gold flowed and shone as emotions began to run high within his dragon, snowy eyebrow twitching, lips down turned into a displeased scowl. He should know better than to hide from a dragon, but still he tried. Foolish.

"It is...uncomfortable.", Solas finally said, reaching up to give one of Fane's clawing hands a pat and a soothing stroke of a thumb. He smiled a bit, reassuring and calm despite the pain he felt in his foot. "That is all, ma'isenatha. A simple healing spell later on will suffice in soothing it." He hoped that would ease a draconic mind, but with the same emerald and gold sharpened told Solas otherwise, letting out a tiny sigh. And he was the worrywart of the two of them?

"You can't walk.", Fane growled, no question in it, only fact.

"I can walk perf--"

"Try it, then."

Solas gaped a bit, fumbling for another deflection, but came up short as another sharp surge of pain had him hissing, squeezing his eyes shut to the point where he saw static. Okay, so it would appear he would not be chancing strides any time soon. He sighed again as the fiery pain slowly ebbed again, cracking his eyes open to stare up into firm, but deeply worried orbs that reflected the mightiest of jewels. Fane was frowning with concern rather than scowling with irritation, inked vines of Sylaise seeming to wilt along with otherwise youthful muscles. Solas felt himself smile a bit despite not finding pleasure in such a sight. For his dragon to always be so concerned for his welling being, for everyone's well being, was truly touching, even if it was unnecessary at times.

"It would appear you are right in that I cannot walk.", Solas admitted, letting out a tiny chuckle as he shook his head. "But, there is a task yet, and I can endure." The Elvhen artifact was the priority at the moment, and it would be wasteful to them both if they had to abandon the grove now because of his gracelessness.

Fane scoffed, rolling his eyes. "On one foot? Yeah, okay. I'll just let you hop around until you bite it again.", he said with an exasperated growl before continuing, voice softer, but no less annoyed. "Don't be a fool.", he admonished before a large frame gingerly let go of him, but staying close as it descended onto a knee, turning from him. Solas tilted his head, blinking a bit and bracing himself on broad shoulders to keep himself steady.

"Fane? What are you doing?", he asked, brows knitting together in confusion as emerald and gold met him again from over a shoulder. It was unusual to be the 'tall' one in the relationship, Fane about a foot taller than he was.

It was...quite interesting, truth be told, warmth not born of bruised muscle making itself known across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Solas swallowed a bit as a knowing smirk turned up one corner of Fane's mouth, the heat rising, the interest spreading it. Oh, yes. This was...this was very interesting. So interesting, that he almost tuned out his dragon's next words.

"Get on.", Fane commanded flatly, motioning to his back with a jerk of his chin. "You point the way towards the artifact, and I'll take us to it." Snowy hair swayed as he turned his head forward again, but glimmering eyes continued to watch from the side, observing his reaction oh so typically, but not unwelcome.

"You wish to...carry me?", Solas questioned, the heat upon his face rising evermore when his inquiry was met with silence and a tiny smirk upon tender lips. "You..do." His voice eking up slowly, somewhat sheepishly. Again, this was interesting, interesting, interesting. This deciduous forest suddenly felt like a rain forest, hot and sweltering, his collar feeling tighter than usual, the layers upon him feeling like there were far too many, that they were far too heavy.

Fane chuckled, dutifully waiting on bent knee. "This is your chance to ride a dragon, my sky. Best take it.", he joked, smirk growing ever wider.

Solas let out a shaky chuckle of his own, hands upon sturdy shoulders gliding forward to find a niche before he carefully, so as not to aggravate his ankle, as well as the scars he knew laid beneath metal and leather, hopped forward a bit to straddle a wall of a back. He lowered himself gingerly, leaning in to press their bodies together before shifting his arms to wrap around Fane's neck. Hands appeared to pull and grip his thighs gently so that they hugged a toned waist before Solas felt himself rise along with Fane, the endeavor effortless, the motion fluid without a grimace of pain or a grunt of exertion.

In. Ter. Est. Ting.

Solas felt his face go deadpan, mind whirling, thoughts bordering on impure as large hands squeezed flesh and their bodies seemed to meld and mold together perfectly, his arms tightening around Fane's neck to where he was practically hugging the man of his intense, intense, interest. He felt oddly weak all of a sudden, and almost unbearably hot.

"Comfortable?", Fane's voice pierced his scorching thoughts, timbre and baritone making Solas shudder lightly before he sighed, actively burying his face into the black leather of the dragon's jacket. It smelled of the forest, oddly, snow, and familiarly of chamomile. He could die smelling those scents and be happy. Yes, he could.

"You are..", Solas mumbled into Fane's coat, taking a deep breath as he tightened his hug around his neck, but careful to not choke the man. It would not do for them both to be out of commission. "...strong.", he finished, internally berating himself for his lack of eloquence. It would appear his ankle wasn't the only thing beginning to numb with heat.

Fane chuckled deeply. "Like that, do you?", a tease slipping out, its cadence holding a, no doubt, intoxicating smirk, but Solas couldn't will himself to look up, to bask in its snowy disposition for his face was burning, a blush spreading all along the expanse of his face and down to his neck, he knew, but Fane didn't have to.

"I..", Solas paused, shifting a bit as strong hands squeezed at his thighs, movement beginning as Fane effortlessly strode forward, boots crunching through treacherous roots with far more force than was necessary. "..merely believed you enjoyed the benefit." He was fumbling, falling, and frazzled beyond belief, his only stabilizing influence the sturdy shoulder, that was flexing on occasion from gentle shifts and general movement, that his face was now practically burrowed into.

"Mm.", Fane hummed, knowing and pleased. The arms holding Solas' legs jerked a bit, repositioning him deftly without breaking strides. That action nearly had Solas growling before he took in a deep breath, chamomile and nature cooling him a bit, but not by much. He couldn't even feel the heat of his ankle anymore, the inferno now coursing throughout his entire body, his blood.

And that had him acting bold as he shifted his head a bit, peeping out from his hiding spot to immediately see a sidelong glance of glittering emerald and delicate gold watching him, observing him, their depths holding wells upon wells of unbridled emotion. Concern, love, devotion, and most of all, acceptance. Solas smiled a tiny smile, eyes going hooded as Fane's did in turn. How foolish of him to act the damsel when he understood the knight holding him would never look at him adversely for his softer habits. No, if anything, they were both on equal footing; walking beside, never behind.

"But, since you asked..", Solas whispered, leaning up a bit to nuzzle at a pointed ear, smirking a bit as it twitched and hands clawed into his thighs, goosebumps rising even underneath leather to where he let out a quiet, but heated sigh. "..I do like such undiluted power, ma'isenatha. Do you wish to show me more of it?"

The Elvhen artifact was but an afterthought as roots snapped along with a draconic leash and Solas, too, felt his shackles break as surely as waves against a rocky shore, chaotic, but wholly beautiful.

***

Did it get away from me a bit? Is it slightly spicy? Did I twist Solas' flirting dialogue to adhere to him and Fane's dynamic?! *gasp* I DIIIIIID! AHAHAHAH! *coughs harshly* E...Enjoyyyy! <3

#prompts #drabbles #solavellan #oc: fane lavellan #solas #these two can't go two seconds later in their relationship without testing the other's restraint XD #solas has a thing for raw power #he likes the muscles #OHHH YES HE DOES #somft solas :3 #fane being a dragon of few words but KNOWING the effect he has on the sky #HNNNNG #I HOPE YOU LIKE IT! <3 #dragon age #my writing

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: sexually explicit content, oral (f receiving), public sex, filmed sex, watching porn w the bros, fingering, jk being a little shit, voyeurism, mxm, dom!jk but also sub!jk because we love the duality, orgasm control, handjob, camming : )

also please be aware, further down there is a link to a 4 second clip from twitter that inspired one of the scenes. that’s what the link is, it’s not hugely graphic but please use your discretion.

DAY TWO

It’s almost midday by the time you wake up. From outside your bedroom, the faint echoes of conversation remind you of just where you’d gone to sleep the night before. Of what you’d done the night before.

You dress quickly in some jean shorts and a loose shirt, wincing at the slight twinge between your legs, a welcome ache for what pleasure it had brought you. In the hallway upstairs, the collective hum of conversation is clearer, and you follow it down the stairs and to the kitchen, where six of the seven men are sharing breakfast at the dining table together, two waiting places still remaining.

You take the seat between Jungkook and Yoongi when the younger man greets you first, eyes wide as he pats the space. The other men glance up, conversations drifting off to greet you good morning.

The seat directly across from you is empty, Taehyung and Jimin at the chairs adjacent while Hoseok and Namjoon take the heads of the table. “Where’s Jin?” you ask in surprise.

“Jin?” Hoseok questions with a salacious smile. “Judging by the noises Jimin heard last night, you were the one who saw him last."

Your cheeks heat, and though you want to curl up in embarrassment, you can't help your eyes from automatically darting over to Jimin.

In a loose silk shirt the same gunmetal silver as the cutlery, Jimin's blue hair stands out even more than usual, as well as the smokey eyeshadow that frames his intense stare.

"I'm sorry," you say awkwardly. "I- Well, I guess that'll probably be a regular occurrence one way or another."

"Keeping me up at night with your shameless moaning?" he questions with a raised brow.

Out of everyone at the table staring at you, it's his gaze which burns at your cheeks the most, making you drop his gaze, eyes down on the empty plate in front of you. "I meant more, um, having sex in general, since that's the point of the show. But... sorry."

"Just try and be quieter next time," Jungkook suggests cheerily from beside you. The other members laugh, resuming their conversations or going back for more breakfast, but Jungkook's attention lingers on you for a moment longer, before he stands up abruptly.

"Jungkookie, where are you going?" Taehyung calls out, twisting in his chair to watch as Jungkook steps into the kitchen, disappearing through the open door of the walk-in pantry. Jungkook doesn't answer, but the rummaging sounds of plastic give his purpose away.

"Wow," Yoongi drawls with an unimpressed frown, "I prepare all this food for you and he still needs to go fossicking for more."

The attention sufficiently off you, you lean in to Yoongi's side. "I'm just going to grab a drink from the kitchen, do you want anything?"

Yoongi shakes his head distractedly, more focused on buttering every last edge of the toast in his hand. Getting up, you let the blood finally leave your cheeks and your heart rate slow down. No point worrying about something you couldn't really help.

In the kitchen, you can see easily across to the dining table, Taehyung's and Jimin's backs to you as you look through the refrigerator for something to drink.

The options are decently impressive, and you stare indecisively that the fridge beeps at you for being left open too long. Settling on some milk to make coffee, you turn and almost drop the carton at what greets you.

Crouched below the kitchen island innocuously, out of view of the boys, is Jungkook, grinning toothily at you, with a finger to his mouth in the universal 'be quiet' signal.

Your eyes widen, but as you look out across the bench to the dining room, nobody has noticed. Biting your lip, you grab a mug, turn the electric jug on and slowly walk over to where he is, standing so that his bent knees brush your shins.

Though nobody is paying you a lick of attention, you pretend to drop a spoon onto the ground before dropping below the level of the bench yourself, face-to-face with Jungkook.

"What are you doing?" you hiss quietly, the sound barely louder than your lips moving.

"You have to practice being quiet," he says cheekily. "So let me eat you out while you make some coffee."

"You're crazy," you whisper, but your eyes are entranced by the tip of his tongue as he licks his lips. "Fuck, okay."

Ignoring his shiteating grin of victory, you grab the teaspoon and stand up again, reaching for the jar of coffee crystals. A minute sigh leaves your mouth when nimble fingers run up your thigh, over your shorts and begin fiddling with the button. Fuck, were you really doing this?

"Y/n?"

Your eyes dart up, fearing you've been caught, but Hoseok is smiling at you unawares, pointing at the jar in your hands.

"Could you make me a cup too? I can come get it-"

"No," you blurt, swallowing as Jungkook's hands don't falter, reaching around to grasp at the meat of your ass from inside your shorts. "I'm already up, I don't mind."

You inhale through your nose as Jungkook flicks the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh, voice a low murmur that only you can hear. "Selfish girl, ask if the others want a coffee too," he instructs.

Your head feels funny, a combination of dizzy and hyper-focused. "Does anyone else want a cup too? It's just the instant stuff."

You get a few moments break from Jungkook's roaming hands for the time it takes you to go fetch three more mugs, Namjoon and Yoongi also wanting a drink. The second you step back to the kitchen island, however, it's like the boy is making up for lost time.

Without hesitation he's undoing the button and the zip, pulling your shorts and panties down to your knees, a hand pushing your leg open wider so it doesn't drop to the floor.

Fully bared, you bite down harshly on your tongue, shaky fingers undoing the top of the jar as a hot mouth descends upon you, devouring you like it's his last meal.

Jungkook is good with his tongue, but he's merciless, not holding back even as he has to grip onto your knees to stop them from buckling.

You feel unbelievably exposed, and with the casual stream of conversation continuing on just a few metres away, every touch feels electrified. Out of all the guys, Jungkook's hair is the longest, and you can feel it tickling your thighs and lower abdomen, a strong arm wrapping around to hold you close to him.

Though it's definitely far too quiet for the others to hear, the faintest sound of slurping feels like thunder in your ears, and as he sucks at your folds, tongue driving in deep inside you like he's licking the inside of a wrapper, you press your lips together to hold back a moan.

Getting spoonfuls of ground coffee into each of the four mugs is a game of its own when long, narrow fingers find their way inside you, three at once slipping in your pussy, still stretched out from last night.

Clearly knowing thrusting them would be too loud, Jungkook instead just crooks them inside you, dragging them over your g-spot like he's coaxing an orgasm out of you.

You focus on your task, letting the challenge of not spilling the dark powder anchor you, but all too soon the sound of the electric kettle reaching boiling point fills the room, and you know that once you reach over and pour the drinks, there's really no other reason for you to be standing at the bench, and you couldn't exactly go back with your shorts around your ankles and Jungkook lapping up your juices enthusiastically.

The ding of the kettle gets the attention of those wanting coffee, and you send them a weak smile as you reach for it, holding the handle with one hand and each mug with the other, relaxing in relief as Jungkook pauses his assault while you're handling the boiling water.

Once the jug goes back in its place, you begin to stir the drinks as slow as you can possibly manage, Jungkook returning his ministrations with a vengeance, sucking harshly at your clit and slipping a fourth finger into you, still curling his fingers in a beckoning motion, stretching at your walls deliciously and rubbing over your g-spot every time.

You're breathing heavily, you know you are, but you tell yourself that it least it isn't moaning out loud.

Still waiting, Hoseok glances up. "Y/n, are you okay?" You nod hastily, a clipped moan escaping in place of a yes, but he's not convinced. "You can't carry all four mugs by yourself, I'll come take two."

"N-no," you defend lowly, cursing internally as your orgasm approaches even faster with eyes on you, the arousal of danger running through your veins like liquid sex.

Hoseok doesn't listen, getting up and jogging over. Behind him, the other boys are starting to get concerned too, frowning at the way you gasp for breath, eyes lidded.

"Shoot, Y/n, are you alright?" Namjoon asks, voice strained with worry. "You look like you're about to pass out."

Your head feels blurry as the realisation hits you: you're going to orgasm in front of them all, while they're waiting for their morning coffee.

As Hoseok approaches, he reaches out for the mugs, but his hands freeze halfway. The bench is only around the level of your waist, so there's no doubt in his mind that at this distance he can see Jungkook's head between your legs.

Rather than looking at Hoseok's face, you make the mistake of glancing down, and it's the obscene sight of Jungkook's head of black locks bobbing between your legs that sends you over the edge.

"What is she- Y/n?"

Your knees buckle but Jungkook keeps you steady, so you lean forward instead, covering your face with your hands as a powerful orgasm rocks through you, the moans impossible to hold back as Jungkook gives up on being quiet, fucking you through the orgasm with his fingers and tongue.

"How good is that coffee?"

"It's not the coffee, Tae."

"...Oh."

Once the white behind your eyelids settle, you let out a weak embarrassed moan, hearing the self-satisfied chuckle of Jungkook beneath you, licking you clean and lifting your shorts and panties, dressing you like nothing had ever happened.

Though of course, every single person in the room just watched you have an orgasm in the kitchen, and there was no pretending like nothing had happened.

Ignoring the loud buzz of confusion at the table, and the awkward cough of Hoseok as he took three mugs to the table, you bat away Jungkook's hands and sink down, sitting on the floor with your back to the island bench, face in your hands still.

"I can't fucking believe you did that," you pant out morosely, your pussy still clenching rhythmically with aftershocks of pleasure.

Jungkook licks his lips like the cat that got the cream. "You loved it," he retorts. "Did you think I wouldn't notice that you came the moment Hoseok noticed what was going on?"

"Fuck you."

"You didn't even have to," he chimes cheerily, standing up and going to join the others shamelessly.

You take a few more moments to compose yourself, letting Jungkook take most of the heat. Once the jibes begin to settle and your legs don't feel so wobbly, you stand up again and grab the remaining cup of coffee, taking a sip and making your way back to the table with flushed cheeks.

"So, we're just gonna pretend like that didn't happen?" Taehyung asks in bewilderment.

"I would prefer if you did, yes," you answer calmly, reaching out for a slice of cold toast.

He blinks. "Okay."

For a few blissful moments, the seven of you return to your normal conversations, Jungkook resting a smug hand on your thigh as he chats away happily.

"Morning!" a sing-song voice calls out, and you all glance up to see Seokjin arriving, broad grin on his face.

After a moment, Taehyung lets out a yawn and the spell is broken, everyone going back to what they were doing before.

Visibly disappointed, Seokjin's shoulders sink. "Morning," he repeats again insistently. "Is no one gonna ask how I slept? Or what I did last night? Seriously?"

"That's old news, hyung," Taehyung explains matter-of-factly.

"How can it be old news already? I only just got up."

"And you missed a lot," Jungkook replies. "Besides, hyung, I'm worried about your diet. It tastes like you aren't eating enough leafy greens."

In the chaos that ensues, you couldn't tell who goes redder - you, or Seokjin.

----

“It’s kinda strange now that I’m here,” Hoseok comments. “I’m so used to being go-go all the time with work, and chores, and hobbies, and now it’s just...waiting around for food and sex.”

Taehyung chuckles, head resting back against the couch as he sits cross-legged on the lush carpet. “I’m not mad about it.”

After you had gone up to have a shower and reclaim a bit of your dignity, the group had dissipated. Jimin had apparently left to “take some business calls,” Jungkook had decided to break in the indoor gym (you could all hear the odd grunt and clang of equipment from the lounge area), and Namjoon had recently announced he was going outside for a walk around the backyard. The others had initially suspected he was making excuses for going to the Confessional Booth, but Jin had snuck out to the outdoor dining area and reported back that the younger man was “walking around with his hands in his pockets like a nerdy cryptid.”

Now, the remaining five of you chill on the couches, chatting away as Yoongi scrolls aimlessly through Netflix. You share a couch with him, Yoongi with his legs crossed and the remote resting on his knee, you spread out in the space between, toes almost touching his thigh. Across from you, Hoseok and Jin have chosen to both stretch out, Hoseok leaning back against Jin, with the older man’s legs on either side. Occasionally one of them will reach down to pat Taehyung’s head or rub his shoulder, Tae responding with a hum or grunt of approval.

It was strange how some individuals in the house had gotten closer faster than others. You knew Namjoon was still struggling with feeling like he wasn’t on par with the others, and Jimin clearly felt most comfortable with a strict boundary line that he maintained on his own terms, but on the other side of things, Hoseok and Jin were finding comfort in the casual skinship. You can’t help but wonder how things might progress as the game goes on.

“There’s nothing,” Yoongi announces with a frown. “Let’s find something else.”

“What else?” Hoseok asks, pouting glumly. “If I’m honest, I don’t even watch most movies and TV shows these days. When I watch something, it’s usually just porn to get inspiration for scenes.”

Taehyung sits up abruptly, dislodging Jin’s hand from lazily stroking his hair. “Then let’s watch porn.”

Yoongi scoffs out a laugh, before realizing Taehyung is serious. "What; looking for some inspiration yourself?"

The younger boy ignores the jibe, getting up off the floor to steal the remote, going to the internet browser on the SmartTV function.

Jin lets out a laugh hearty enough to jostle Hoseok as he watches Taehyung type each key painstakingly.

bb|

bba|

ba|

bag|

ba-

ban|

"Is the porn meant to be you edging us?" the eldest retorts.

"Shut up, hyung," Tae answers without looking away from the television, finally clicking the button to load the site.

bangasm.com

"Ah, you reckon we'd get sued if we used some other porn website instead?" Jin jokes. "Afraid of getting kicked off the show for jacking off to PornHub?"

"Shut up, hyung," Taehyung repeats insistently, navigating to the search bar of the familiar site. He types more carefully this time, brow furrowed and lip pinched between his teeth in focus. "He goes live on a different site, but cross-uploads all his videos here too."

gu|

gukk|

gukke|

gukked|

gukked97. ENTER.

"Taehyung..." Yoongi starts slowly, uncrossing his legs to lean forward. "We shouldn't be watching his stuff without him here."

Once the page loads, and Taehyung clicks on the first result, your breath catches.

Earlier that morning, when Jungkook had gone down on you in the kitchen, he'd still been fully dressed, and so far he'd been wearing exclusively sweatpants and hoodies in the house.

Here, though, he's bared to you in 1080p quality, countless thumbnails of him filling the page in rows and rows, each one a week apart.

In most, he has a hand around his cock, usually leaning back on his bed with his head tipped back in pleasure. His cock appears a bit smaller than Jin's, but it fits in his hand so beautifully, arching in a gentle curve so that the head taps at his lower abdomen, which is defined in hard lines, revealing the muscular body of a gym bunny. Considering it was only the second day and he was already working out, it seemed his physical condition was important to him.

The thought of you all sitting and stalking his account while he's in the room down the hall, unawares, has you biting your lip in guilt, but as Taehyung keeps scrolling, seemingly searching for something specific, you can't help but glue your eyes to the TV.

While most of the thumbnails are him jerking off, in various states of desperation, if you watch carefully you can catch flashes of colour.

Jungkook with bright spots of red wax over his chest, a second figure visible only as a torso beside his lying body. Jungkook in a bathroom, filmed in the shower as he holds the detachable head to his cock. Jungkook in pink thigh-high stockings, holding his cock in sweater paws. Jungkook bending a girl over a table, holding her green scarf like it's a leash and thrusting into her.

Seeing him in so many different scenarios has your mouth watering, and you shift in your seat minutely, hoping nobody notices the attempt to receive some friction.

The other protests have died down, too, and you watch Hoseok sit up suddenly, turning to give Jin's crotch a bewildered look, before tucking his own legs up and folding his arms across his lap.

Beside you, Yoongi's eyes are dark, mouth slightly parted and lips shiny from where he'd licked at them.

"Let me just find my favorite," Taehyung says to break the silence, clearly the most unaffected of you. The dates change, going back to earlier vids, until he lands on a video, dated 30 December 2018. "Picture this: I'd been a shitty mood all day. It was my birthday, but I'd been stuck at the mall all day because my grandma wanted to buy a cell phone and she-"

"How is this at all relevant?" Yoongi interrupts impatiently.

Jin snickers. "You just want him to hurry up and play the video, don't you?"

"So what if I do?" Yoongi complains mulishly.

You look back over at the TV, partially covered by Taehyung's frame. The thumbnail, selected with a yellow frame, seems relatively innocuous at first, the side profile of Jungkook on a couch, what looks like a gaming controller in his hands. The title of the video is pretty tame too, ‘ready player one ;)’, but that’s when you notice the hand on his thigh, coming from behind the camera.

Taehyung clicks on the video, settling back onto the floor in front of Jin and Hoseok as he waits for it to load, scrolling through almost twenty minutes of Jungkook chatting to the camera, eyes darting down to read comments, looking entirely at-home. It’s clear to you that the camera is hand-held, and every now and again Jungkook looks up past the lens, listening to something the person holding the camera is saying.

“The point is,” the younger man explains as he fast-forwards, “Jungkook uploaded this on my birthday and the guy sou- oh, here we go - sounds like me.”

There’s a weird energy in the room once Taehyung resumes playing the video. It seems wrong to have it playing out loud on the television, like you were breaking some taboo, but at the same time, nobody wanted to protest. In the video, Jungkook’s wearing a baggy white t-shirt and some loose black shorts, something that clearly he was most comfortable in judging by what you’d seen him in the past few days. If you strain, you can still hear him working out down the hall, and everything feels a little too real, the memory of him between your thighs making you shiver.

Taehyung’s skipped a long way into the stream, the wide palm of the cameraman having slid up from Jungkook’s thigh to be palming his crotch directly, and his voice comes as a low murmur into the room, the volume on the television turned down.

“...for me? Keep playing your game, baby boy, you only get to cum once you win.” Taehyung is right; the voice is starkly similar to his, that same musical resonance in a deep timbre. You think Taehyung’s is nicer; still, the idea of Taehyung being behind that camera is affecting you just as much as it’s affecting the rest of the men in the room.

Everyone’s gone deadly silent, Yoongi making no barbed remarks, Jin without a quip. It’s clear from the way Jungkook writhes that the man is pressing him with a decent amount of force, but his strangled moans prove he’s loving it, hands wavering as they smash at the buttons, the noise from the video game sounding even more faint.

The man behind the camera doesn’t seem too interested in playing fair. Just as Jungkook bites down hard on his lip, panting but managing to focus, the tanned hand slips under the waistband of his shorts, not pulling his cock out but rather jerking him from beneath the fabric, making the boy shudder, a broken moan louder than any sound before.

As you watch, you have the urge to press a hand to yourself, wanting to relieve some friction, but instead you just clench hard, rubbing your thighs together. Yoongi glances over when you move, his pink lips parted, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat like he’s parched. It shocks you to see him so affected by the video, eyes hazed over with lust and fingers clutching at the fabric of the couch. On the opposite side, the other three men are in similar predicaments, Hoseok looking calm but clearly aroused, Jin bright red as he palms himself almost unconsciously, and Taehyung with a dreamy smile on his face, breaths shallow.

The Jungkook on screen lets out a frustrated whine when he loses the game, letting the controller hang limply on his thighs. His head lolls to the side, making eye contact with the recorder before lowering his gaze to stare pleadingly down the lens, and you hear Yoongi hiss a breath in the moment their gazes connect through the screen, Jungkook staring out into the audience with blown irises and bottom lip red from being bitten.

“You lost again, hm?” the voice calls out, dripping with mock sympathy. Jungkook swallows and nods, hips shifting against the hand that’s now stilled between his legs. A chuckle echoes from behind the camera. “Your viewers are telling me they want to see you cum, baby boy. Play one more round. Don’t disappoint us.”

Jungkook whines, but obediently sets up another game, sitting up and furrowing his brow to focus. Slipping out of Jungkook’s shorts, the hand instead pushes down the elastic waistband, freeing his cock. Jungkook sighs throatily at the open air on his length, a glossy bead of precum running down the side, collected by a single finger.

“Should I go easy on him, guys?” The voice pauses for a minute, trailing a single fingertip up and down the underside of Jungkook’s cock as the boy pants and tries to stay focused on the game. A bemused hum comes from behind the camera. “It’s your lucky day, baby boy. Taebybaby says you should get to cum because it’s his birthday today.”

Taehyung’s face splits in a boxy grin, eyes crinkling as he jabs a finger towards the television, where the on-screen Jungkook sighs in relief, wishing the user a happy birthday. “That’s me!” he calls out, turning around to stare accusingly at Yoongi. “See? The background context was important.”

On the television, Jungkook’s given up on the game, controller tossed to the side and head thrown back as the hand wraps around him, using the slick of his precum to jerk him off rapidly, clearly wanting to draw a quick orgasm out of the boy.

It’s pure sin, the way his thighs tense and the sliver of stomach where his shirt has ridden up flexes, hips jerking and moans pouring out of him in a constant, wanton stream.

“Are you serious?” Jungkook says calmly, and you frown, before realising it’s not the Jungkook on the screen that’s spoken.

Whirling around, you see the real Jungkook leaning against the doorway, shirt clinging with sweat and a towel slung over his shoulders. “My own viewing party and I wasn’t invited.”

“I’m so sorry,” Taehyung gushes with wide eyes, wincing as the volume from the TV increases, the toned body jerking as streaks of cum are milked from his cock, running down the hand of the cameraman. Taehyung fumbles for the remote as the on-screen Jungkook cries in pleasure, turning the TV off completely with shaky hands. “We weren’t- It just- We were just watching,” Taehyung finishes. “I’m sorry.”

Jungkook holds a hard stare for a few agonising moments, before breaking into a hearty chuckle. “Hey, I put them on the internet for everyone to see, people watching is the whole point. I hope you all enjoyed the show.” He grimaces. “That was such an old one though. Scoot over, Y/n; I’ll find you all a good one.”

You choke on air with the mention of your name, still feeling like you’d been caught red-handed. Or, red-cheeked rather. You blush violently as you stand up on shaky legs. There’s no way, if he played another video, that you would be able to resist the urge to slip a hand down your shorts, and you’d gotten off in public enough for one day. “I, uh, need to go water my plants,” you stammer, “I almost forgot. Y-You guys go ahead.”

Not wanting to wait for Jungkook’s reaction, you rush past him, feeling his hands attempting to hold you for a moment, before giving up when you don’t stop.

So flustered from the situation you’d just run from, you stumble up the stairs blindly, not noticing the figure that opens his door at the same time, watching in curiosity as you rush into your bedroom and slam your door shut, collapsing on your bed with a groan.

----

“Where have you been all day?” you ask conversationally as Namjoon takes a seat next to you with his bowl of fried rice.

“Out and about,” he answers loftily, avoiding your gaze. The two of you are sitting in the private, unfilmed lounge across the stairs. It’s strange; you’ve only been here two days but the constant presence of cameras has become so easy to grow accustomed to that in this room, it feels weirdly empty and stagnant. Still, there’s a relief in feeling like you have a break from being watched.

“Out and about,” you repeat, unconvinced, “you know we aren’t allowed to leave the property, right?”

Namjoon smiles down at his food. “The gardens are really gorgeous. I went to explore for a bit and ended up staying outside to soak up the sun and the nature.”

You bite your lip. He’d been the one that had suggested the two of you go eat in this room. “Struggling with the cameras, still?”

He looks up, finally, eyes crinkled with a rueful smile. “I guess I still feel a little silly to be here. I know my whole thing is that I’m inexperienced, but… Really feels like I’m doomed to fail here.”

You put your spoon down slowly. “Namjoon… Experience isn’t the only thing that matters, you know? I’m not gonna vote you out immediately just because you can’t, I don’t know, fuck me while doing a cartwheel or some shit like that. I said the other night that all of you as people are important too. Don’t distance yourself just because you’re worried about going home.”

He nods slowly, though he doesn’t seem entirely comforted. “I still only have a one-in-seven chance of winning this thing.”

“So do the rest of them,” you point out, gesturing back the way you came. “And if you like to run the numbers, you have a higher chance of staying than being sent home every week except the last.” You push your food aside, scooting around to sit beside Namjoon instead of across from him. “Honestly, Namjoon. I’m saying this away from all the cameras so you know I really mean it, but if you wanna stay, give me a chance to get to know you. Stick around.”

His chin protrudes as he tenses his jaw, deep in thought. “Y/n… Can I do something honestly too? Away from the cameras so you know I really mean it?”

“Of course,” you reply automatically, eyes widening when a broad palm comes out to hold onto yours.

Without another word, Namjoon just leans closer, the feeling of his breath on your face preceding the soft press of his lips on yours.

Namjoon kisses much like he acts; tentative, uncertain, and a little clumsily, but endearingly so. You find yourself entranced in the reverential way he does it, a series of tiny butterfly touches instead of the deep sensual frenching you’d been exposed to in the past. It’s chaste but meaningful, and when he draws back, his cheeks are pinker than his lips, coughing lightly in embarrassment.

“Namjoon,” you whisper into the quiet of the room, no words coming to mind except his name.

“I’m sorry,” he says with a laugh. “You probably think it’s stupid. Of course the virgin would get a crush on the girl first.”

“A crush?” you question. “Namjoon, we’ve known each other for two days.”

You meant to be lightly jesting, but his face crumples, laughing again in self-deprecation. “It’s stupid,” he repeats, clearing his bowl off the table and standing up. “Sorry, just- ignore I said that.”

“Namjoon, that wasn’t what I-”

You’re interrupted by the solid finality of the door slamming shut behind him.

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mimiatmidnight · 3 years

Note

Predictions on Baby Girl Sussex?

I’m FREEEEEEEE from finals and ready to chat with you all once again! Thank you all for being so patient, I’m so excited to dive into all your questions and give them the novel-length responses they deserve 😉

I’m assuming you mean name predictions haha, cause the only other thing I can think of to predict would be her birthday (for the record, I’ll go ahead and put my sister’s birthday, June 10th, for no reason other than I predicted my own birthday, April 26th, for Archie!). But I love talking about baby names (as you can see by the length of this post 😅), so let’s get into it.

So I fully expect to be completely taken aback by their pick. Like not even on the same planet as my predictions. Cause that’s just how those two roll lmao. But IF they’re staying in the same theme as Archie’s name, I’m expecting something that’s also short, possibly nickname-y, kind of dusty and vintage, but with a whimsical charm, just like Archie’s. I am still operating with the assumption that she will one day be Princess (whether or not that actually happens, of course, remains to be seen), so I’m trying to keep that title in mind. And also, given that name meanings appear to hold significance to them, I tried to at least somewhat keep meanings in mind. So, in no particular order:

Eloise

“Healthy; wide”

French, English

I am SO charmed by this name. If I hadn’t already decided on Elliott for my future son’s name, this name would be right at the top of my future daughter’s list. I just thinks it’s so delightfully playful yet still timeless and classic. It gives easy and pretty nicknames with Ellie and Ella, or even Lizzy (possibly to honor her great-grandmother?). “Archie and Eloise” sounds so perfect and natural to me, without sounding kitschy or too over the top with the matching. “Princess Eloise” is so deliciously perfect, it just fits together like a puzzle piece.

Eleanor

Unknown meaning

English, French

Eleanor hits almost all the same beats I mentioned above for Eloise, even down to the lovely Ellie/Ella nicknames. It’s even more royal than Eloise, with such heady associations as the legendary Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine (not to mention the American Queen, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt!). Eloise is closer to my heart, but I’d be thrilled with Eleanor as well.

Greta

“Pearl”; diminutive of Margaret

German

This one’s quite old-fashioned, but I think it’s so charming and would make an adorable name on a little girl. And fun fact, the name Meghan comes from a nickname for Margaret, which is why both those names as well as Greta all mean “Pearl.” So this would be a perfect way to honor little girl’s mama in a more subtle way.

Poppy

“Red flower”

Latin, English

Spunky yet sweet. Pays tribute to her mother’s homeland of California, while also sounding very at home in her father’s homeland of the UK. A flower name in honor of her mama’s own mama. This scarlet name would be even more perfect if the Ginger Avenger manages to make himself another little Gingette. And as I said to one of my anons the other day, “Princess Poppy” is so screeching cute I might actually combust if I think about it too much, so let’s move on.

Lea

“Meadow; weary”

English

To be totally honest, this one is mostly just because I’ve been addicted to listening to “Lea” by TOTO on repeat lately. Although “Princess Lea” might be a bit too . . . you know. Stor Wors. Even though the sci-fi princess pronounces her name differently, I think they’ll probably still want to avoid that association. Still, that song is heavenly and the name goes with all my criteria so I’m putting it in anyways.

Hazel

“Hazelnut tree”

English

Another nature name, one that I’m sure our favorite Earth Mama will enjoy ;) It’s newly popular, but in my opinion still retains that distinctive and whimsical uniqueness of a name that’s much further on the fringe than Hazel actually is. I can just picture a little hazel-eyed princess running barefoot around her gorgeous backyard, wild hair all spread out as she lays underneath a hazelnut tree. Ugh, so cute.

Etta

“Estate ruler”; feminine diminutive of Henry

English, Scottish

I suppose in response to Archie’s middle name Harrison, I’ve seen some Squaddies predict Henrietta for his little sister. And um . . . that is not a favorite of mine 😅 But if Harry wants to add his brand to his second little munchkin as well, why not Henrietta’s much more sleek and dynamic offshoot, Etta? It's got that old school feel, with also a spark of liveliness. I also love that it ties to their Black ancestry through one of the most legendary Queens of American Soul Music, Etta James.

Maeve

“She who intoxicates”

Irish

Incredibly endearing with a rich history. For my own personal use, this safer option might actually be called upon for my future daughter if I never manage to work up the courage to use my actual long-time Irish favorite, Saoirse. But for Harry and Meghan, I can’t really see them using this one. Still, I felt like I needed an M name to cover all my bases, and this is one of the few that I like. Some other honorable “M”entions (get it?) include Maisie, Melody, and Madeleine (thank you to my lovely anon for this one!).

Francesca

“From France; free man”; variation of Frances

Italian

I haven’t really mentioned middle names here, mostly because this post is long enough already and middle name combos just add a whole other level of crazy. But given the enormous legacy of her grandmother, I am extremely torn on whether Baby Girl will be getting a name in her honor. If her parents so choose, Diana’s middle name Frances, or even it’s more ornately feminine variation, Francesca, would be lovely honors for the little princess to carry. If they do end up honoring Diana, I’d expect it to be in Baby Girl’s middle name.

Violet

“Purple”

Latin, English

One last flower name for Earth Mama Meghan. Violet was my top pick for Archie when he was still the mysterious Baby Sussex, but though it has since fallen from my top spot, it still is a lovely, classic name of inarguable feminine grace, yet with an underlying core of strength and fortitude. I feel like Violet is a woman who ties her hair back with a soft velvet bow, but then hitches up her skirts, draws her sword, and shows the battlefield who’s boss. I just love the duality of this name, and I think it would be a lovely gift for a little girl.

Alice

“Noble”

German

Vintage, classic, girly, and solidly royal, this name calls to mind white rabbits and looking glasses. Once again, on a personal note, this might be an option for my future daughter if I chicken out on trying to get everyone to pronounce Alicia correctly. I love that name in the Spanish pronunciation, “Ah-lee-see-ah,” but I find the Anglicized “Ah-lee-sha” to be dreadful and I wouldn’t want to burden my girl with a lifetime of corrections. Anyways, Alice is just as elegant, if not quite as ornate, and in any case is much more likely for our British-American princess. Plus, what a stunning pair of name meanings to gift these two siblings: “Brave” Archie and “Noble” Alice. They sound straight out of an Arthurian legend. (Plus, how cute would “Archie and Alice” sound!)

Honorable Mentions Cause I Need To Wrap This Shit Up:

Evie/Edie (both follow all the E names I wrote about above, and Edie in particular is a modern name full of moxie that would be a great nickname for the older, traditional Edith)

Lily (yet another flower name, and I just like the sound of this one)

Spencer (another possible route to honoring Granny Diana, yet maintaining a much more modern and spunky taste than Frances, while also being less direct)

Clara (of Nutcracker fame, adding here mostly because I think I’d melt if I heard this in Harry’s voice and accent)

Lucy (same vibes as Alice and Clara)

Ivy (cute, simple, girly nature name, but unfortunately already in use by the daughter of Meghan’s close friend Jessica Mulroney)

Zoe (I have absolutely no personal connection to this name, but for some reason it just now randomly popped into my head as something they might choose, so here ya go)

So yeah! Sorry this was so long, but it was super fun! Thank you for sending in this great question. I’d love to hear all your guys’ name predictions, dream picks, and wild card guesses!

#meghan markle #prince harry #baby sussex 2.0 #royal fandom #the princess of montecito #baby names #markle & spencer #the munchkins of montecito

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tinymonsterlover · 3 years

Text

Naughty - Mason Lawrence x Fem!Reader

Smut, Primal Play, Lycanthropy, Yandere, Mason's Duality, Dirty Talk, Fem!Reader (Can upload w different pronouns upon request!), Dominance

You didn't know he was so good at this.

But what did you expect?

You knew of his affliction, his condition, and yet you still weren't ready for the sheer amount of skill and predator drive this man had.

You had been running for what felt like days, legs aching and feet practically killing you with every step you took, but you knew he was close.

You could hear his body weight moving through brush, keeping a perfect pace with you.

"You know, Y/N, I can do this all night. It'd be so much easier to give up and let me just have you, darlin', you know I'll make you feel good."

His voice was sweet and familiar and it almost made you cave.

It would be easy, it'd be so easy to just give yourself up, to let him pick you up and carry you back home, his strength and speed outmatched yours by ten.

Your legs were threatening to give out from underneath you, threatening to make you stumble as you rushed through the woods, the city lights from Maple Grove fading behind you.

You knew he wouldn't let you get too far, the more you pushed towards Owensville the harder he'd come after you, but that was the exciting part of the game.

Part of you wondered if you could actually make it, if you could break through the treeline and emerge into the quiet neighborhoods of the next town over.

The two of you had all night and absolutely nothing better to do.

"I said give the fuck up and just let me take you already!"

Mason's voice changed, the man you loved replaced with the beast inside that you also loved.

A nearby howl tore through the air, rattling your eardrums with its intensity.

Your chest rattled.

It was akin to standing in front of the speakers at a concert.

Your heart sped up until you could feel your pulse pounding beneath your skin, your legs throbbing in unison with pain and soreness.

"Baby doll, I can smell you, you know that right?" Mason crooned, "I can smell your fucking slick."

He caught you off guard, the ache between your legs sending a shockwave to your core, you stopped paying attention for a split second and that's when your body fell forward.

You managed to flip over a log, falling face-first into the dense, autumnal foliage that peppered the ground with patches of crisp, red leaves.

You almost screamed, the urge boiling up in your chest, that primal sensation begged to let loose a shrill cry into the night, but you knew he'd hear you.

You had another thought. One that would give your limbs a break.

You just hoped he wasn't too close behind.

When Mason caught up to you, your plan had worked.

"I fucking smell you, rabbit. I hear your little heart just pounding away. I wonder where on earth you could be?"

He snarled, looking for you behind the nearby trees.

He was impeccable.

He circled each one slowly, making sure you weren't somehow outrunning him.

One of your hands was clasped over your mouth, ensuring that any noise you could have possibly made was muffled, though you felt like your heartbeat was echoing through the forest.

"Darlin', I wish you'd stop bein' so naughty and just come on out. It's getting late, dollface, don't you wanna go home? Huh? Don't you just wanna cuddle up with me and Bodhi?"

His voice echoed, though he was still on high alert, he managed to sound so concerned.

So genuine.

"C'mon little moon, I know you're tired baby. Let me make love to you and tuck you in all nice, I'll even carry 'ya home, sugar."

There was a moment of silence before he turned around, face having morphed slightly into something not entirely human.

"Where are you at, rabbit?! Oh, when I find you, do you have any idea what you're in for? Huh? I'm going to utterly fuck you into the dirt. That's right. Right here. Right in these leaves. I'll fucking mating press you!" He roared, a frustrated huff tearing through his chest.

He rotated again, eyes fixating on a tree branch snapping in the distance, though it wasn't you.

He chuckled and in what felt like the blink of an eye, he was off again.

You could hear him in the distance.

"Did I fuckin' find you sweetheart? Something smells so scared. You don't have to be afraid, darling. I'm only going to breed you."

The woods fell silent for a moment until you heard a beastly curse, birds flying out of nearby trees as a mother deer and her fawn took off, running from the direction Mason had ran off to.

He was back, face back to normal for now, but he was sniffing the air.

You noticed the massive bulge in his loose fitting jeans, straining against the fabric.

He placed a large, warm palm over his tented cock and let out a low groan that barely sounded like your boyfriend.

"God, darlin', you really do smell so damn good all slick for me. I know now, I know you're right here. C'mon out, baby, I ain't gonna bite 'ya, not yet anyway," his voice cooed softly, accent thick with his need.

You shifted your weight, thighs pressed together at the sight of him, lightly shaking his thick cock in his hand as if he were bribing you with it.

A loud crack echoed in the breeze.

Fuck.

You shifted your weight too hard and the branch under you cracked.

He knew now that you had scaled a tree, he just didn't know which one.

You never knew if he could climb trees.

You knew he rock climbed often, but perhaps he somehow didn't know how to scale an oak.

You were wrong.

He grunted and his body shifted up the tree to your right, little to no effort.

He perched unnaturally, sitting up on a hefty branch and surveying the forest floor.

The sun had started to set hours ago, but the oncoming darkness made this game so much more ominous.

That, paired with the yellow glare of Mason's eyes.

He looked right over at you and a toothy grin took over his face, almost unnaturally wide.

"Found you."

His eyes gleamed as his tongue flicked over his teeth.

You knew now that he wasn't lying about how he was going to fuck you into the dirt.

#ns/fw #oc: mason #I'm v nervous to post this pls be gentle #my writing

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yeocult · 4 years

Text

lover’s guide | s.mg

genre: fluff, slight ansgt, college au

wc: 4.2k words

synopsis: 5 steps to love by song mingi

step one: being noticed

“mingi, are you even listening?” the male jolted up at the sudden call of his name from his professors, earning a few stares from his classmates.

“um y-yes.” he mentally slapped himself for stuttering. mingi sighed and closed his eyes, desperately trying to kill off the feeling that welcomed itself into his mind.

just a few days earlier, during lectures when he laid his eyes on you. he thought it was maybe admiration at first. you were one of the top students of the class and the way you carried yourself with such grace was so attractive to him. your range of style was captivating, each day came with a new outfit. he liked the way you were confident and also was experimenting with different styles. not to mention you killed every look.

the sudden attraction seems like one of those middle school crushes that he could get over within three days, maximum. but even after three days, he didn’t. he couldn’t stop himself from staring at you from across the room and he often caught himself thinking about you.

he would use every chance he got to interact with you, although he couldn’t say he was the best at it. he knew that small smiles whenever you two pass in the halls or that silently complementing your choice of accessories was not enough for you to get the hint of his crush on you. but he did it anyway.

today was nothing new. mingi found himself stealing glances at you once in a while, especially since lectures were long and he rather had his focus somewhere else than some boring discussion about costume history from the professor’s monotone voice.

“mingi can you be any more obvious? if i was them, i could feel you basically staring into my soul from across the room.” his friend whispered leaning closer to mingi to avoid making a scene. mingi scoffs and wooyoung earned an elbow to his side. “don’t word it like that…” mingi fixes his eyes on the professor to avoid getting called on again, “is it that bad?” he quietly asked and wooyoung nodded.

the boring lectures came to an end and granted him a long desired freedom. since it was his final class for the day, he was free to go home and take that nap he craved for. wooyoung was long gone with yeosang as they walked out of the room together, while mingi was a rather bit slower when packing his supplies.

it wasn’t until you came up to him that he felt his whole body freeze. his insides were jumping and he didn’t know if it was from excitement or nervousness, probably both. you held onto your tote bag with one hand while the other was playing with the hem of your shirt as you approached the tall male.

“hey mingi!” you happily greeted him and mingi mirrored your smile and waved back at you. your smile was continuous, how could he not smile back even if he looked like a huge idiot.

“i really like your style. you always stand out,” you paused for a moment realizing how that sounded. “you dress really well, um your style is different from others, i like it.” you added for clarifications, not wanting to sound impolite or anything in that manner.

within less than a minute, you manage to make mingi do cartwheels in his head and the happiest man alive. “o-oh thank you! i actually made this shirt myself. it didn’t turn out well so i just wear it casually—sometimes even to bed…” he trailed off. “thank you, uh i really like your earrings, by the way, they’re pretty.” he tells you. mingi wanted to evaporate right now after so much he just stuttered and rambled right in front of you. he shyly scratched his nape, hoping his nervousness didn’t make the air awkward.

your soft giggles filled the lecture room as you thanked him. then you waved cheerfully and made your way towards the exit, leaving mingi there stunned. you noticed him and that was all mingi needed to know he was in love.

step two: being friends

mingi has been falling asleep with a soft smile and waking up with full energy the past week. because ever since you interacted with him, you two have grown closer. he felt more comfortable and less shy around you. the short greetings have turned into telling each other how his days went and him listening to you praise the new album your favourite group released. the two of you would walk to the bus station together after the bell rings, spending lunch breaks together, and facetime once in a while.

he learned a lot about you during the period he started to hang out with you more. mingi took note that you often wore dangly earrings over studs and that you like to eat strawberries to fuel your body during study sessions. he also learned that you went into fashion major simply for the interest and passion of it, he admired you for that. mingi likes to think that your jewelry choices match you fairly well; bright and attractive.

the two of you have been spending lunch breaks together. during those times, you noticed that mingi is a slow eater and he told you he also makes music with one of his friends, hongjoong, who was a year older than him. you noticed his little habits of laughing with his whole body. throwing his head back and sometimes clapping his hand in amusement. although he might come off intimidating or cold to some people, mingi is definitely the most wholesome person you’ve come across and you still can’t wrap your head around his duality.

you two would sit at the bus station waiting for your ride home. mingi’s place was within walking distance but he insisted on waiting with you. after all, it was a perfect opportunity to spend more time with you. and if there’s anything mingi likes more than you, is spending time with you.

the both of you were browsing your phones while waiting for your bus to arrive. getting bored with the lack of notifications on his phone, mingi leaned in to glance at your phone screen.

“you like cats?” mingi asked you as the both of you watch some fluffy cat video on your instagram feed. you shifted your phone for the better view for him and nodded.

“they’re just so cute, right?” mingi hummed in response. he held back on telling you that he thought you were way cuter than the cats, but decided to save it for another time. you proceed to tell him that your mother is allergic plus that you probably wouldn’t have much time to take care of a pet being in college and all that. he watched your eyes filled with glitter as you continue to watch more cat videos on your screen.

the bus finally arrived and you quickly stood up. it saddens him a little that he couldn’t watch you become all smiley over cats.

“thanks for waiting with me again, mingi. i’ll see you tomorrow.” you gave him a quick hug from the side and softly smiled at him. silently hoping your swift action wasn’t weird or sudden to him, because you really were appreciating the little things mingi does for you. including companying you while your bus arrives.

mingi softly smiled at you. “anytime.” he kept his response short because knowing himself, he wouldn’t know how to speak normally with stutters and rambling if he continued.

he tried to cover up the fact that he’s blushing like a fool right now and his heart is beating extremely fast over a simple and quick hug. didn’t go very well as mingi stood there with his cheeks painted a crimson colour and heat rushes throughout his body. a damn hug. you simply warped your arms around his figure and made your way towards the bus like nothing had happened. like you hadn’t made mingi the happiest person alive.

overtime, mingi was proud to call you his close friend. even though that wasn’t what he exactly hoped for, he hoped for a little more actually. but at the end of the day, he was happy nonetheless to have you with him.

step three: first date

today’s a special day, making you want to doll yourself up more than usual. “is this too much?” you’ll never admit it out loud but being around mingi made you feel a bit timid and shy. the total opposite of how people view you, bold and charming.

you weren’t the type to care about what others thought about you. after all, fashion was how you expressed yourself and you didn’t limit yourself to one style. if you felt like adding one more hair clip to your hair, then who’s gonna stop you? on days when you’ve lost your confidence, mingi would be the first person to compliment you. and that was all it took for you to truly appreciate yourself.

“w-what? no! you look amazing, you always do.” mingi pointed out how your nail polish matches your hair clips and you felt at ease, your body loses its stiffness and you softly smile at his compliment.

mingi on the other hand, felt like he was always overdressing. maybe choose something a little more simple? tone down with the colours? those types of thoughts kept mingi from truly playing around with his wardrobe. he admitted, he was insecure. that all changed when he started to hang out with you. your confidence brushing on him made him careless about what others might think of him. he started layering jewellery and wearing that flashy jacket because he can. you had noticed your little influence on him and you loved that for him.

“you don’t look too bad yourself.” you helped mingi break from his shell and gain confidence, mingi made you feel comfortable in your own skin.

the bell chimed at your entrance. your eyes light up at the environment. the welcome scent of coffee wafts through the air and the soft melody playing in the background automatically brings joy to your face. you’ve never been to a cat cafe before, seeing this amount of cute cats casually walking around has added ten years to your life. mingi and you settled to a small table by the window with a few cats already sitting there on the shelf. the sun shined through the glass, warming up the seat and table. while you busy yourself with your new furry buddy, mingi left to order a few drinks and dessert for the both of you.

as he waited in line, he thought about how lucky he was to even be here with you right now.

“so…” mingi takes a break from drawing figures on his sketchbook and meets your face. you hummed and pulled your laptop screen lower so you can see his face. the two of you were studying together in the library, helping each other in various topics covered in today’s lessons. mingi was always grateful that your schedules line up with his. meaning all of his breaks, he can spend time with you since you were off as well. and since you were both fashion majors, it only made sense if you both helped each other out.

“i have a friend, he works at this cat cafe and i was wondering…” pause. his eyes lowered at his hands fidgeting with his pen. “if you wanted to go with me tomorrow?” he continued but couldn’t help to lower his voice almost to a whisper as he shyly asked you out. he knew how much you loved cats and thought it was a perfect idea to take you to visit the cafe one day.

your face immediately lights up at the idea of a cat cafe. “mingi are you serious? i would love to!” you send him a big toothy grin as you were so excited to be able to go with him. “it’s a date then!”

mingi swore his heart stopped beating and his nose forgot how to breathe for a second at your words.

“you’re deep in love aren’t you prince charming?” his friend from behind the counter teased. san grinned at mingi while typing in his order into the machine. it seem like wooyoung had already told san about mingi’s little secret.

he rolled his eyes, as if he doesn’t get ridiculed enough from wooyoung and yeosang in class already. “and what about it?” mingi scoffs, pulling out a couple bills and handed them to san.

luckily for him, you weren’t around to hear it. although parts of him wished you could hear what just san said because he doesn't know how long he can control his feelings anymore. but mingi wanted his confession to be a bit more romantic rather than his friend blurting it out, so he kept quiet and waited. you were currently occupied with your phone, filling up your photo gallery with pictures of them while waiting for mingi to order.

“it means you should probably do something about it.” san winked, handing mingi his receipt before heading back to prepare his drinks. mingi knew exactly what he meant about that. he knew exactly what he should do about these uncontrollable feelings. but he just couldn’t find the courage to do it anytime soon.

he sighed and glanced towards the table where you sat. he was really glad he brought up the idea of bringing you here because mingi realized how endearing your love for cats was. even from afar, the way you gently pet the cat by the window makes his heart melt. no complaints from him though. if they can make you smile non-stop, then that’s all it matters.

“order up for lover boy.” san announced playfully, snapping mingi out of his thoughts of you and bringing him back from reality. mingi rolled his eyes and blatantly ignored his friend’s word, taking the tray of food in his hand. hearing san giggle from behind him only made him more annoyed but he quickly calmed down at the sight of you playing with a cat’s paw.

“hey. i got your favourites.” he placed the tray in the middle. you thanked him as you took a bite into your strawberry shortcake and a sip from the iced americano. you felt butterflies in your stomach, you couldn’t help but to feel this way towards mingi because he never fails to remember all the little things you’ve told him.

the two of you enjoyed your drinks and desserts and talked about anything that came to your mind. mingi was an easy person to talk to. no matter what you talked about or how long you would ramble on a topic, he was listening to every single word that came out of your mouth. sometimes you would carry the whole conversation and he didn’t mind. and neither did you because something about not worrying or stressing over if you were being boring or annoying was what made you love talking to mingi. your voice was like music to him, he could listen to it all day long. he propped his chin on his hand as you continued to talk.

you jump up slightly at the furry feeling the side of your leg. you melt at the sight of a persian cat making figure eights around your legs. another kitten nearby was on its back, all sprawled out. you both were in awe at the sight of all these cute cats around the place. while you fixed your gaze on the cats, mingi had his eyes focused on you the entire time.

step four: confession

everything was going fine. until it wasn’t.

self-doubts and anxiety starts creeping in and you feel weak. you were unsure, because nothing good has ever lasted this long. you had no idea this would happen when approached mingi. but after that day, you found yourself looking forward to talking with him more. and over time, of course, you fell for him. who wouldn’t?

it felt odd. suspicious. everything was going so smoothly with you and mingi. he makes you feel excited to wake up every day and spend your breaks with him. he makes classes and college a little more bearable. you love the way he unconsciously caress your hand under the table like it’s a habit. you love the little things he does for you like sharing earbuds while waiting for your bus. mingi was an angel towards you.

it was too good to be true.

you were hidden underneath your blanket in a fetal position, curled up with your knee to your chest as you quietly sobbed in your room. you felt terrible. how you’ve been avoiding mingi recently ever since this unsettling feeling started to creep in. you tried to bury your whimpers and sniffs as you heard your door creak open and felt the bed dip.

“hey.” no response. he couldn’t see your face. the only thing he could hear was the shaky breath that you tried so hard to hide from underneath the covers. he could tell you’ve been crying for the past hour or even days considering your current state.

“leave me alone,” you snapped at him. mingi pursed his lips at your jarring words, deciding to push it away because he knew you didn’t mean any harm.

he’s noticed, he always does. today is sunday, he hasn't seen or heard from you ever since friday afternoon. even so, you disappeared right after classes ended and he couldn’t get a hold of you. you weren’t at the bus stop as you normally would, it had mingi worried to death. he started to think about his past actions or words to see if any of that had made you upset, but none came to his mind. opting to just stay by your side for now.

“i haven’t seen you in so long, is everything okay?” he asked but got no response. the lump in your throat prevents you from telling the truth, so you kept quiet. you could only shake your head from underneath the covers.

“i’m here for you, i don’t want you to go through this alone.” mingi took a deep breath. he didn’t like seeing you like this. he settled on the bed right next to your figure, you flinched at his touch when he patted your shoulders gently. he didn’t say a word, he allowed you to continue crying, letting out any pain that has been trapped in there.

and with that, you slowly pulled the covers down. revealing your glossy eyes and puffy lips from the endless hours of crying in your room.

mingi quickly took you into his embrace because he just couldn’t stand the sight of you crying. he’s been dying to hold you. he tells you that everything is okay to be okay and that it’s okay to cry. maybe silence was the best medicine for now, but he felt the urge to tell you that things were going to be okay. he lets you cry in his arms, allowing you to break down as he rubs your back. you buried your face into the warmth of his chest as he held the back of your head and rubbed your back. soft whispers from mingi calmed you down, you focused your mind on his smooth voice to escape the unsettling thoughts that welcomed itself into you.

you pushed yourself off him and took a shaky deep breath, it sounds like you were going to break and tears would storm down your cheeks again but you quickly collected yourself.

“i’m sorry.” you whispered, wiping your face with the back of your hand. you didn’t know what to do now. tell him? or make up an excuse on why you’ve been down lately? tell him that you were afraid that he would leave you? or push off the topic and hope that he’ll buy it?

you played with your hands as you sat there helpless in front of him, until mingi’s voice broke your racing thoughts. “it’s okay. take your time.” he took both your hands in his, caressing your hand with his thumb gently, like he always does. holding them like you were going to disappear any moment now, leaving him alone.

a comfortable silence falls between you and mingi as you both sit on your bed holding each other's hands. until you blurted out the words you’ve been holding back, words you’ve been thinking over and over.

“i love you.”

mingi froze at your sudden confession. releasing his grip on your hands and his eyes widened. he felt like his heart was about to explode. the fluttering in his stomach, feeling hesitant of what to say back because he was definitely not expecting this so suddenly.

“i…” he began, unsure of how to properly explain the complexity of his feelings, “i love you too, ever since i laid my eyes on you.” chuckling at himself at how cheesy he sounded. unashamed of how stupidity in love he sounds right now, because letting you know how important you are to him was his goal.

giggling at how adorable he looks when he proposed his feelings, loving how he can make you smile despite you being a mess just a couple of minutes ago. loving how being here with you, makes you forget all about those negative thoughts. you took his hands into yours once again. a wave of relief washes you over because now. you didn’t have to worry about anything anymore, not when he’s by your side.

“it’s just…” you drop your head down at his hands as you play with his fingers, “nothing this good as happened to me and i just…” you trail off, feeling the tears in the corner of your eyes coming back. just afraid of you leaving me, was what you wanted to say but couldn’t. mingi notices and instantly intertwines his hands with yours.

“hey, it’s okay. i’m going anywhere, okay?” he reassures you, like he was reading your thoughts. lifting up his hand intertwined with yours to your eye level as his little proof. his action didn’t fail to make you smile.

“thank you, mingi. for being with me.”

“like i said, i’m always here for you. now c’mere.” opening his arms wide with a huge grin plastered on his face as an invitation for you to melt in his arm. you hurled in his arms.. finding solace in the crook of his neck, feeling his warmth and taking in his scent.

the room was filled with little sniffles from you, sounding like a toddler who’s favourite toy went missing. “sorry for getting my snot on your shirt.” you shyly chuckled for ruining the slightly romantic atmosphere.

“it’s okay, only because i love you.” if hugs healed, mingi would hold you forever.

step five: being a couple

“close your eyes for me?”

“don’t tell me what to do.”

“you—” mingi sighed. “just do it, please.”

“okay, only because you said the magic word.” you quipped with a smirk.

mingi scoffed. when you shut your eyes, he leads you in front of the mirror. he pulled out the handmade necklace he’s been working on the past couple of days. his hands, unlike the rest of his body, were cold. he carefully brushed your hair out of the way then carefully clipped the two ends of the necklace together. turning them to the front and letting them sit on your collarbones.

it was a simple gold chain with a charm, representing you. he was aiming for a piece you would be able to wear casually, fitting with everyday outfits as well as complementing your other jewelry pieces since he knew you liked to layer them.

with anticipation, you asked if you can open your eyes, mingi hum a tune in response. “i got you a little something, i hope you like it.” slowly opening your eyes to reveal mingi’s gift. heat crawling up your face when your eyes laid on the beautiful piece of gold jewelry resting around your neck. there laid a charm, a key.

“baby…” you gazed at your new favourite jewellery while trying to hold back tears. getting on your tippy-toes, reaching for his cheeks to give him a quick “thank you” kiss.

mingi flashed you a huge satisfied grin, “ta-da! we’re matching!” he pulled his own necklace that was hidden under his shirt with the brightest smile on his face, the type of smile that turned his eyes into crescents. instead of a key, his was a lock. you were in awe at the connection and how thoughtful it was.

“thank you mingi, i love it so much.” you wasted no time wrapping your arms around his neck and a quick peck on his cheeks that made his heart burst into a million pieces.

in a short amount of time, you two managed to brighten each other’s day effortlessly. mingi has never been so wrong about his little crush on you lasting three days. even though it was silly, he thanked himself every day for choosing to wear that shirt. who knew something he put so little thought into could turn to be the best thing that’s happened to him? he was so proud to be in love with such an incredible person. a love he would cherish for life.

“thank you for loving me.”

happy birthday to the best boy, song mingi <3

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #song mingi #song mingi imagines #song mingi scenarios #ateez x reader #much longer than i thought but o well...this is my longest work to date lmao #song mingi x reader #ateez fanfic #song mingi fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez drabbles

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