#the 100 reader insert

[holybatflapexpert]

Call for help

Greetings all. I am but a weary traveler in search of a fic I can not remember either name or author. I am in need of great help.

This author wrote reader inserts. I believe one was for The 100 so I will tag them. The definitely wrote a whole Twilight reader insert series that they completed. And the crème de la crème.

Friends when I last really came onto tumblr like a ravenous heathen, this amazing author was writing a beautiful Percy Jackson reader insert. Series long type.

Also! If it helps, this author also created like these cool extras for both the Twilight fic and was doing preorders months ago for the Percy Jackson fic. Like stickers, enamel pins, stuff like that.

Friends please. I beg of you. Help me. I’ve been searching for like an hour already. I’m in emotional distress over not being able to find this.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Yakuza - Valentine's Special

Romance is in the air and a certain yakuza is keen to teach you all about Valentine's traditions in Japan. Word Count: 4.2k Male Yandere x Fem Reader Mini Sequel to Yandere! Yakuza

As a hostess, you've been looking forward to Valentine's Day. Guests are notorious for spending big and tipping even bigger when romance is in the air.

One problem though. Your yakuza boyfriend does not approve.

"You don't have to work on Valentine's. My Family owns the club. I should get a say."

You ignore his complaining and the arms wrapped around your waist. You're focused on your makeup and no handsome, dangerous yakuza is going to distract you.

He changes tactics. "Onegaiya de? [Please?] Pretty please?"

You sigh and reach up to run your fingers through his hair. "Of course I want to stay home with you. But I need money. If you've forgotten, my brother still owes you. And besides, the house mother told me to come in today."

He frowns. "Naze? [Why?]"

"I'm very good at my job, that's why."

You manage to finish both your lashes and your lipstick before he speaks up again.

"Kurabu ni issho ni ikimasu. [I'm coming with you to the club.]"

You aren't surprised. It seems like he spends all his free time as your customer. As though being in a relationship isn't enough. As though he wants to have you both during and after work.

You turn and plant a kiss on his cheek. You leave behind a lipstick mark that he's in no hurry to wipe off. "If you want to spend all your money on me, I'm definitely not going to complain."

He grins in that lazy way of his and loops his arms fully around your waist. "Anata wa watashi no kanojodesu [you're my girl]. Who else would I spend my cash on?"

He drives you to work with one hand on your thigh. It gives you butterflies - the warmth of his skin bleeding through the fabric of your dress, the way he sometimes squeezes the meat of your leg like he subconsciously wants to remind himself that you're still there.

When he opens the car door for you, he brushes his lips past your ear. "Got a real nice surprise for you later."

You stop and pretend to fix your heels so you can look up at him through your lashes. "Is it the same surprise as last time? Because I loved that one."

Big, scary guy that he is, you think you can still see him swallow and freeze when you look up at him like that. He takes you hand and steadies you but the eyes that trace over your body are hooded, unreadable. "Not what I had in mind this time, no."

He inhales sharply when you step past him and 'accidentally' brush your hand over his belt.

"Too bad," you say, "I love that thing you do with your tongue."

It takes him a second to catch up with you. When he does, he wraps his arm around your waist and hisses in your ear.

"Anta, ijiwaruya na. [You unbearable tease]."

You can't help but smile. Personally, you'd describe yourself as an unbearable, romantic tease. It being Valentine's and all.

You're honestly looking forward to spending your shift with him. Even though he's started calling himself your kareshi, he still doesn't talk about himself much. You're not offended by it. There are a thousand little ways you've pieced together his past. The way he likes his sake hot and the way he turns his nose up at high end sushi, the way he holds his cigarette when he smokes and the way he can flick a match on his thumb. It all tells you a bit more than he'd probably like you to know. And each date you go on, each shift that he spends entirely focused on you, is just another opportunity for you to untangle the mystery that is your yakuza.

Unfortunately, the boss has other plans. You don't even get a chance to sit down before one of the other enforcers pulls him aside. He frowns at whatever the man is saying and then quickly presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Gomen ya de, daisukinahito. Shigotoya nen. [Sorry love. Gotta work]."

He's out the door before you can even object. The house mother narrows in on your table and less than a minute later she has a client seated across from you. She's built a habit of trying to cram as many customers into your schedule as possible when your boyfriend isn't around to steal you away. You can almost admire her dedication.

The first client of the night is a salaryman already happily flushed with drink. He tips you well, buys you several rounds of expensive drinks and gives you a drunken kiss on the cheek before he leaves. A very typical Valentine's date.

You get through a few more without any issues. Mostly businessmen not willingly to go home to an empty apartment. Your wallet gets noticeably fatter after each one. It's long past midnight when things finally go sour.

You're touching up your lipstick when the yakuza walk through the door. You can tell what they are at first glance. And worse, you know these aren't the usual guys.

You expect trouble. You aren't sure when you developed an instinct for yakuza business, but you know that the newcomers most definitely aren't part of the Family.

You try and watch them as subtly as you can. One of the regular enforcers goes up to meet them and - surprisingly - leads them to the back of the club.

The group passes right next to you. You keep your eyes on your compact and lipstick like you've never seen anything quite so interesting as YSL Loveshine. At the last second you look up, and straight into the eyes of a bleached blonde gangster with a mean smile. He must have been looking at you already, because he shoots you a playboy wink.

On instinct, you bow your head. Even if they weren't your Family, it wasn't a good idea to be caught lacking in respect.

When they're finally gone, you sigh in relief. Talk about scary. Those guys looked like their favourite pastime was baseball; the faces and knee cap variety.

You're about to get up and take your break when something makes you look over your shoulder. The blonde yakuza is leaning against the wall just outside the staff-only door. And looking straight at you.

Oh, please not today. You already have one yakuza in your bed and almost constantly blowing up you phone. You want absolutely nothing to do with Mr Tall, Blonde and Evil.

No such luck. He says something to the enforcer next to him and beelines towards you. Eyes locked on yours.

He slides in next to you - not across where a client would normally sit. You shift over to make room for him and wonder if there's something in the water that makes you particularly noticeable to men with a nicotine and tattoo addiction.

"Omae, jitto mi teruyan ka. Na n ya, kiniitta n kai, kawaī ko. [I noticed you staring. Like what you see, pretty girl?]"

His voice is raspier than your boyfriend's. And meaner too.

You can just...pretend to not speak Japanese. But one look at the blond's sharp, lazy smile tells you he'll know you for a liar the second you open your mouth.

"Omaeni mo onaji ko to kiitē wa, ikemen-san. [I could ask you the same thing, pretty boy.]"

He laughs, "She's got an attitude! Not scared of a big, scary yakuza?"

"Are you supposed to be telling me that about yourself?" You lean your chin on your palm and tilt your head. "What if I'm a cop?"

"Then you can put me in handcuffs right now." He let's his eyes roam down your body. "I'll happily do whatever you want, officer."

Okay. Pervert yakuza number two added to your collection. Could you get out of this somehow? A client is a client but you don't want to be next to him any longer than necessary.

"Don't you want a girl who can speak Japanese? I'm still not very good."

"What I want? We won't really be talking if we do what I want."

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and lights one with an easy flick of his lighter. He inhales deeply and let's the smoke out of his nose, like a dragon.

"You got a boyfriend?"

That really does seem to be the first question these guys ask you. What happened to 'how are you?' and 'here's a fat stack of cash, do you want it?'

"Yes." You shrug, like this is just a casual conversation with another client and not a rival with a gun under his suit jacket. "He's part of the Family."

"Wakatta wa. [I see]." He offers you a pull of his cigarette. You almost decline, but you look into his eyes - a dark hazel - and realise what a bad idea that would be.

He holds your gaze as he presses the cigarette against your lips. You pull on it as lightly as you can, the tip flaring a bright orange.

It burns your throat and you turn away from him to cough out the smoke. God, that stuff is awful. Why the hell is your man always lighting one if this is what they taste like?

When you turn back to him, the yakuza is studying the cigarette. Your lipstick left a stain on the filter. Slowly, he brings it to his lips and covers the place where your own lips were. He pulls in deeply and tilts his head back, eyes closed.

"Sweeter than normal," he breathes.

Nope. Nope. Nope. It's flattering really, but you aren't an idiot. You don't want your boyfriend's rival sitting so close to you, you don't want him looking at you with eyes like liquid honey and you most definitely don't want him calling you sweet.

If you could telepathically summon your boyfriend, you would. Unfortunately, he's busy with whatever it is they took him off to do, and you're stuck making conversation with a man who's arm keeps inching tighter and tighter around your shoulders.

You try to stand up and excuse yourself, but he wraps a palm around your thigh and pulls you back down without even trying.

"I need to pee," you tell him. He grins, cigarette casting his features in shadow.

"Perfect. I'm really thirsty."

Alright then. Ultimate host club perv discovered. It's almost a relief. You were worried your boyfriend would continue to hold that unenviable title.

You're about to say something - probably along the lines of it would go down even better with a vodka chaser - when your boyfriend finally arrives. You can tell it's him by the way he let's the door almost slam shut behind him. (You've tried working on that but every time you bring it up, he just says that you're so cute when you're bossy and won't you please take that tone with him later tonight?)

The blonde must have followed your line of sight, because his grip gets just a little tighter on you. "That your boyfriend?"

He's already heading toward your table and his frown spells trouble.

"Yep." You wonder if the blonde would listen to you if you tried to warn him away. You doubt it.

Your yakuza's hair is messy and his sleeves are still rolled to his elbows. He must have come straight from whatever job he got called away for.

He stops right in front of you, his arms crossed.

"Times up," he says simply. "Her shift is over."

The blonde takes another pull from his cigarette. "This your girl?"

Your boyfriend tenses, "Un. Kanojo wa watashi no monodesu. [Yeah. She's mine]."

You can almost feel the room getting colder. Your boyfriend flicks his eyes at the other yakuza standing at the back of the club.

"What are you doing here?"

"Boss had business with your side of things. Said I could throw back. Sample the goods." Blondie runs his palm up your thigh. "I'd have risked coming over ages ago, if I knew you had such cute pieces."

Your boyfriend narrows his eyes. "Times. Up. She's got another date waiting."

The blonde yakuza makes a show of looking at his wristwatch. "Looks like I've still got five more minutes."

"Your watch is late." Every word is bitten off and curt. You've seen him serious before, but never like this. Is this what he's like when he's working?

It's easy to forget his job when he's sprawled in your bed with his head on your chest, muttering about letting him sleep for five more minutes. It's easy to forget that he's a gangster who breaks faces for a living. That he's dangerous.

After tonight, you don't think you'll ever forget that fact. It's terrifying to be across from him, even if his glare isn't directed at you.

The moment stretches - taut, awfully tense. Finally, the blonde breaks.

"Tch. I've got shit to do anyway."

He stands up - and just when you're about to sigh in relief - kisses you right on the mouth. You jerk backwards, more surprised than anything else.

He straightens and runs his fingers over his lips. "Even sweeter than I thought."

You scramble out of the booth and grab your boyfriend's arm before he can do anything stupid. The muscles under your palms are already coiled tight and you're terrified to see what might happen if that strength is unleashed.

You bow in a quick, half hearted way. "O jikan o itadaki arigatōgozaimasu. [Thank you for your time]."

And then you're dragging your man out of the club before he can muster any objections.

It's only when the cold February wind is kissing your cheeks that you dare to look over at him. He's looking back at the club, eyes narrowed.

"How long?" he asks quietly.

"Barely even ten minutes," you half lie. "Really. He didn't do anything until you showed up, I promise."

You tug at his hand. "It's late. Let's go home, please?"

He finally looks at you, eyes flat and face blank. That scares you even worse than if he was frothing at the mouth and swearing.

"Alright," he says mechanically, "Let's go home."

Usually you take the train to work or he drives you. So when he starts walking, you don't immediately realise the streets are all wrong. His car is nowhere to be seen.

Even though Spring isn't that far off, this late at night the city is still icy. You wrap your arms around yourself and it doesn't take him long to notice.

"Koko. Kore o kite kudasai. [Here. Wear this]." He pulls off his suit jacket and drapes it across your shoulders. It smells like him - cologne and cigarettes. You aren't sure when, but at some point that scent became the one you associated with safety, with home.

It's quiet. You can't exactly ask him what work he did while he was gone and you most definitely aren't going to mention the club again.

He's the one who finally breaks the silence. "Purezento o moraimashita. [I got you a present]."

He did mention that earlier.

"Can I guess what it is?"

That earns you a half smile."Mochiron. [Sure]."

"Chocolate."

"No. Not this time."

"Hmm... Flowers?"

"They make you sneeze."

True. But what else would he have bought you for Valentine's?

"A puppy?"

He doesn't immediately reply. Eventually, "I really didn't think about that one. Do you...want a puppy?"

You first instinct is to say yes. Who wouldn't want a puppy? Despite having him, your brother, and your friends from the club, Japan is still a lonely place for you. A puppy would remind you of home.

But it would also make Japan your new home. In a way you aren't sure you want. In your mind, it still feels like you'll leave soon, be gone next week or next month, when this debt issue is settled. Even your boyfriend feels temporary. This isn't your country.

"No," you say eventually, "Not yet."

He must be thinking along the same lines as you because at your reply, his smile thins and he looks away from you.

"Nande ya, ano ko ni inu demo kattaro ka. Muriyari ore to ora setaru wa. [Shoulda got her a damn puppy. Force her to stay with me]."

You don't understand Japanese well enough to understand him when he changes his dialect. He manages a smile.

"Not a puppy either. Do you give up?"

You hate losing. You pull his jacket tighter around yourself. "...Yeah I give up."

He slows to a stop."Mewotojite. [Close your eyes]."

He takes your hand in his and lays something in your palm. You open your eyes to see a diamond necklace on a bed on midnight blue velvet. And it's definitely diamond - even in the neon soaked streets of the Red Light District, it sparkles. You gasp.

You're almost scared to touch it. It looks beyond expensive. Like something you pass in a store window and tell yourself maybe someday.

"You like it?"

You look up at him, eyes wide. "It's incredible. I've never... I've never owned something this beautiful."

He looks beyond smug. He plucks it out of the box and in one smooth move has it around your throat. His fingers brush the nape of your neck as he fastens the clip.

If you were on you own, you'd never dare to wear it out on the street. But only a colossal idiot would try and grab it off your neck when there was an armed yakuza right next to you. You shouldn't feel safer in the company of a criminal, but you do. God help you, you do.

He presses a kiss against your temple."Watashi no gārufurendo ni totte saikō no mono dake.[Only the best for my girl]."

It scares you a little - how much he's willing to spend on you. How are you supposed to repay a gift like this?

"Ie ni kaerimashou.[Let's go home]," he coos in your ear.

You laugh and loop your arm through his. "Want me to show you exactly how much I love my gift?"

"Yes." His voice is low and almost strained. "God yes."

It's only when you're halfway down the street that you remember you have something for him too.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" you spin away from him and dig through your handbag. "Ta-da! A hostess at work was telling me that it's usually the girls who give gifts on Valentine's."

You hand over the chocolate you bought him. It's a thick slab with Turkish delight in the centre. You've stuck a plethora of pink and red hearts to the box, each one with a sappy little quote in the centre.

You feel a little silly giving a gift like this to a yakuza of all people. But you also want to do something for your boyfriend, even if it is sickeningly romantic.

You picked up on him liking Turkish delight when your brother bought you a box, and it was mysteriously empty when you got home that day. Your yakuza claimed he didn't touch it, but he tasted suspiciously like rose candy when you kissed him.

He takes it from you carefully. "For me?"

You stand on your toes and loop your arms around his neck.

"Will you be my Valentine?"

He's quiet for a moment or two, looking at you like he just can't understand you. Finally, he pulls you into him and buries his face in your neck. He takes a deep breath, but when he speaks his voice is just a bit unsteady.

"Of course I'll be yours. Ore wa zutto omae no mon'ya de. [I'll always be yours.]"

A man with a rap sheet as long as a CVS receipt, and somehow he's yours.

You pull him closer against you. "Thank you. For taking care of me. For helping me out when you had no reason to."

He hums quietly against your neck. "Nan demo surude, honma ni nan demo. [I'll do anything for you. Anything]."

He pulls away and something in his face tells you he's just had an idea. He peels the hearts off the box and carefully folds them into his pocket. He breaks off a piece of chocolate and holds it up to your mouth.

You're immediately suspicious of the smirk on his face, but you oblige and let him prop the chocolate between your lips. He leaves a piece sticking out of your mouth and before you can bite it off, he leans forward and does it for you. His hand slips around the nape of your neck to keep you still.

His lips barely brush yours.

He pulls away looking extremely satisfied. You've kissed him so many times already but your heart doesn't care. You can hear your blood rushing through your ears.

"Sweet," he runs his thumb across your bottom lip and then presses it against his tongue. "Just how I like it."

Damn him for a devil and a half. It's so totally unfair how giddy and nervous he makes you feel.

He nods at the building behind you. "Good thing we're already home."

"Home?" Is this his apartment? He never brings you to his apartment.

He leads you to the elevator and to your surprise has to use a key card to access the highest floor. The buildings in this part of town are cramped for space but when the elevator dings open, it does so in a broad corridor lined with heavy doors. He must be earning much more than you realised, to have a place like this.

He pauses on the threshold.

"Gotta carry you in. It's tradition."

"Only if we're newlyweds."

"Not true," He blatantly lies, hands drifting down your back. "Brings you luck for the rest of the year."

Before you can object, he sweeps his arm under your knees and scoops you up bridal style.

"Risuku wa toritakunai de. Un wa zenbu hoshī wa. [Not taking any chances. I want all the luck I can get]."

You don't get to see much of his loft-style apartment before he drops you on his bed. One knee already pressing into the mattress next to your waist.

He drops his head down to kiss the column of your throat.

"You'll be wearing nothing except your necklace when I'm done with you," he promises, voice already dropping to a slurred, needy growl.

Oh my. That's a new one. And you always took him for the lacy lingerie type.

You tug at his shirt but with one twist of his hand, he catches both your wrists. "No. You first."

"Impatient aren't we?"

His hands are already skimming down your back and unzipping your dress.

"Oh you have no idea how patient I'm being."

His lips dip past your collarbones and then lower still. You arch against his chest, breathless.

At the last second he pulls away. You practically whine.

"Move in with me."

You blink. "What?" Is he really asking you this while you're in your bra and panties? And when there are much better things to do with his mouth?

"You heard me. Maiban beddoni ite hoshī. [I want you in my bed everynight]."

You frown. Wouldn't it be dangerous? More dangerous than working in a yakuza club and sharing his bed already was?

His grip on you tightens. He isn't smiling anymore. "You're my girl. You should stay with me. Not your brother. And sure as hell not on your own."

"I-"

He slides down your body until his head is between your thighs. "Good. I'll get someone to move your things tomorrow."

"Wait, I didn't say -" He does something with his tongue that makes you gasp and arch your back.

"No more objections?" he mocks. You're too breathless to answer.

"Ēyan. Kikitakatta kotoya wa. [Good. Just what I want to hear]."

He's awake long before sunrise. You're still curled under his sheets, lovebites littered across your neck.

He didn't give you a chance to notice them last night, but there's a bouquet of roses waiting for you on the nightstand.

He leans in the balcony door, cigarette smoke curling between his teeth. Just watching you.

His girl. His to touch. His to have. His to hold and keep.

Do you have any idea how lucky you are that it was him you ran into that night? If it was anyone else sent to collect your brother's debt, they'd have just left you to drown under the mountain of interest. Let it get so bad that you couldn't possibly pay your way out and then offer you a job at a soapland. Hell, that was his plan too when he first laid eyes on you. Pretty thing like you would have made a fortune as a yūjo.

But then you went and made him fall for you. It's selfish of him to want you. He knows it's dangerous to have you on his arm. That blonde bastard from last night was proof enough. He knows, and still...

You can't expect a criminal to be selfless. You can't show him something precious and expect him to let it go.

"My girl." He exhales a cloud of smoke and leans his head back. "Gonna make you my wife someday. You just don't know it yet."

[paperultra]

back of house.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1,113 words Warnings: Mild swearing

If it weren’t for his principles regarding women, you’re fairly certain Sanji would’ve throttled and strung you up to dry by now.

“I … I’m impressed, sweetheart,” he says with a bright smile, though under the swinging lights of the kitchen it seems more out of pain than pleasure. “You managed to burn water.”

Your cheeks flame as you peer into the blackened pot with him, all traces of the water you’d been tasked with boiling completely gone. Vanished. You have no idea how or why.

“I’m sorry, Sanji.”

“No need to apologize. Everybody makes mistakes –”

“Sanji!” you hear Zeff before you see him round the corner. “Why the hell do I smell something burning in my kitchen?”

“None of your business, old man,” Sanji snaps immediately, murmuring a quiet excuse me, dear to you before taking the pot by the handle and heading to the sink. He twists the faucet open and running water roars like thunder in your ears as he thrusts the pot underneath. “I have it under control.”

“Under control, eh?" Zeff says. He suddenly turns his squinted gaze upon you, and you shrivel. “This your doing, missy?”

“I –”

“Leave her alone,” Sanji interrupts. “I didn’t give clear enough instructions. It was my fault.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that.” Eyeing your guilty and defeated figure next to the stove, Zeff shakes his head with a sigh and points you to the door. “[Y/n], go out and wait tables for the rest of your shift.”

Immediately, you make a move to remove your apron. “Oka –”

Sanji makes a noise of dissent and turns the faucet off. “Wait tables? She can still chop the vegetables and help me plate.”

“You’ll do that yourself. Front of house needs the extra person, anyway.”

“I’m her mentor.”

“And I’m the damn boss.”

The rest of the staff roll their eyes and carry on while the two men argue in the middle of the kitchen. You swallow and take your apron off, balling it up in your hands. This isn’t the first time they’ve butted heads over your incompetence, and watching them now cuts at your last shred of dignity.

Clearing your throat, you grimace when Sanji’s head whips around to look at you.

“Zeff’s right,” you tell him. “Dinner rush is coming up soon and I’ll just be in the way, anyway.”

Zeff grunts with satisfaction.

The expression on Sanji’s face reminds you of a kicked puppy. “But …” he begins to protest.

“Oi, you heard what she said. Get back to work! We have customers waiting!”

Sanji blusters about before heading back to his station, casting you one final, forlorn look as he does so. You imagine that your own face looks just the same when you turn to leave.

—

You take orders and serve customers for the remainder of the day, as promised, and help with cleanup after closing time. And then, long after the sun’s dipped below the horizon, Sanji joins you on the upper deck with a steaming bowl of seafood fried rice.

“For the madam,” he says with a smile, offering you the bowl.

You accept it silently and take a bite as he sits down next to you. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach. You’ve never known a home quite like Sanji’s cooking.

His eyes remain fixed on you as you eat all of the rice, scraping the bowl for every last grain and setting it down beside you once you’re finished.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I figured it would cheer you up.”

“It did.”

It did, and yet, your lips tremble and your throat closes up. You clench your hands into fists in your lap.

Sanji’s hand immediately presses your shoulder as you sniffle. “Are you alright?” he questions worriedly.

(His attentiveness strikes you like a hot iron sometimes, even now.)

“Why haven’t you given up on me yet?” you whisper.

His brow furrows. As if it’s obvious, he answers, “You want to be a cook. A lady’s wish is my command.” Sanji pauses. “And I can’t call myself the greatest cook in the East Blue if I can’t teach others to be great cooks as well.”

“I think you’d be the greatest regardless.”

You glance at him through watery eyes in time to see his face flush a deep red. He looks away hastily, chuckling with feigned modesty. “I’m flattered that you think so highly of me.”

Your shoulders lift in a shrug as you look back down at your hands. You reach up to blot away your tears.

How could you not think the world of Sanji? Or the world of anyone at the Baratie, for that matter? When you were kicked off the merchant ship you’d stowed away on two years ago, you had been sure that you’d be banned from setting foot in such a fine-looking restaurant. Years of scorn and slammed doors had not given you the chance to think otherwise.

But Sanji spotted you on the docks, called you madam like you really were one, cooked you a meal in the kitchen and talked to you. Zeff gave you a job and a bed of your own. The staff gave you a family.

“We’ll try again tomorrow. I’ll figure out something that’ll make everything click for you, and you’ll be a proper cook in no time.” Sanji leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and winks up at you. “I promise.”

As always, your heart skips a beat.

“Okay.”

Maybe, you realize suddenly, you don’t necessarily want to be a cook so much as you want to love the way Sanji does.

“That’s my girl.” Standing up, Sanji takes your empty bowl in one hand and offers the other for you to take. “Now, shall I walk the madam to her room, or does she wish to stay out on the deck for a while?”

You allow yourself to grin, considering. “The madam wishes to stay out here and …” you hesitate but then decide to soldier on, “and possibly chat with a dear friend for a few more minutes?”

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

Sanji’s eyes widen a bit. Then he blinks, and then he smiles, drawing his hand back and quickly sitting down next to you once more.

“A lady’s wish is my command,” he says.

He takes out a cigarette, making a quip about Patty while he lights it, and your combined laughter rings out across the Baratie. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach.

Indeed, this is home.

[arjwrites]

crawl home to her- dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: heaven or hell, dean will always crawl home to you.

warnings: brief mentions of hell, references to drinking, fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i got a bit carried away with this one and it ended up a little longer than anticipated hehehe i had too many ideas. this song is so sickening and is so dean-coded in the very best way. i hope you enjoy <3

arj's 100 follower event

xxx

Dean awoke in a permeating blackness, blinking his eyes, unable to tell at what point they were open or closed. His first instinct? To draw in a deep, sharp breath. His lungs resisted him, hesitant to stretch and swell as if they had been sitting stagnant for months. They offered him no help in forming words, a call for help. It took him a minute to gather his bearings, but the next thought that came to his mind? You. And from that moment, his body took over. As he kicked his way out of the pine box and clawed his way through the cold and heavy earth, he felt almost animalistic. He didn’t know where he was, he hardly knew who he was, but he knew he had to crawl home to you. Wherever you were. 

As Dean emerged from the ground, he gasped for air- clean, fresh air. It swirled around inside of him, exacerbating the emptiness of the cavern of his chest. He grappled with the earth around him, arms reaching out in a desperate fervor to pull him safely from the grave. There were sensations everywhere, almost screaming at him, so loud and foreign as if he hadn’t experienced them in… he didn’t know how long. The tickling of the damp grass against his arms, the hot sun beating down on his back, the heavy breeze settling behind him. It was you, he thought. It had to be your way of welcoming him back earthside- planting soft green kisses to his skin, wrapping him in healing warmth and light, and lifting him up to carry him home with the wind. He let his body push him to his feet, feeling every flex and release of his muscles individually, excruciatingly. 

 It was agonizing for Dean to will one foot in front of the other, trudging aimlessly in search of civilization. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the hunger, but he could see you right there next to him, clear as day, coaching him through each step of his journey. You floated along next to him like an angel, filling his emptiness and setting direction in his footsteps. 

He thought back to the day your paths had been undoubtedly intertwined forever. You and Dean had known of each other for a while- hunters always did- but never exchanged more than a few cordial hellos in passing. That was until a vampire hunt in a small town drew the attention of more than just himself and Sam. When you showed up on the hunt, he couldn’t help but be enamored by you. The way you made hunting, something so dark and painful, into something so graceful, so elegant, so beautiful. 

When he was able to convince you to stick around and celebrate after finishing the hunt, Dean felt both his heart leap and his stomach sink. As he drove, he kept glancing up into his rearview mirror to catch a glimpse at you, following behind him in your own car. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with conversation topics like he was rubbing together stones trying to create a spark. He was so excited to have you around, yet so nervous- an accusation he defended against when Sam taunted him on the ride over to the bar. 

“I don’t get nervous, Sammy. I- I don’t know, man. There’s just something about her. Can’t put my finger on it.” 

His eyes flickered back up to the rearview mirror as he spoke, catching you singing along to whatever song you were listening to. His heart fluttered- he wanted to know you, to memorize your favorite songs, to hear his inner thoughts spoken in your voice. In the here and now, where he was trekking through the woods, he smiled at the memory and let it instill in him a surge of motivation. He picked up his pace, humming your favorite song as he went, half to keep him grounded in the moment and half to help his mind wander back to you. 

Still thinking back to that first day, he remembered getting to the bar and admittedly, letting his nerves get the best of him. He threw back shots and tipped back beers in the hopes of quelling his anxieties, suppressing the parts of him that weren’t useful and drawing out his confident, personable self. Sam had left early, as usual, leaving the two of you alone, sat at a table in the corner of a crowded bar. The surface was a graveyard littered with empty bottles and glasses, very few of which belonged to you. You had been nursing your drinks, sipping slowly as Dean downed and gulped. So when he got a little out of hand, you were there to carry him home. 

When Dean woke alone the next morning, he was sure you had been a dream- too perfect to be real life, or his real life, anyway. His head pounded as he glanced around the unfamiliar motel room, noticing the single bed and feminine belongings that clued him he wasn’t in the room he had rented with Sam. He sat up, grasping at his head, trying to piece together where exactly he was. There was no way he had gone home with you. He remembered the way he had acted the night before, and how sober you had still been. You must have dumped him with a random girl to take him off your hands. His heart sank to his stomach- if he had messed up his chances with you, he wouldn’t forgive himself. 

Before he could linger in this fear for long, he heard two separate laughs nearing the front door. When it swung open to reveal you and Sam, chatting and clutching coffees and paper bags of breakfast food, Dean let himself flop back down to the bed in relief. Wishing him a good morning, you tossed him pain relievers and a water bottle, setting a coffee and a breakfast sandwich down on his- no, your- bedside table. You briefly recounted the night before for him, noting how you had brought him back here when Sam didn’t answer his phone. You didn’t dwell on his actions, didn’t poke fun, didn’t complain or criticize. Your presence was light as a feather, your body and voice floating around the room as you tidied things up or nibbled at your breakfast. Sam shot him a knowing glance that would later be supplemented with verbal approval. I like her, Dean. Don’t mess this up. 

Back in reality, Dean had finally emerged from the woods, stepping from the dense tree cover onto a dusty road. There wasn’t much to see- no buildings or signs of civilization in any direction. The breeze picked up and whistled through his ears in the form of your voice- keep going, Dean. So on he went. 

As he walked, sometimes his image of you would flicker and fade like a ghost and his thoughts would plunge back down to Hell. There were a few moments along his path where he would pause to hinge at the hips and dry heave in a desperate attempt to purge the memories from his body alongside the dust in his throat. It made him sick, what he did in Hell. At a few points, when he got too caught up in his thoughts, he’d come to a full stop. In those moments, he didn’t care if he lived or died. His heart ached for you, but he didn’t deserve you anymore. You were the only pure goodness in the world that he had ever known, and now, he was tainted beyond repair. But then would come the breeze. This time, it smelled sweet- miraculously, as there was nothing but dirt road and baking heat to scent it. It was beckoning him, calling him home. It was washing him of his sins. You didn’t care, you never would. Always kind, always forgiving. That was his baby. Sweet as can be.  The journey ended in your arms. At times, he thought it never would. He thought he was trapped, imprisoned on a long dirt path, being taunted with the promise of you like a carrot on a stick. But he found a car, found a map, found his way home. You didn’t believe it was him at first- why would you, when a long list of monsters seemed so much more plausible? But if Dean’s first act of repentance had been his passage home, his second act was proving himself to you. That it was him, here and now, real and resting in your fingertips. All Dean knew was Hell. It was real, he had lived it. But when you reached out your arms to embrace him, Hell was just a word that dissipated into space the moment it left his lips. This must be Heaven. You must be heaven.

[thatdeadaquarius]

Genshin Impact Sagau/Isekai:

You still have acces to characters! ...by possessing them. 👻

PART 2 (you're here!) / Part 1

All art by me! :] leave me a iced coffee?? :0

HEY!! REALLY QUICK PLEASE READ!

STOP tagging my posts as "Yandere Sagau", "Sagau Cult AU", "Sagau Imposter AU" or other related dark content tags.

I'm sick of seeing reblogs that tag my work as dark content, when I'm specifically trying to LIGHTEN UP THE SAGAU TAG 😭😭??

Please be more respectful of this. Actually read the work before you just tag it incorrectly. Tags do matter.

/nm /gen

☆

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them)

Planet: Misc. Genshin AUs

Orbit: Headcanons, Scenarios

Stars: Tighnari ft. Cyno, Alhaitham, Collei

Comets & Meteors:

Content Warnings: Mild violence (bandit attacks/non-graphic), Reader/you possess people non-consent (mild/consent given eventually)

& Trigger Warnings: Reader/"you" possess people non-consenually for short times, but given consent eventually.

(pls comment if any more!)

Edit 9/7/23: 1,000+ NOTES?? WHO WHAT WHEN WHERE WHY- THANK YOU???

Edit 12/24/23 + 4/5/24:

☆

My goofy ass forgot to put this here .-.

Anyway this is a full length fanfic now ;)

…mistakes were made.

bad decisions were had, and okay, mayyybbbeee you could’ve taken more precautions against people finding out you were “real”.

afterall, you did see the Eremites reaction, even if it was only two guys (one from each camp) that you possessed :/

word spreads quickly amongst the Eremites groups, you guess, bc next thing you knew, after you’d moved closer to floating around Gandharva Ville,

they’d called that entire bit of forest haunted.

BUT IN YOUR DEFENSE-!! how were you supposed to know they’d blab to the whole camp they didn’t remember the past 20 minutes after you unpossessed them?? and immediately be on guard and jump to possession?? (Irminsul works hard but eremites/sumeru people work harder u guess)

And by the time you were happily patrolling with Collei, the forest rangers were just so chill you didn’t really expect anybody would think a ghost was possessing them (or whatever you were now… maybe,, just code?? it’s unclear)

so when u start to see Tighnari squint at people who’ve technically just “woken up” after you possessed them, mumbling under his breath more and more as a file he carries around gets thicker and thicker-

you start to think,,, maybe.

okay, mayyybbbeee,

you’ve fucked up.

◇

You really can’t help it, first it was making sure Collei got back safely from patrols (she’s ur skrunkly okay, you can’t help it, you’re still aware she’s capable but- the urge to skrunkle overpowers you- )

but then-!! You managed to spot Cyno! :D its ur boy!! ur little meow meow, who can throw people over his shoulder!! He really doesn’t need you, hovering around, but eh ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

what could it hurt! …it’s not like he can see, hear, or feel you anyway…

(unless u possess some animal/machine he thinks is friendly, which. sumeru is not exactly known for cuddly creatures. you don’t feel like experiencing death when possessing stuff just yet-)

imagine ur panic and shock as the General Mahamatra takes on a camp of criminals on the run, only for one of the old ruin machines (the ones that are just LEG and DEATH)

to hear the ruckus and come stomping around a thick patch of trees, it launched missiles!! You can’t warn Cyno, he can’t hear you!! No one can!!! The criminals are unconscious, there’s no other wildlife nearby they all ran off!!! FUCK-

You look at him and try to imagine his perspective as vividly as you can, he’s looking over the criminals, but now he’s turning, so people passed out and the tree-line got it-

Congratulations! You’ve possessed Cyno. 💀

It completely disorients you for a second, but then the panic of dodging the missiles comes back in time for you to make his body dive and roll off to the side, for as long as you can manage a roll too since you remember that’s the best way to dodge missiles in the game

…which works really well! bc he’s so fit and agile tbh

It was weird to finally run again after so long (two months now in teyvat?? wow)

with your feet suddenly in sandals, and feeling the breeze chilling your bare chest (Cyno’s chest??)

yeah its a shock considering most of the ppl you’ve possessed lately have been fully clothed rangers lol

you quickly imagine your ghostly form again, and just like that you’re drifting out of Cyno in ur “ghosty” form, having floated out and away from his back

Poor guy looks so fucking confused, and immediately is wielding his spear again, and is about to get out the crouch you put him in behind the dilapidated stone wall (dammit he better not waste ur efforts to keep him alive-)

until missiles slam and explode against it, he ducks back down (thank fuck) and Cyno just looks around one last time before hopping the wall and running to fight the thing

you notice that when the electro user goes to use his powers, they seem stronger than they were in his fight with the goons??

Maybe he was just going easier on them, since they are only human?

…so why does even Cyno look surprised when he goes to make a simple swipe with his charged spear and a bolt of lightning cracks out from his spear instead…?

…weird.

◇

Tighnari knows you’re here.

You figure he must have collected the reports of people “blacking out” or “sleep-walking” or whatever else and begun to suspect the worst.

…to be honest, you’re not sure what to do.

on one hand, it would be great to have someone know you actually exist, as yourself,

but on the other…

What would Tighnari think?

Of you possessing his rangers?? Temporarily taking ownership of someone without permission??? You’re afraid he’d think the worst of you…

tho u didn’t do so often, as u realized how messed up this could be, and u never did more than make them walk or talk normally for a few minutes before leaving them alone!

… afterall, you missed interacting with people. You were honestly a little worried abt going crazy, which is the only reason u were desperate enough to possess human people in the first place and continue doing so, just to talk to someone and have them look you in the face again like you really did exist as a person here-

(u thought u remember reading somewhere back on Earth that someone can only last 3 days of no other human contact until they start to lose it? but even if that’s not true, at the very least, u dont think talking one-sidedly to yourself all the time is healthy…)

so when Tighnari seems to get that file you’ve seen him adding onto, and gather up supplies, mentioning a day trip to Collei and the others to Sumeru City for some

“further research into these ‘blackouts’, and also contacting some of my colleagues who might know something…”

there’s no way you’re not going with him.

you feel increasingly anxious all day, and at one point when you were sure Tighnari was walled-in by books at the House of Daena, decide to go blow off the anxious energy by possessing an animal to get some food!

…you’re not really feeling comfortable enough to possess a living being into eating yet, that seems hella nonconsensual, and u kinda would be taking the joy of the meal from them tbh-

so u possess a cat!

a ginger cat, bc u like to think if u do anything weird, that ppl in Teyvat have the same type of cats back on Earth and excuse it as just:

“unhinged ginger cats being unhinged ginger cats yep makes sense” lol

you’d managed to be really cute (and wasn’t that weird, having to mimic animal behaviors like rubbing ur side against a person’s legs..)

and convince one of the cooks of Lambad’s Tavern to give u some leftovers, and been about to go off to try out sunbathing before the chore boy, little shit he is, tried to chase you off with a broom!! >:( the audacity!! you clearly have a little plate and everything!!

luckily, you’d finished eating, but still! Ouch!! those bristles fucking hurt-!!!

…you look and see a Sumeru-ified version of a skateboard, and u just know ur little cat face is just ✨v✨

and u steal the little shit’s skateboard as revenge! HAHA thats what you get animal abuser!!!

The kid’s yelling at you as you speedily skate away with ur little cat paws (LMAOO), but the cooks are calling him back in so he can’t pursue, (oh good u hear them get onto him for chasing u off)

and as u slow down to coast along the Sumeru streets,

you feel someone’s eyes staring you down.

You assume it’s just people being amused at a cat skateboarding, obv

but when you look just ahead of you to see a smiling Sumeru citizen or eremite-

Oh. It’s Alhaitham.

and he’s just… watching you.

he’s stopped reading whatever he’s got in his hand, and is slowlyyyy turning his head as you pass by…

You decide to just keep skating away. LMAO

◇

it’s already sunset by the you’re accompanying Tighnari back from Sumeru City, floating along behind him

and you’d been expecting a calm walk back, tbh you’d been feeling a little better bc the ranger hadn’t found much to identify you, yet, luckily-

but bc u can never catch a break:

Tighnari didn’t see the bandits dropping from the goddamn trees BEHIND HIM- and they had like claymores out- those were definitely gonna be killing blows-!!

so yeah.

You possessed Tighnari.

turns out ur pretty good at dodging bc this is second time now you’ve helped dive away for someone in an ambush, ur kinda proud of urself tbh💀

and as you make him take a few leaps back, ur ears twitch in the wind as you duck behind a tree, then float away and out of his body

The poor hybrid ranger visibly sways, then shakes his head out of it, and he flicks his ears in different directions, squinting into the woods, he’s pulled out his bow, so you’re at least reassured he’s aware there are enemies

Like Cyno last week, he too gives up and rolls for the next tree for cover and begins to shoot and take down the bandits

the rest of the week is kinda a blur after that, bc it’s mostly filled with Tighnari running in circles around the camp checking for blackouts, writing letters to Alhaitham and Cyno apparently, and you not possessing anybody out of paranoia :/

Most notably however,

you’ve unfortunately discovered one of the few drawbacks of ur possessions

(y’know, besides not existing essentially, what with no one being able to sense u outside of possessions)

apparently, if someone walks thru you, they accidentally force you to possess them 💀??

while it’d already happened once with a random ranger that you didnt notice was walking up behind you,

you didn’t want to test it again just yet bc it kinda made YOU nauseous and incredibly dizzy when this happened

(as in, u stumbled like a drunk after this poor ranger woman ran thru u, until you were so dizzy and the world spun sm u had to make her sit on the literal ground, luckily she just thought she was just really dehydrated when she came back into herself 😭)

so obviously, you’ve avoided crowds to keep this forced possession thingy from happening all the time

like at the Forest Rangers meetings or something, ur watching off to the side, instead of standing with them or beside them

so needless to say, after about a week and half since possessing Tighnari,

you definitely did not mean to possess Collei.

She’d been in her wheelchair today, the Eleazar flaring up and tiring her body out

so her wheels had been entirely silent when she rolled up to where you and Tighnari were leaning over some strange experiments of his- you were just trying to figure out what all these mirrors were for, didn’t he do plants more-?

you didn’t even know what the hell happened, you just felt that familiar dropping sensation, like a small drop on a rollarcoaster, blinked, and then suddenly you were sitting instead of standing/floating???

Oh god-

before you could even begin to process that Tighnari was in front of you instead of beside you, the world was shorter,

The fox-eared ranger yelled in triumph, grinning with sharp fangs and spinning around to look at you (Collei)-

“Ah-ha! It worked! Finally, I saw you! I saw you, I-?? Oh gods, Collei, NO-!”

And with quick reflexes, Tighnari’s summoned his bow, but he’s clearly confused on what to do about this situation, taking aim, but also holding the air glowing with dendro not as taunt as you’d seen him in the battle with the bandits

You scramble to raise your hands up, brown poofy sleeves rise to your command, light green hair you can feel on your shoulders, everything is familiar, but not-

“WAIT! I’m sorry!! This was an accident, I promise! I don’t intend to hurt Collei, or you!! Please, just, don’t shoot me, I think you’ll just hurt Collei instead…”

You talk him down and decide, that if he’s put this much effort into finding out about your existence, is an incredible leader and friend to everyone around him, and was able to accept the traveler and many other strange things that’ve (probably? maybe?) already happened in Sumeru (god fuck u dont even know where in the timeline you are)

that you can probably trust Tighnari with your existence, and your powers.

…He nearly passes out.

◇

Life has gotten a lot funnier, and happier, since you told Tighnari (and some of the more trustworthy rangers and Collei by proxy) about ur existence (or really, confirmed it)

He’d been wary at first, appropiately cautious and demanding answers, of which you were happy to give and explain yourself

luckily, after a whole lot of “hmm, I see, no, I think I’m understanding-” , finger on his chin and everything

he’s said it’s okay to hang around the rangers, so long as you don’t possess anyone anymore without them knowing about you/with permission (outside of emergency situations that is)

tho he did seem surprisingly understanding and accepting of you doing it before after you explained how u were just unbelievably lonely and were lowkey paranoid of going crazy-

The rangers seem to believe you’re some kind of god/spirit thing, as you had no explanation yourself as to what you were ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

Tighnari’s also given you the rule to help out around here if you’re going to “ghost-laze around”, as he puts it lol

you’ve redirected ruin machines/feral animals away from rangers many times by now, to the many thanks and gratefulness of the rangers

you’ve even managed to even figure out how to push Collei’s wheelchair around when she uses it!

mostly by possessing tree after tree and using vines, or occasionally a fungi that can fly so you can nudge her along

she has insisted that you possess a ruin guard and carry her just to try it… however, Tighnari overheard her talking to the forest rangers’ dog (you) and immediately knew shit was up and banned you from doing it (at least not yet)

While most rangers are okay with you possessing them for a few minutes (and they’ve developed this bandana wrapped around their upper arms policy of “red = no possess, green = go ahead”)

Collei is the most okay with it and for longer, so you “won’t be that lonely ever again!” :’)

Tighnari is busy with stuff, so you can’t possess him as often, but the ranger has developed a theory that the more you possess someone, the more they can sense your feelings during possession/while floating around in ghost form too,

so he’ll occasionally feel you in the room with him, and start talking out loud in some one-sided convo to make you feel more included to make up for not being able to interact with him sometimes :)

(after taking you off his list of worries he’s still pretty swamped, not that he’ll tell you that, as he’s still not quite sure why he’s so, warm and safe feeling when you’re around, so willing to trust you so naturally, that it makes him want to at leats pretend to be worried abt a possessing ghost god/thing hanging out with the rangers now)

◇

basically everything is great!

the rangers are okay with you, they got a system to interact with you consensually, Tighnari and Collei are fond of you, you get to finally have something to do instead of floating around all the time (joining ranger missions)

and look!! they’ve even been kind enough to build you a little shrine or altar of sorts! Notes about Sumeru life, recipes for you to try, occasionally some books for you to read, and even some snacks/desserts for you to try out the next time someone possesses you and gives consent! (you leave them a little note stuck on their hand with your question for specific actions like that, if there isn’t another ranger there to ask for you when you unpossess them)

and everything is so cool, and everyone is so sweet and accepting

…Until Alhaitham shows up in Gandharva Ville, knocking on Tighnari’s door.

☆

AHHHH idk if this is any good! sorry it took so long, it was mostly the art 😭😭

anyway its not the best (the writing or the art) but i hope it’s at least some content to look at and be entertained for a minute!

also figured it was a good day to post what with the attack on our beloved Ao3 (tho i think it’s back up now?)

anyway, feel free to leave critiques on this one! (which I’ll probably turn this into a real fic one day soon, but not sure what to do with the plot/do a diff setup than this or what)

☆

sorry abt the radio silence! I just needed to close my mailbox bc i had a lot of stuff to answer, ur welcome to send submissions to chat/non-requests!

and also this took time to make (once again, mostly the art, bc thats how it always is with art isnt it 😭)

☆

Safe Travels Stranger,

💀♒

☆

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @justlostintheinternet   / @assassinsnake101 /@sun-wokung

If ur tag is here and didnt work, idk why!

Maybe see if your listed as a "searchable blog"?

[wazzuppy-writes]

Making Cookies With Mob and Reigen

Characters: Shigeo Kageyama, Reigen Arataka, Reader

Relationship: Platonic

Type: Headcanons

Warnings: None

A/N: I thought I'd write something simple and cute for my first real post here. Platonic relationships are my absolute favorite thing to write, so I hope you enjoy this as much I did.

Neither Mob or Reigen are good at cooking. Like, at all. Mob can make simple things like rice balls and sandwiches, but he's hopeless when it comes to anything else. Meanwhile Reigen has been eating nothing but microwave dinners for the past twelve years, so any kitchen skills he might've had are gone now.

So when you suggest baking cookies together on their day off, they're incredibly reluctant. It takes a lot of pleading to get them to agree, and even then they still try weaseling their way out. But you're persistent and you have your heart set on spending time with them! They're going to make these cookies whether they want to or not!

Because of their disastrous inexperienced skill level, you have to take the lead while they do their damn best to follow it.

Turns out that they're really bad at following instructions.

"Master, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course it is! Why bake it at 375 degrees for fifteen minutes when we'd save so much more time by baking it at 500 degrees for five minutes? Use your head, Mob."

They were devastated when the cookies came out as charcoal. Well, Reigen was devastated— Mob kinda saw it coming. You're just relieved they didn't burn down the kitchen.

So you guys try again...and again... and again, but nothing comes out right. Eventually you run out of ingredients and have to stop. The boys are really embarrassed and apologetic, but you do your best to reassure them.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n. We let you down... And now you have to go grocery shopping, too..."

"It's no big deal, really! You tried your best and that's what matters. Besides, I'm just happy we all got to spend time together. How about we try again next week?"

"Really? Even after we wrecked your kitchen?"

"Eh. It's cleaner than I thought it would be."

From then on, baking cookies became a weekly ritual for you three. It took a few more tries for them to get it right, but when they did, they were ecstatic. Literally the happiest you'd ever seen them.

Reigen took a dozen pictures of you, him, and Mob posing with the cookies and sent them to all his contacts— like a proud parent. They were cold by the time he was done, but that's okay. He's having fun.

As you ate and celebrated, Mob eagerly talked about all the other recipes he wanted to try. Having something fun to do every week, and with two of his favorite people at that, really meant a lot to him. It made him feel like a normal kid with a normal social life. Reigen tried not to seem as outwardly excited, but it's still clear that he's just as happy.

The three of you continue meeting up every week to bake. You even bring back the leftovers for the others at Spirts and Such! Some of them, like Serizawa and Teru, like to join in on the fun— to varying results— but they're also content to reap the rewards without actually doing any work.

The fridge is constantly filled with leftover sweets and everyone keeps getting cavities, but no one has the heart to say anything. Not when you're having so much fun.

Dividers from here.

GIF from here.

[averycutesalamander]

Brighter than the Sun, Bigger than the Moon

wc: 8k. hurt/comfort, angst with a happy (kinda bittersweet?) ending, warning for vague mentions of sex. also up on ao3 if that's your preference

One of the greatest mysteries in the universe is that of soulmates.

They’ve existed for as long as history itself – perhaps even longer. No one knows if it’s the influence of an Aeon, or if it’s something stranger; the most recent theory is that Aha is behind it all, but it’s a joke to even think about getting a straight answer from THEM. Not every soul bond is the same, and they don’t even have to be romantic or sexual; plenty of them start and remain as entirely platonic, but either way, you have a partner for life. The details differ person-by-person as well; some have matching marks, some have a red string, some can't see color until they meet. 

Shared dreams are on the uncommon end of the spectrum - even more so when they live on different planets. Such is the case for you and the boy who will later be known as Boothill. 

When he first sees you in his dream, he thinks little of it; you’re another unknown face among a sea of strangers. He’s busy climbing a seemingly endless mountain, chasing a spectacularly evasive lizard that’s as large as a cow; Nick has just started talking about teaching him how to ride horses, and damn it all, he just can’t wait. Just when he manages to climb on its back, the earth shakes underneath him, and he starts to slide off – then, out of nowhere, you appear on the beast’s back, grabbing his hand and pulling him back on.

When he really sees you for the first time, he thinks your smile is brighter than the sun. 

Even as a kid, he's deeply charmed by you. When he mentions the friend he made in his dream one night during dinner, Nick and Graey are so overjoyed that they light up the whole room with their grins. You're his soulmate – but, really, all he cares about is that you're very funny and nice and are a lot of fun to play with. Every night, you talk and play games and run around in elaborate environments that the two of you create together. The dream can be static, if you want it to be – so the two of you make a giant oak tree in the middle of a field to mark your names on, and mutually decide to meet there every night. Eventually, you start to mark your heights on it; the notches get higher and higher every year, and you joke that you'll need to start climbing branches if he gets much taller. 

As a teen, he tries to teach you horseback riding, but it turns out that trying to do things that only one of you understands is a lot harder in the dream, especially when that task involves an animal that neither of you can quite control; eventually, you promise him that one day, you'll visit his home, and he can teach you in person. 

That's the thing, though. Neither of you have a damn clue where his planet is. You searched for it when he told you the name, the syllables clear and crisp on his tongue – but you can't find any matches, which leaves you with little to go on. And he certainly won't be able to find you, but…

Both of you try not to worry about it. You'll find some way to meet, eventually. You're soulmates, after all. 

You're with him as he grows into an adult, from a sweet boy to an equally sweet man, though he now reserves most of the sugar for you. You're with him the night after he makes his first kill, after the first bloody drops of justice stain his hands. You're with him the night after he claims his first bounty; when you ask how much he got for it, the two of you spend an embarrassing length of time trying to figure out the value of each other's currencies. You're with him the night after he takes his first bullet wound; though he's put on a strong face for Nick and Graey, he lets himself whine dramatically into your neck, bemoaning how fussy Graey has been and how he'll have to obey his order for bed rest, lest he invoke his wrath.

And every step of the way, he's with you, too - comforting you on bad days and celebrating with you on good ones, hugging you through friend breakups and laughing with you over inane drama. When one of your close friends dies, he holds you while you sob, gently rocking you; when you recover, he quietly asks if there's anything you want to do in the dream to remember them by – a memorial. With your voice raw and your lips trembling, you tell him about a tradition on your planet – one where you plant something in memory of the lost; you are obligated to care for it, naturally, and as the plant grows, you will heal with it as well. You decide to plant a cypress, not too far from the oak; he helps you pat down the dirt around it, the dust on your skin washing away with your tears. 

There are good times, too. On one of your birthdays, he tries to figure out how to conjure some malt juice for you to try – but the whiskey is awfully hard to get right, and the flavor never quite matches reality. You try to let him taste some bizarre fruity drink from your home, only to have the exact same problem. “Why is it sour?” you grouch, a cute little pout on your lips. “It should be sweet, and just a little tart!” He watches you speak with fond, dreamy eyes, soaking in your warmth like the sun. No, he thinks, the sun doesn't even compare. 

You're still fledgling adults when you first tell him you love him. 

You say it so simply, so easily, like it's the most obvious thing in the world; your head rests on your hands as you lounge in the pleasantly fuzzy grass, your eyes soft and tender in a way he never knows how to handle. “I love you,” you tell him, right in the middle of a fifteen-minute ramble about his latest bounty. 

He stops dead, every function in his brain going on pause. After a beat too long, he stutters, “I– Really?”

Your smile widens. “Yeah. Bigger than the moon.”

He throws up his brows dramatically, just in the way that always makes you laugh. “Really?” he drawls, faking skepticism. “The moon’s pretty fuckin’ big, sunshine.”

Your snicker makes his whole body light up with warmth. “Yeah, that's the point.”

As the two of you mature, you get closer - a lot closer, as soulmates often do. The night he chooses to kiss you isn't because of some other special event; perhaps the stars in your dream make you look just a bit more exceptional; perhaps you smile at him in a way that makes him a little too hungry; perhaps he just wants to do it for no reason in particular. Either way, he kisses you, clumsy and wanton and embarrassingly lovestruck, and you reciprocate with just as much passion, making sweet little noises into his mouth as he nibbles at your tongue with blunt teeth. 

It becomes routine, then. When he first leaves the waking world and enters your shared dream, he kisses you sweetly in greeting before asking about your day. When it's time to wake, he gives you another as a parting gift - deep and passionate and longing, some nights more than others. And with every night that passes, your touches get a little bolder, a little needier, a little hungrier; he licks into your mouth with enough fervor to steal your breath away, and you moan so prettily under him that he feels like his heart is going to burst from his chest. 

The topic of sex comes up eventually, if a bit hesitantly. Somehow, he's more shy about talking about it than you, but after some back-and-forth, both of you agree that you'd like to save it for the real thing. When he sinks into you for the first time, he wants to really feel you, wants to hold you in his arms, wants to nibble at your skin without an inch of distance between the two of you – because as wonderful as it is to kiss you in the dream, he just knows that it won't compare to the real thing. 

Eventually, he finds that little girl in the snow; as he tells you about her, about her cheeks rounded with baby fat, about her sweet brown eyes, about the way she tugs on his hair every chance she gets, you smile brilliantly enough to put the sun to shame. You ask what her name is, and he just shrugs. “Never been good at naming things,” he says; he named his first horse Blackjack because he won it in a game of blackjack - simple as that. You laugh – that sweet laugh that always makes his heart skip – and think about it for a time, staring at the impossible stars as you ponder. You rattle off a few names that you think would be cute, mostly just as an idle exercise - but when he hears "Clementine," his eyes light up. 

"That's the one," he tells you, staring at you with a love warm enough to melt ice. "That's her name. It's a cute one, ain't it, sunshine?”

He loves you. He's known for years, for his whole life, from the moment you reached down and offered him your hand; he loves you more than the sunlight, more than the shimmering stars in the sky, more than a fresh breeze on a hot summer day. He's always loved you, and not a damn thing will change that. 

He'll have to marry you, once the two of you finally meet in person; he thinks he wouldn't be able to look at your hands without imagining a pretty ring on your finger.

And then the men in black arrive. 

He's immediately wary, he tells you – but when he describes them in more detail, about the strange device they gave him that granted impossible knowledge, your expression darkens like the sky before a storm. He wishes he felt anything other than dread when you confirm his suspicions. 

“That's the IPC,” you mumble, your eyes distant and quietly resentful – he's never seen such a severe look on your face. “You should be careful, honey. They're always bad news, no matter where they go.”

Neither of you could anticipate just how right you were.

Once the fighting begins, your worry increases with every day that passes. “I know it's awful, sweetheart, but… You should try to find somewhere for your folks to escape to.” Your eyes are dull with terror – fear for him, for his family, for his home, for his life. “And you should go with them. No one wins against the IPC.”

He scoffs, prickling subtly. “You're tellin' me to just run? That I should just let ‘em do whatever the fuck they please?”

There's a gravity to your sorrow – like you're grieving a tragedy that hasn't happened yet. “Maybe you'll hate me for saying this, but… yeah, I think you should run.” You turn away from him, wiping your freshly budding tears away. He doesn't move to comfort you. “It's better to lose and survive than to lose and die. At least there would be something left.”

“We ain't gonna lose,” he spits, glowering at your back. He doesn't feel ready to wake up, but he doesn't want to be here anymore. “You'll see.”

It's the first fight you've ever had. 

Neither of you know that it will be the last. 

They lose. 

They're crushed beneath the cruel boot of absolute power, of weaponry that they can barely comprehend. One by one, his siblings, his friends – all of them die, their lives stolen in squabbles that they never win. 

For weeks, he doesn't meet you by the oak tree. For weeks, he takes refuge in the dark forest you once played in, the pine needles beginning to crumble from the withering trees. He thinks, and plans, and plots – but he does so alone, still fuming over his hurt pride. 

But his pride does nothing for him when the world is aflame, when his home has crumbled into charred wood, when his family has been reduced to ash, when his entire life has gone up in smoke. 

When he finally returns to the oak tree, you're already waiting there, your shoulders hunched and the air deathly still. The leaves on the oak are beginning to yellow at the edges; the grass in the field around you has begun to shrivel; the sky has been muddled with clouds so dark that they look like ink. 

For a long, long moment, he stands and stares, suddenly feeling as if he's been hollowed out. Then, as if you hear his heart crying out for you, you look up at him and his tear-smeared face and his red-rimmed eyes–

And you know. 

He falls to pieces in your arms. You don't breathe a word of anger to him – only quiet, futile comforts and gentle apologies. He cries so hard that he feels like he’s been gutted, like he’s been dissected, like he’s been bled out and left to dry. His anguish and regret and anger bleed from his eyes, staining your dream with grief. 

He's an idiot. He was such a fucking idiot, thinking it was a good idea to abandon you after that spat. It seems so goddamn stupid now that he's looking at your tired, worried face, now that he sees the evidence of your pain all around him, in the fields and in the sky. 

In that moment, he makes two promises to himself: 

One: he'll never leave you alone like that again, no matter what. Even if he's angry, even if he's annoyed, even if he has to go out of his way, even if fate itself tries to keep you apart – he will never leave you. 

Two: he's going to slaughter that man. 

“I'm gonna fuckin’ butcher him,” he rasps, his voice ragged from sobbing. “The one that gave the order. I'm gonna find that son of a bitch, and I'm gonna make him wish he weren't ever born.”

“Okay,” you respond quietly, like a wisp of smoke. “You'll… It'll be really difficult. If he's an executive…”

“I've got a plan.” His voice sounds more somber than he'd like, but the anger sank beneath the surface the moment he laid eyes on you again, the moment he saw the leaves withering on the oak tree. 

He tells you about the half-baked plan he's got brewing. He's going to commandeer a ship and find someone that can make him invincible. While he bears the weakness and complications of flesh and blood, while he's weighed down by his mortality, he'll never be able to slaughter his way to the top. 

So he'll cast aside his mortality, his morality, the sanctity of his body. 

He has to admit that he's grateful that you don't protest. You don't try to stop him, don't waste your time failing to convince him; you only listen, your eyes sad and dark. And in the following days, you earn his gratitude a thousand times over; when you search for his planet now, you get a match – and with your guidance in this new, terrifying world, he finds a mechanic that will help him begin his hunt in earnest. 

(You don't tell him about the official records that the IPC put down for his planet – how his people “died in a mysterious disaster.” His cup is already overflowing with rage; you worry that if it fills any further, he'll collapse.)

The night before he meets with the mechanic is a somber one. 

“Please be safe,” you whisper, as fragile as a breath of wind. “Please. Promise you'll come back to me.”

“I promise,” he tells you, firm and earnest. He reaches up, cupping your face in both hands, thick and rough with callouses. “I'll come back, sweetheart. I promise.” Almost hesitantly, tentative to bridge the gap, he presses a tender kiss to your lips. “I love you so much, sunshine.”

The smile you give him is tired and weary – dimmer than the stars. 

“I love you too,” you answer, your throat tight, “bigger than the moon.”

You'll be brighter than the sun again, one day – he'll be sure of it. Even if he has to strangle the light from the sky with his bare hands, he'll be sure of it. 

He's not quite prepared for the long, aching hours he spends in limbo, while his humanity is surgically removed and replaced with cold, unmoving steel. 

The darkness has seeped into every seam of his body, creeping into the cracks of his spirit like an invasive weed, the roots disturbing the fractured pieces of his heart.

He wonders, for a time, if any of this is worth it at all; if his family would even want him to strive for vengeance like this; if Nick and Graey would be happier if he settled down with you and forgot the bitter past, letting the wounds heal, letting the ash turn to dirt until it blooms with new growth. He can almost hear Graey’s voice in his ear. “Nothing can change the past, sweetpea. When something breaks and can’t be fixed, you have to let it go.”

He thinks of you – of your sad, tired eyes, of how desperately you held him when he last dreamed.

The heavy chains of grief bind him, sinking him deeper into the black.

But then he thinks of little Clementine, of her bright laughter, of her wobbling steps – and the doubt is incinerated in a fire hotter than the sun, the chains melting and reforming into an armor that cuts inside and out.

He claws his way out of the dark, his heart burning with rage, his chest aching with sadness.

“Congrats. You’re pretty hard to kill.”

He wants to laugh, bitter and acidic.

Yeah. Yeah, he sure is.

When he prepares to go into rest mode for the first time, a faint note of dread rings in his chest, sharp and inexplicable. Ever since he woke in this new body, he’s felt off – which is to be expected, of course, but…

This feeling – this disconnect, this vertigo, this tension – he can’t quite put his finger on it. And as he drifts into sleep, it nags at him, clinging like a tick.

Except–

It's like he only blinks. One moment, his systems are going into sleep mode, his heart pounding with anticipation; in the next, he's awake again. He checks the time, and it's four hours later. 

No.

No.

This can't be happening. This has to be a fluke. He has to be able to fix this.

He can't lose you. 

The next day, he slams open the door to the surgeon's dingy back office, his steel fists clenched and his eyes burning. When he demands answers, she merely shrugs with far too much nonchalance.

“Soulmates are pretty tricky. When I removed part of your brain to sync the rest to the neurochip, it probably screwed something up.” She watches him fume with an idle gaze, then shrugs again. “Sorry. It's not like you mentioned it or anything.” 

He grits his teeth so hard his jaw groans. “Fix it.”

She sighs, openly exhausted. “I can’t undo what’s already been done – just like I can’t restore your body. You’re out of luck.”

(He’s been out of luck for months.)

For a long, long moment, he considers riddling her full of bullets. But a sense of emptiness begins to sink into him, taking root in his chest, hollowing him out. He feels like he's going to be sick. 

He's lost his home, his family, his little Clementine, his life, his body, his dream– 

And now he's lost you, too. Because how could he ever find you in a cosmos as vast and infinite as this, when he's not even sure you ever told him the name of your planet?

Just like that, he has another person to grieve. 

And one of the worst things about it all? 

The IPC doesn't even have all of the blame. 

He spends the following years in a sort of daze, clinging to his hatred as an anchor – because it's all he has, now. He loses himself in violence – lets it seep into his core until it's fully saturated his soul. He fills the cracks with IPC blood until he's nearly unrecognizable, until he feels nothing but the visceral excitement that comes with bloodshed. He suffocates the grief under a thousand corpses, and piles on a thousand more for good measure. 

Whenever he dreams, now, it's always nightmares – something he's never had to deal with before, blessed as he was with your shared dream. The first is full of flames and ash. He scrambles desperately through miles of burning rubble, his fingers bleeding and broken; thousands of screams echo in his ears, but loudest of all is yours, ragged and broken as you beg him to find you, to come back to you, to join him in the fire – doesn't he want to rest? Doesn't he want to be with you? Doesn't he love you? 

“You promised,” you cry, so pained that he feels his heart shatter like glass. “You promised to come back to me.”

He wakes with a heaving breath, feeling very distinctly like he's about to hurl his guts out, his eyes burning with tears that will never spill again. 

The nightmares only get worse with time. He sleeps less and less, pushing his systems to the limit, getting upgrades that let him stay awake for longer and longer. 

And then, one night, after years of silence, he dreams that he's beneath the oak tree. 

The leaves have fallen off, the branches clawing at the black, starless sky. The plains around him are empty and dead, the grass blackened like a fire had raged through. In the far distance, he can see the forest the two of you once ran through; the trunks are bare and charred, and the ground below is coated with lifeless ash. 

Your dream is dead. 

But there, by the oak tree, just beneath the faded carvings of your names and the notches marking your heights…

A collection of plants, most of which take him some time to identify: the muted red leaves of a sapling spindle tree, tattered and worn; the tall stalks of an asphodel, its flowers dry and browning; bunches of primrose, whose blooms are paler than bone; stout meadow saffrons, whose petals are dusted with frost.

For a long moment, he wonders why they’re there–

And then he remembers what you did when your friend died, all those years ago – and his heart shatters into a thousand pieces, never to be repaired.

He finds himself there a few more times over the years, and it feels like a punishment every time. Most nights, the dream is more of a blur than anything, smeared and warping like he can't focus his eyes. He can't interact with it anymore; it feels more like he's a passing viewer, on the outside looking in through a window blurring with the pouring rain. Always just out of reach. 

Always missing you – if it’s even real at all.

On a few occasions, he swears he can hear you talking, your voice indecipherable, but clearly anguished. He mostly convinces himself that these are just delusions – mere wishful thinking. 

Once, all he hears is the heartwrenching sound of you sobbing. Maybe not wishful thinking, then. 

Every single time, he wonders what he did to earn a fate like this – to earn this kind of torment, this kind of pain, this kind of loss. 

No god ever answers.

And then, one day while he's chasing a bounty into a busy marketplace–

He sees you. 

He stops dead in the middle of shoving his way through the crowd, deaf to the protests of the people around him. From this angle, from between the moving bodies, the most he can see is a sliver of your face – but he could never forget the swell of your cheeks, the arch of your nose, the shape of your ears, the texture of your hair. It's only a little, but it's enough.

He abandons his bounty without a single thought in his head – now, he's weaving through the crowd with a different target in mind. He's getting closer, only a few bodies separating him from you. His eyes never leave you, his vision tunneling– 

When you turn to walk away, you turn toward him – and it's like your gaze is magnetized toward him, like you could sense something was amiss. And when your eyes lock onto his, the entire world grinds to a halt. 

You've aged somewhat; the laugh lines on your cheeks are just a little more prominent, but the crease in your brow is new, and your eyes are duller than he remembers. There’s a weariness to you – a sort of permanent exhaustion that he’s never seen on your face.

He doesn't even register that you're rushing toward him, too absorbed in savoring the sight of you after so many years apart. It's only when you're just a few feet away that he murmurs your name, so soft that he's certain the noise of the market has swallowed it, but your eyes widen like you heard him anyway. 

He doesn't realize that he's reaching for you until you grasp his hand in yours, cold metal against warm skin; his hands are no longer the shape they used to be – the shape that molded perfectly against your palm. Without a moment of hesitation, you begin to tug him through the crowd, guiding him into a tiny alleyway between two crowded buildings.

The moment you turn to look at him again, you drop your shopping bag to the ground without a second thought. With trembling hands, you reach up and cup his cheeks – cheeks that are too smooth, too cold; cheeks that lack the smatter of freckles he always had, lost and forgotten when his skin was replaced; cheeks that are missing the scars he gathered over the years, like the one he earned falling off a horse for the first time. 

You whisper that name – the name of a dead man, of the man he once was, of the man he can never be again – and he's never heard you sound so broken, so desperate; his heart aches like it's been crushed. 

“I'm… I'm not him anymore, sunshine,” he rasps, his throat so dry that it feels like his tongue is clogged with ash. “I can't be him anymore.”

“It's still you,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Even if you're different, it's still you.”

His eyes burn so horribly that he wonders if he's actually going to cry, if the weight of his anguish will break the rules of his new body. 

Suddenly, you surge forward, wrapping your arms so tightly around him that, if he were still human, you would’ve crushed the air straight out of his lungs. “I thought… I thought you were dead,” you sob, clutching him even tighter, like you're trying to dent his body. “I thought you died during your surgery, or didn't recover, or– or–”

He presses his lips against your temple, his steel arms wrapping tenderly around your shoulders. When he breathes in, your smell hits him all at once; he never could smell you in the dream – only a strange void of scent, like something was removed from his brain before he could process it.  

Somehow, you smell familiar. Somehow, you smell like home.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he murmurs, one hand slowly petting the back of your head. “I’m right here.”

He lets you cry into his hold just as you did for him, so many years ago, his chest aching like something inside him shattered to pieces; when your knees begin to fold out from under you, he carefully picks you up with one arm beneath your thighs, bearing your weight with inhuman ease. You take the opportunity to cling your legs around him, gripping him like your life depends on it – like his life depends on it.

He doesn't have a clue how long he holds you like that, rubbing circles into your back as you cry and cry and cry. You calm slowly, your breath hitching and your nose sniffling while you recover. Finally, you ask him to take you home; he carries you in one arm and your groceries in the other, following your guidance down the streets as you cling to him like he's going to disappear from under your grip. When he reaches your apartment, your hands are shaking too hard to unlock the door, so he gently pries the keys from your shivering fingers and carries you inside. You direct him to your bedroom, your groceries abandoned in the entryway. 

He settles you into the sheets like you're made of glass, but neither of you want a single millimeter of distance; he cradles you in his arms and curls around you, murmuring quiet reassurances when you begin to shake and cry again. 

Finally, when your breathing is calm and even once more, he tentatively asks, “Did��� Did you plant flowers in the dream? Under the oak tree?”

You blink up at him with red-rimmed eyes, a little astonished. “How did you… know that?”

“I ended up there, a few times,” he says quietly, thumbing away the remnants of tears from your cheeks. “Thought I was making the whole thing up.”

You stare at him like you can't believe he's real. “...It was for you,” you confess, so quietly that he probably wouldn’t have heard it if he were still human.

His chest aches with a grief that isn't his. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to comfort you; he fears that part of him died like everything else. “I love you,” he rasps, stupid and earnest. 

A little smile graces your lips – a little quirk in the corner of your mouth; he feels his heart sing in response. “...Bigger than the moon.”

Your exhaustion catches up to you, sooner or later, and he lets himself rest shortly after you fall into an uneasy sleep, a tiny sliver of hope in his broken heart. 

He wakes up under the oak tree.

The dream is clearer than it has been since his rebirth – so sharp and vivid that he can taste the ash from the forest on his tongue. For a fraction of a second, he wonders if he'll be flesh and bone again, if his hands will mold perfectly to yours – but he looks down and finds them to be just as hard and cold as usual. 

You don't seem to mind. In fact, you barely seem to think about his new body at all. You still hold his hand the same, still kiss his cheek the same, still hug him the same. He can't bend for you, not anymore – but you bend around him without a breath of complaint. 

The two of you talk, eventually, about everything and nothing. You update him on the direction your life has taken, the things that have changed. He doesn’t miss the ways you talk around the worst parts, about the years you spent depressed, about the veil of darkness that overtook your life; you don’t miss how he does the exact same thing. Neither of you press about it. 

He stays with you for days, into the indeterminate future. He keeps every thought of his hunt out of sight, out of mind; he's been burning the candle on both ends for years, and now that he's in your arms, the exhaustion has sank its teeth into him. 

So he stays. He takes care of you, spoils you rotten, desperate to make up for all of the lost time. You’re absolutely inseparable. Everything goes on pause to integrate him into every second of your life; perhaps that’s not the healthiest course of action, but neither of you are willing to acknowledge it, let alone change it. You talk during the day and while you sleep, and when you aren’t talking, you’re savoring each other’s company in silence.

He relearns you, and you relearn him. He notes all of the ways you’ve changed, all the new scars, the ways your face has shifted with age, the ways your speech has changed. You note all of the subtleties of his new body, his new eyes, his sharpened teeth, the way his feet have themselves been turned into boots. He shows you the cannon built into his left arm, all of the dozens of little utilities and tools built into him, all of the scuffs and bumps and scrapes that he hasn’t repaired yet.

It takes time to settle into something resembling familiarity. There’s a caution between both of you, at first; it’s hard to pin down, but it’s like both of you are terrified that the other is going to disappear, like you can’t let your guard down in case it’s all ripped away.

But he stays, and so do you.

When you first ask him if he wants to make a memorial in the dream for the ones he lost, he thinks his brain functions completely halt. 

He never did get the chance to make graves for them – any of them. 

After a long, long silence, he swallows, his throat thick with grief, and manages to nod. 

After the grave markers are down, it takes him a great deal of time to decide what would be best – what they would like the most. You help him form a rocky hill in the plains, within viewing distance of the old oak, but far enough to be inconspicuous. You grow a small grove of trees to coat the whole area in dappled shade, granting him privacy to work on his own as you busy yourself; growing things in the dream has become a momentous task in the time you’ve been apart, and it’ll take some time to get everything right.

He tries not to think too hard about what to put down. His heart will know best, after all – not his head. 

A well-crafted wooden swing, just like the one Nick and Graey had on their porch; a small garden plot, dense with lettuce and artichoke and tomatoes; an eagle’s nest, at the peak of the tallest tree you made; a herd of roaming horses, their spotted coats gleaming in the sunlight; a thin creek with tiny waterfalls and even tinier fish; a thousand other tiny details, one for each of his siblings and friends.

When he makes the clementine tree, he stares at it for several long, aching minutes. He's silent and still for so long that you come to check on him, a furrow in your brow. (He doesn't like that he's becoming familiar with such an expression on your face. Contentment fits you so much better.)

He speaks before you can ask. “I'm alright,” he lies, his voice thick with grief. “I just…”

You approach him slowly, a bit like the way he would with a spooked horse. When you gently reach up to cup his cheeks, it’s only when you smear wetness across his face that he realizes that…

He’s… crying. 

He barks out a laugh, bitter and disbelieving.

Of course. Of course he can.

When he manages to compose himself, he turns back to the memorials with blurry eyes. 

There's only one thing missing, now. 

He could just make it out of thin air, he knows – but that feels… cheap, too simple, too… cold. 

It takes hours of effort, as it did the first time, but you sit by him all the while, trying to coax flowers to bloom from the dry, barren earth. The scrape of his knife and the tap of his chisel and the rasp of sandpaper fill the too-silent air. When he finishes his work, his hands ache with phantom pain and his fingers have a few new scrapes – but it's all worth it. 

He wills the limbs of the clementine tree to bend into a cradle, sheltered by soft leaves and plump fruit. With a trembling grip, he settles the tiny guitar into the gentle hold of the branches, watching them curl protectively around it, ensuring that it will never fall.  

It looks comfortable there, somehow. He can almost picture her in his arms, trying to scramble up the tree with her pudgy little fists, reaching for the strings with clumsy fingers.  

She never got to taste the fruit she was named after. 

When he bursts into tears again, you stand by his side in an instant, holding him silently in your arms. When he sinks to his knees, brought down by the weight of his anguish, you cradle him against your chest, slowly stroking his hair. 

For years, he thought he’d run through this seemingly endless wellspring of grief, that he’d truly hollowed himself out, that he’d manage to excise everything that wasn’t fuel for the raging fire.

For a long while, he stares at the scene he's created – at the swing rocking in the wind, at the eagles flying overhead, at the horses prancing in the field, at the babbling creek, at the tiny blooms on the clementine tree.

He decides there's something else he'd like to add. 

Slowly, tentatively, he shifts to look at you. You must see some hesitation in his gaze, because without missing a beat, you cup his cheeks and ask, “Is there anything I can do for you, sweetheart? Ask and it's yours.”

He swallows, working his jaw. “...Y'know that tradition ya taught me about, when we were young? About the plants?"

Your eyes widen into saucers. “You want to…”

“I want you to… help me,” he chokes, fresh tears welling in his eyes. “To… To help me figure out what to plant for who, and to help me keep everything alive.”

You stare at him with a quiet sort of awe, an immense but tender kind of love that feels like the warm swaddle of a blanket. Then, finally, you nod. “Of course,” you croak. “Of course I’ll help you.”

He tells you about all of them – all of the friends he made and lost, all of the siblings he grew up with. One by one, you work through them all, telling him the meanings of the plants you choose for each person. 

He tells you about Simon – a smug little bastard he grew up with, who kept his arrogance until the day he died. He'd challenge him to bizarre, impromptu contests at every opportunity, racing him back to the house for dinner and proposing that he'd never be able to catch as many fireflies as him. “Loyal to a fault and dumb as a bag a’ rocks,” Boothill huffs, staring at the jar of softly glowing fireflies he'd set beneath a tree. “Sorry bastard couldn't lasso to save his life.”

You laugh quietly. “Mm… Something to represent loyalty, for sure. Maybe… perseverance? Ambition?”

He hums in agreement. Ambition. Simon really was ambitious, wasn’t he?

Before long, his grave is blooming with tall spikes of red and violet gladiolus, intermingled with white hollyhock, framed by the fuzzy petals of edelweiss.  

He tells you about Jess – the snarkiest woman he ever met, and clever to boot. They met early into his bounty hunting days; she approached him in a bar and flirted with him so relentlessly that he almost didn't notice her trying to filch his wallet. Turns out that she'd mistaken him for a target she was hunting, and had a habit of robbing her bounties blind before turning them in and doubling her money – and sometimes she'd even make a bet with them before a game of pool, just to add insult to injury. “Sharp as a nail and wily as a fox, that one,” he laughs, eyeing the pool cue he'd set up against the rocks by the creek. 

You nod in contemplation. “Intellect, ingenuity…”

His lip quirks a little, fond and wistful. “Anything to represent a wicked lil’ liar like her?”

You laugh. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

For her grave, you grow brilliant scarlet hyacinths, pencilled cranesbill geranium, and dark red snapdragons.

On and on and on you work, going through every gravestone, the air rich with memories. He laughs when he tells you about Micah – the funniest man he’s ever known, and too damn whimsical for his own good; the first time he took a bullet was after he'd literally shot himself in the foot while mucking around with his gun. He tells you about a man he only ever knew as Bark – a mute gunslinger with wicked aim, who loved to chew on pine bark. He tells you about Beau, a sweet girl that loved her horse more than anything else in the world – but when it came to shooting, there was no one as bloodthirsty as her. 

For Nick and Graey, you plant asters – a symbol of love, you say, and of happiness in old age. For Nick, black-eyed susans, coltsfoot, and elderflower; for Graey, magnolias and purple irises. 

For Clementine… baby's breath and cinquefoil.

It takes three nights of work to finish everything. By the end of it all, you’ve both made a brilliant garden, rich with splendor and greenery in a dream that’s only just recovering, still brown and dead and barren. But the memorials stay healthy, with his maintenance and your own.

He doesn’t have the words to express his gratitude.

…But as he hugs you tightly to his chest in the dream, fresh tears spilling from his eyes and wetting your skin, he thinks you understand. 

He’ll need to leave again, eventually. He knows this. You know this. It’s an unspoken dread – one that neither of you are willing to acknowledge yet. (What if he stops dreaming when he leaves? What if he never comes back? What if you disappear while he’s gone? What if, what if, what if?)

He spends weeks with you, and in that time, the two of you manage to defrost. The light returns to your eyes, and the constant tension in his jaw fades away; you stop clinging to him like a bear trap, letting your body rest; his endless paranoia about you being found by the IPC melts away into something gentler, something more reasonable; your wounds begin to heal, and the wicked sting of grief and loneliness fades to an ache.  

The night you first make love is hardly different from any other; perhaps the tender affection in your eyes makes you look just a bit more exceptional; perhaps you smile at him in a way that makes him a little too hungry; perhaps it’s for no reason in particular.

And it really is making love, not simple sex. It takes hours – not because of his limitless stamina, but because both of you refuse to do anything but savor each other. He maps your body in full for the first time, pressing tender kisses to every inch of your skin, making note of the marks he's never gotten the chance to see and keeping track of which spots make you squirm the hardest. You explore his new body with a touch so tender that it makes his heart ache, following every ridge and divot in his plating, tracing the seams, learning all of the markings and vents and ports with a reverence that leaves him dizzy. 

The pace is slow and sweet as honey; you worship each other for hours in a melting pot of pleasure and satisfaction, and when he finally enters you, it feels like a missing piece of his soul has clicked into place. He kisses you so gently that your eyes well up with tears, and he presses them away with his lips as he rocks slowly into you. You cling to each other desperately, longingly, passionately, your hands hot on his metal and his fingers strong on your hips. 

He makes you come with your name on his tongue. You beg for him so, so sweetly – but you never needed to beg. He would tear the stars from the sky if you asked; he would gift you the universe if you wanted it. When the exhaustion catches up to you both, you fall into the dream together, still unable to keep your hands off each other. He was right – the sensation really is different in the dream. 

It’s still wonderful, because it’s you.

He’s surprised that you’re the one to bring up his departure first. You seem… more relaxed about the idea than he expected, too. He himself has been agonizing over it for weeks, the thought nagging in the back of his mind in the limbo between the waking world and the dream. But you bring it up with a sort of resignation in your face, a quiet, sad kind of acceptance that makes him want to hold you and never, ever let go.

(You don’t beg him to stay. You know that he’d cave in an instant, but you also know that he’d be restless for the rest of his life. You know he loves you, but you also know that he’s etched the memories of hatred and grief so deeply into his soul that he could never be happy without resolution.)

You love him more than life itself.

…So you let him go, no matter how reluctant both of you are. 

He kisses you with every ounce of passion and love and care in his shell of a body, and he looks you in the eye, and he tells you, “I’ll come back.”

You nod, and though there are tears in your eyes, you are lacking that dim, bitter grief that you once held in a moment just like this, all those years ago. “I know.”

He leans toward you, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll come back. I promise,” he breathes, his voice tense with tears that he can only shed in dreams. “I swear it. I’ll come back. I’ll visit.”

You smile, a fragile little thing. “I know.” You press a kiss to his lips, your tears spilling over. “I know you will.” You cradle his face in your hands, and he feels like his chest caves in at what he sees on your face. 

Your eyes are gleaming with love, with trust, with affection. The sun has returned to your gaze.

“I love you,” you murmur, quiet and earnest.

His lips twitch, his eyes burning. “...Bigger than the moon.”

And so he leaves, the salt of your tears stinging bitterly on his tongue.

But he dreams.

It seems like the proximity changed something in him – reignited a piece of himself that died when he did – because when he next sleeps, thousands of light years away from you, he finds himself under that oak tree.

Words can’t express his relief when he sees you sitting beneath its barren canopy, staring at the plants you’d tended to for years in his name. Their growth is wild, untamable – but they’re alive.

You’re both alive, and that’s all that matters.

The dream gradually recovers as both of you do. The dark clouds begin to fade in the twilight of the rising sun; fresh sprigs of grass sprout in the fields; pine trees begin to poke out from the ash; the bitter wind begins to warm. But, perhaps most importantly of all–

There are tiny, fresh buds growing on the jagged branches of the oak tree. 

Winter has begun to reach its end, and spring is blossoming beneath the ash. 

He'll learn how to love again, how to dream again, even if it isn't the same; even if you've both changed. Because if there's one thing he's always known…

…it's that his love for you is brighter than the sun, and bigger than the moon.

[hannahbarberra162]

Snow Fall, Part 4

18+ MDNI | On Ao3

The other parts

The heatening. I'm not 100% satisfied with this piece and I might edit it in the next few days.

Thank you to @tryingandfailingtowrite and @gouraminnow for helping me, beta-ing, and sharing thoughts and concerns ideas.

“ I don’t like this feeling ,” you panted at Izou, your heat making sweat bead on your forehead. Izou’s lips pursed into a frown - he wished he could bear all the pain of your heat for you instead of just alleviating it. You bit your lips and wrapped your arms around yourself as you hugged your knees to your stomach, likely experiencing severe cramping. 

“It will pass, I’ll help you through it,” he replied, reaching for your burning body. “ I’m going to remove your garments. ” You nodded, already undoing the strings to your outer layer. Some of the nurses on board the ship had given you summer clothes but you’d been wearing some of Izou’s old kimonos that he’d given you. It made his pride swell to see you wearing his clothes, even if they were now altered to fit your smaller body. You parted the kimono on your body, revealing your heaving chest underneath. You smelled like a late winter snowstorm as your scent bloomed with your increasing heat.

You scrunched your face in pain as a small whine left your body, your head turning to the side as if to not have him look at you. Your body was covered in glistening sweat and before Izou could stop himself, he ran his tongue up your bare sternum. You jolted like he’d electrocuted you, your thighs parting and flopping open as he finished removing your clothes. Slotting himself between them, Izou leaned over you, his long black hair falling like a curtain dividing the two of you from the rest of the world. 

“You are sure about this? That you want me to tend to you?” Izou asked, even as your fingers curled around the hems of his kimono and tugged him closer.

“I’ve never wanted another. Please, Alpha, it h-hurts,” you squinted your eyes shut again and shoved your nose into the crook of his neck, taking in his own rapidly increasing scent. Izou smiled into your skin, his canines already elongating for an event that wouldn’t be taking place.

During heat, Omegas became easily confused and unusually agreeable. This sometimes led to manipulation and falling prey to a mating claim that they didn’t want. Izou couldn’t contain his happiness that you chose him to help you through such a vulnerable time, that you trusted him so deeply. He knew you didn’t truly have many options - no one but himself and Whitebeard spoke Wanese - but even so, you could have your pick from the hundreds of Alphas on board.

“You’re not alone, Omega. Let me take care of you,” he husked, already slipping his arms out from within his own robe. Your fingers spread over his chest and back, seeking as much physical touch as you could manage. Izou undid the ties to his own robes, allowing them to fall off his skin and onto the bed below. He was already painfully hard, his body responding to yours before you could confirm your consent. Even so, no matter what you said, he wasn’t going to claim you during the heat since the two of you hadn’t had a conversation about it while you were still coherent and in your right mind.

“ So beautiful, so sweet, ” Izou groaned as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him as close to you as you could manage. Now that you were naked, he cupped your rib cage in his hands as he covered you with his body. Tears pooled on your lashes as you winced in pain; Izou didn’t want to wait any longer, he couldn’t bear to see you in pain. 

“ I’m going to touch you, Omega. I need to check if you’re ready ,” he explained quietly as you began nibbling and licking his scent glands. The cramps you felt were releasing waves of slick from your body but he needed to ensure you’d be able to take his sizeable girth. He already felt your slick against his own thighs, but he wanted to double check to ease his own mind. 

“I’m ready, please. Please Izou ,” you begged, your reddened cheeks now stained with a few errant tears. Izou let out a soft grunt as you started rolling your hips against his core, as he reached his hand between your legs. As anticipated, your thighs were drenched with slick as he danced his fingers through the thin fluid. 

“Have you taken a knot before?” Izou asked, running his fingers up your thigh to your inner thigh. You shivered and tried to push yourself down further into Izou’s hand but he kept you in place, his protective side needing to hear your response. Pulling your head back from his neck, you opened your eyes a sliver, your pupils blown wide. 

“No. I’ve had sex but not that,” you said, your head resuming its former position against his neck. Izou wanted to roar with the primitive feeling of first -  that he’d be the first to knot you, that you’d had no other in that way but him, that you’d been kept safe from being hurt or injured during an Omega’s most vulnerable time. He had no doubt that if your shitty stepbrother had been an Alpha he would have tried it - just the thought made Izou’s blood burn with the desire to kill that louse. Maybe he’d take a detour from the main ship after your heat and finally get rid of that festering excuse for a beta…Izou’s attention snapped back to you as you sniffled in his arms, another splash of slick hitting his thighs.

“ Izou, I c-can’t, it h-hurts, please, ” you cried with a hiccup, tears now running down your face. Izou hushed your cries with a kiss as you writhed beneath him, needing your Alpha. There’d be a time for preparing you more, for dipping his head between your thighs, but you needed him immediately. Izou fisted his cock, pumping it a few times before positioning his weeping tip at your entrance. He entered you slowly, your panting breath a reverent hymn to his ears as he allowed you to adjust to his size. He gave a low hiss as your tight heat welcomed his thick cock, every inch a torturous delight. He kissed your neck as he slowly pushed himself to the hilt within you, stopping only at the massive knot at the base of his cock. 

You bit your lip as he continued to nibble your neck, making his way down to your scent glands. Your gummy walls tightened around him as he began thrusting shallowly, trying to prepare you as best he could for the experience of your first knot. Even Omegas who’d been with many Alphas said the first knot of a heat was the most intense and needed the most preparation.

“ More, Alpha, more,” you begged, arching your back. Izou internally scolded himself for neglecting your lovely breasts. Izou put one of his forearms by your head, leaning his bodyweight down over you to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. Tugging harshly earned him a sharp intake of breath from you as you lurched forward in his arms bringing your breasts closer to his mouth. He repeated the action, rolling his tongue around the hardened bud. Izou switched to sucking, your shaking hands now raking through his hair, pulling harshly with every lap of his tongue.

Izou started fucking you in earnest, pushing himself as deep as he could within you before pulling himself nearly all of the way out. He wanted to rut into you, to fuck you into the matress like an animal, but you deserved more than that for your first time together. Your thighs quivered around him as you threw your head back, moaning loudly. Normally Izou wasn’t one for loud sex, wanting to keep his personal affairs private when he could. But now? He wanted the entire ship to know who was pleasing you, who kept you sated in your time of need. 

Izou got onto his knees, grabbing your ankles and hoisting them onto his shoulders as he increased his pace, snapping his hips faster against your core. You closed your eyes as you mewled a small cry, likely to filter out some of the overwhelming sensations of your heat, but Izou couldn’t bear to be apart from you. He burned with the overwhelming base urge to drive his knot into you, to tie you to him and force you to keep his seed in your body. 

“ Open your eyes, Omega,” he commanded you softly, hoping he didn’t have to order you harshly. He’d imagined your first time together a few times and given your more timid nature, he didn’t think you’d appreciate an overbearing Alpha. Your eyes blinked open as you focused in on his face. “It is selfish, but I wish to see you,” Izou said, leaning down to brush his lips over yours. You bit your lip as he watched his cock disappear into your body, your hips gyrating in a rhythm matching his own.

“I’m c-close, Alpha,” you whined, your fingers tightening on his biceps. Izou wasn’t surprised, Omegas in heat were known to come often and easily with little stimulation. He parted your lips and began rubbing your clit gingerly with the pad of his thumb. You tried to squirm away from the sensation but Izou kept you in place to accept the outlet that you needed, not necessarily only what you wanted. 

“Come, little Omega,” Izou cooed at you. You dug your fingernails into his muscular arms, the sting barely registering as Izou watched your face contort with pleasure. “Come for me, I want to see your beautiful face as you come on my cock,” Izou husked. He felt you pulsing around him before your eyebrows pinched together and you let out a loud wail. You shut your eyes as your muscles constricted but he didn’t stop you this time, allowing you to ride your pleasure within your own mind. Izou was now pounding into you relentlessly, his narrow hips thrusting against you as his own pleasure was riding him on razor’s edge.

Your chest was still heaving with exertion when he pulled out of you completely. Your whine turned into a squeak as Izou flipped you onto your hands and knees in front of him and re-entered you in one fell swoop. One of his hands stayed on your hip while the other snaked back between your legs. Izou grabbed and kneaded your ass as it bounced against his thighs, stopping only to smack it lightly.

“It’s t-too soon, I -  I don’t think-” Izou ignored your weak cries, he already felt your body preparing for another orgasm. Your fingers were curling in his sheets, your feet seeking purchase against the bed as he continued to rub your clit.

“Trust me, Omega. Let me guide you,” he said, his long hair brushing against your bare back. You turned to look at his face, your eyes shining bright. You gave him a small nod before putting your elbows on the bed, laying your head flat against the mattress. Your submissive pose triggered something in Izou, something he’d never felt before with any bedmate he’d had - the desire to knot you. Despite his assurances that you should trust him, he’d never actually given an Omega his knot before either. He’d never wanted to remain connected to an Omega more than just for a tumble in bed, their harsh scents irritating his nose. 

Until now.

He rubbed your clit in small circles as you trembled beneath him, barely able to hold up your own bodyweight as Izou’s tempo increased. “ I’m going to knot you, don’t be afraid,” Izou managed to grit out as he pushed his knot past your swollen lips against your entrance. You tensed so Izou increased his attention to your clit as he continued to piston into your tight channel, his other hand leaving your hip to rest against the middle of your back.

You arched your hips and choked out a harsh groan as slick gushed from you, your second orgasm hitting you faster than the first. Seeing you undone beneath him had Izou growling and snarling as his felt his own orgasm creeping over him. Fire spread through his veins as he continued to pump into you, his vision blurring into white.

He threw his head back and roared as he pushed his knot into your cunt. Your breath hitched as your drenched pussy readily accepted him, your entire body growing taut. The pressure from your tight heat on his knot had him grunting his orgasm, his pace stalling as he came deep within you. You smelled heavenly, like the purest crisp night of winter and it was all Izou could do to keep himself from claiming you. Izou gritted his teeth and used his immense self control to prevent himself from biting down in the spot between your shoulder and neck. 

As your orgasm receded, you were panting with your eyes shut, your chest heaving as Izou leaned down and kissed between your shoulderblades. The two of you would be joined together for at least half an hour or more, depending on how fast his knot receded.

“ You’re doing so well, taking my knot like the perfect Omega you are,” Izou purred at you. A faint blush spread across your cheekbones as you averted your gaze. “ Let me show you the pleasures of knotting an Alpha,” he breathed against your hot skin. Izou slowly began rocking his hips against you, using the knot inside you to put additional pressure on your gspot. You squirmed and whined, thrashing your head against the mattress. The sensation was intense for him as well, making him groan as you tightened against him. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Izou asked, concern ringing in his voice. He wanted to give you the best possible experience and had heard of the delights of thrusting while knotted. However, if you wanted a break, he’d provide that to you instead.

“N-no, it feels good,” you whispered. Izou smiled and placed his hand between you and the mattress to press on your lower belly where his knot was inflated. 

“ Does my little Omega like that? Do you like being knotted by my fat cock?” Izou whispered into your ear. The blush that had previously been on your cheeks now returned tenfold, spreading down your chest. You didn’t reply verbally but nodded your head. Izou continued rocking and pressing, finding the spot on your lower stomach that had your toes curling into the sheets. After a few moments, your voice shook as you came with a cry, your tight cunt further milking Izou’s cock within you. 

Your limbs were shaking and threatening to collapse so Izou quickly pushed the two of you to your sides and laid you down on the bed, spooning together as you came down from your high. You threw your forearm over your face, but Izou gently removed it. He opened your loose fist and brought your hand to his face to kiss your palm. You looked back to him and cupped his cheek, pulling him forward for a slow kiss as Izou continued to grind into you. Your small whine was captured by his mouth as he wound his hand under your cheek and lifted your head towards his own. Your neck was exposed, which renewed Izou’s animalistic urge to claim you. 

“Be careful, Omega. It is…challenging not to claim you,” Izou said, flashing you his teeth. You gave him an inscrutable look before shifting yourself to cover more of your neck once more. Izou reached down for the blanket, covering both of your bodies before wrapping an arm around your middle. You were joined together by his knot but even so Izou pulled your torso as close to him as you could be. The room fell silent for a few minutes as your breathing evened out. Izou spent that time running his fingertips up and down your skin, admiring the goosebumps left in his wake.

“Can we stay like this for a while longer?” you asked, as you bit your lip and clenched down on Izou’s knot once more. You were watching for his reaction, to see if you could affect him the way he affected you.

“Naughty little Omega ,” Izou hissed with a smile, moving your hair to kiss your temple. He’d have to find a book on Omega anatomy and physiology in the ship’s library and translate it for you. He should have anticipated that you wouldn’t know much about your designation and would need additional information. Wanese culture wasn’t particularly forthcoming about sexual matters and given the language barrier you’d been living with since you were a child he should have deduced you wouldn’t know common facts about heats with Alphas.  

“We have to remain this way until my knot recedes. If I pull away from you now it will cause extreme pain and perhaps damage you,” he explained as you ran your fingers through his hair. You gave a satisfied hum as you wrapped his arms around your breasts, your nipples still puckered. There’d be plenty more time for pleasure over the coming hours, and you needed your rest for what was to come shortly.

Your POV

Your fingers felt like they were grasping a bolt of silk as the soft hair slipped through your fingers. Someone’s head was between your thighs, making you moan as their wicked tongue lapped at your core, your legs resting on his sinewy back. Your body was sore but it felt heavenly - like someone was tending to your needs instead of just taking what they wanted.

Looking down with hooded eyes, you smiled widely - you knew this scene very well. You tried to will it to your mind every night when you were falling asleep and sometimes you were successful.

“This is my most favorite dream,” you sighed, spreading your legs even wider. The man between them picked up his head and smirked back at you in the way he always did when the two of you were like this.

“And do you dream it often?” Commander Izou asked you, his hair falling in a curtain and pooling over the tops of your thighs. He was as charming and sensual as ever, his face somehow more real than it had ever been. You reached down to run your thumb over his cheek, pleasantly surprised to find his skin warm. Your dreams had never been this vivid before but it was a welcome change.

“I wish for you every night,” you said, laughing and rolling your head to the side. He paused in his ministrations, resting his chin on your lower belly like a pleased cat. 

“And what do we do in these dreams?” he continued, kissing your inner thigh. You laughed in earnest now, squeezing your thighs around his head. His hands were still under your thighs and he squeezed your ass lightly in response.

“Sometimes we talk, sometimes we kiss, and sometimes we do this,” you said with a pat to his cheek. “Really though, the ones where we talk are just as good.”

“Oh? I should stop this then?” the Commander asked, removing his hand from under your thigh and dancing up the top of your leg.

“No, but you’ve never teased me before! You always just tell me what I want to hear!” you explained. He knew his part, that this was just wish fulfillment for your pitiful existence. Izou in your dreams was the only thing that made anything bearable.

“What do I tell you?” he asked, his face softening. You huffed, your irritation growing by the moment. You didn’t want to play a game of questions, not when your core was clenching around nothing. 

“You’re there too! You know what we talk about! You tell me about your adventures on the seas, how you always wanted someone to love you, how you need me, how you’re so happy you found me, that I’m special to you. Then you tell me that you’ll claim me and I’ll never have to be sad or hurt or lonely ever again,” you finished, swallowing thickly. Izou frowned, the first time you ever remembered him doing so in one of your erotic dreams.

“Do you know where you are right now? Who I am?” Izou asked calmly, his eyes roving your face.

“You are Commander Izou of the Whitebeard Pirates. I am nobody important and where I always am when I’m asleep - in my bed in my shack,” you replied tersely. “This isn’t the way the dream is supposed to go. You’re supposed to keep pleasing me until I can’t help but come,” you whined. Izou’s frown relaxed back into the familiar soft grin.

“Is that so? Is that how you want it to end?” he asked languidly, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs once more. You settled down on the bed, something starting to build in you once more. It was slightly unpleasant but the soreness in your limbs told you it had been satisfied before. 

“I always wake up before I come, that’s the most frustrating part,” you groused as Izou lifted your legs once more.

“Well, let’s have your dream ending the way you’d like, sweet Omega,” Izou said, licking his lips. Izou settled himself back down in between your legs, nibbling and licking towards your core once more. You moaned and arched your back as Izou swirled his tongue around your clit. 

“Aaah~ j-just there,” you mewled, grabbing his hair once more. Izou’s large hands held your thighs apart as they threatened to close again, this time from pleasure. He ate you like a man starved, like the only thing he needed to continue living was your slick. Taking a break from circling his tongue on your clit, he licked a long stripe up from your sopping hole, making you squirm. You tried to wriggle out of his hold but he kept you pinned in place, his tongue resuming its former position against your clit and licking you mercilessly.

Thrashing, you scraped your nails on his scalp but Izou had you grinding your cunt against his face. You were so close to coming, but couldn’t quite reach it until he inserted two of his long fingers into you, the lewd squelching noise drowned out by your moans. The band inside you kept winding tighter and tighter as Izou pumped his fingers in and out of your pussy. He pressed on a spot deep within you as he gently grazed your clit with his teeth and the band finally snapped. You screamed his name as you came on his tongue, writhing and grinding yourself as hard as you could onto his beautiful face. He continued to lick you until you gently pushed his head away, needing a break from the stimulation.

You shivered as Izou kissed your clit gently one more time before disentangling himself from your lower half. Moving to lean over you, he dipped his head to kiss your lips deeply. You tasted your own desire on him, your tangy slick mixing with his heady scent as you kissed him back. You gazed up into the eyes of your dream lover and gave him a sad smile.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t dream of you at all,” you said trying to memorize every detail of his face. This was the best dream you’d ever had featuring Izou, you didn’t want it to end. But morning always came and dream Izou always left.

“Why is that?” Izou said, his face now an impassive mask. You rolled to your side and tugged him down next to you. He allowed you to move him as you cuddled up to him. You placed your ear over his heart so you could hear the steady thrum as you recovered from the orgasm he’d just bestowed on you. 

“It makes waking up without you even harder.”

Izou's POV

A few hours later you were sleeping in your preferred arrangement - lying on Izou’s chest. As he had expected there had been several more rounds of sex, all ending in you being knotted. This particular time his knot had already receded but you’d fallen asleep before he could attend to you further. Watching your chest rise and fall against his own, Izou felt himself relaxing in a way he’d never been before, like puzzle pieces clicking into place. Izou wished he could remain like this with you for eternity, but he needed to get you water and food before the next wave of heat hit you. 

As your Alpha, he was responsible for tending to you for both your sexual needs as well as your base physical ones. He had to make sure you drank water and ate food as well as bathing you in between sessions. Izou personally hadn’t attended any Omegas in heat due to their overly pungent smells, but tending to Omegas in heat was something his brothers took very seriously. Thatch had practically castrated the last Alpha who let his Omega get a UTI from lack of bathing during their heat, and Marco had assigned a crew member to changing bedpans for a month for the same crime. Izou didn’t need to be warned though - even without their rules, Izou’s own personal dedication to hygiene would have him bathing you at least twice a day.

You’d be in heat for at least another day or two and he needed to ensure you remained healthy for the duration without intervention. The last person he wanted around you right now was another Alpha like Marco. He’d have you see Marco after your heat was entirely over just to ensure you were in top condition but the longer he could keep you to himself the better.

Izou gave you one last glance over to ensure you were still asleep before leaving for the kitchens - he didn’t want to miss a single moment when you were awake. Closing the door softly, his pace down the hall quickened at the thought of you waking and finding him missing, crying out for him in your confused state. Normally Izou was always completely dressed, in full makeup, and without a hair out of place. However, he was currently barefoot and padding down to the kitchens dressed only in the bottom half of his robes, his top half completely exposed. 

Reaching the kitchens, Izou rummaged around gathering foods that would be easy for you to eat and digest during your heat. Many Omegas lost their appetites for the duration, their bodies putting all their energy into sexual functions. Still, he wanted to offer you some and encourage you to eat so that your recovery would be a little easier. Izou wanted to make the excursion as brief as possible and get back to you but unfortunately there were always others in the kitchens no matter the hour.

“How’s the little lady?” Thatch asked mildly, working on the stovetop as Izou located some dried fruit in a nearby cupboard. Thatch was cooking some kind of chicken dish and plating a few wings and breasts on top of some steaming rice while Ace waited off to the side.

“Ha, you look like shit,” Ace said, pointing his finger at Izou while he kicked his legs while sitting on the counter. “Undressed and no makeup too,” he teased, his eyes flicking over Izou’s seldomly exposed skin. Ace’s usual teasing was far too familiar for Izou’s liking and he hadn’t appreciated Thatch’s comment about you either. A rumble came unbidden from his chest, his eyes flashing as he turned to face his brother.

“Ace, don’t torment him,” Thatch reprimanded lightly, handing over the prepared plate of meat to Izou. Though his own hunger hadn’t been on his mind, Izou suddenly found himself ravenous as he set down the plate of food he’d been making for you. Izou leaned over the counter and ate with both hands with uncharacteristic haste in his desire to refuel his body as fast as possible.

“Whoa, is that what I look like when I eat? Wish Tasuke could see you now. Wonder how she’s doin’ if you look like this,” Ace continued with a laugh. Izou’s head snapped up like he’d heard an alarm bell ringing. His eyes narrowed in focus until all he saw was Ace’s smiling face. Izou felt his muscles tensing, his whole body burning now with the desire to shed his brother’s blood. Izou threw down the food in his hands and pushed his plate away, the sound echoing in the nearly empty kitchen. Izou took the few steps to Ace and grabbed him by the jaw, his long claws digging into the freckled skin of Ace’s neck. 

“Don’t you dare speak of her,” Izou snarled, snapping his long canines in Ace’s face. Thatch’s eyebrows hiked in surprise as he pried Izou’s hand off of Ace and placed his larger body in between Ace and Izou.

“Alright, alright. He didn’t mean anything by it,” Thatch said, glancing between Izou and Ace. Izou closed his eyes and took a deep breath to try and recalibrate himself. He’d heard of Alphas getting overly aggressive during an Omega’s heat but he hadn’t thought it would be so instantaneous. His brief calming session didn’t work as a waft of Ace’s fiery scent hit his nose, reigniting his anger. Would you like the other Alpha’s scent? Or did you want someone younger, like Ace? An Alpha who was already making moves to take his place?

Izou snarled and snapped while lunging for Ace, his focus only now on Ace’s unsure and confused face. Thatch grabbed Izou by the shoulders and held him back, signaling for Ace to leave with a toss of his head. Ace took another unsure glance at Izou before nodding, practically running out of the kitchen.

“We don’t need all this. Ace is just being a shithead, he doesn’t know better yet. Calm down,” Thatch demanded roughly, bobbing his head to try to catch Izou’s eyes as he tracked Ace’s movements. 

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” Thatch thundered, shaking Izou roughly. Izou snapped out of his trance as Thatch’s words finally registered. He looked at his brother, a Commander he’d been serving with for decades and felt the rage seep out of him, his anger deflating. 

“You good?” Thatch asked, his massive hands squeezing Izou’s shoulders. Izou nodded and Thatch removed his hands.

“I am sorry, Thatch. I don’t know what came over me. I will apologize to Ace,” he said, consciously relaxing his shoulders from their aggressive stance. 

“Nah, do that later. Ace’s comments were over the line and shouldn’t’ve mentioned her name. Don’t think this situation has come up for him before, I’ll have Marco give him the whole birds-and-bees talk. Raised by wolves, that one,” Thatch said with a sigh. He flicked his eyes over Izou, giving him a frown.

“Don’t let others see you get that aggressive, especially Pops. There’s a reason unclaimed Omegas aren’t allowed to remain onboard, no matter what their scents are like,” Thatch said, passing Izou back his plate of food. Izou nodded, thankful it was Thatch who’d caught him at his worst. Izou ate in silence, quickly clearing the plate. Izou barely tasted the food, his mind bouncing between his shameful actions and the thought of you alone in his chambers. Thatch piled some fresh fruit on the plate Izou had started for you and handed it back to him. 

“Don’t worry too much about it. Me ‘n Ace aren’t going to snitch. Go back to your rooms, I’ll see you in a few days,” Thatch said, clapping Izou on his shoulder. Izou cringed away from Thatch’s harsh scent of mint and lemons but it didn’t trigger anger like Ace’s had.

“Thank you, Thatch,” Izou said with a low bow. Grabbing the plate, he hurried back to his quarters to remove Thatch’s faint lingering scent before you woke up. 

Taglist: @mfreedomstuff @extremely-ashtridic @sunnyferr @animefreak818 @epochal-oracle @sparks0918 @rebeccawinters @one-piecelover

[bingbongsupremacy]

Pleasee, do another pt on drunken mistakes? It was sooo goood and I also want to say how good you writing is and I love your writing so much!

Drunken Mistakes Pt. 2

Pairing: John Murphy x Reader

A/N: Sooo...it's been like a year since I made this. Maybe 2 or 3? I'm so sorry. I didn't know where to begin with this part. I hope you like it! Thx so much for your support and your kindness!

Warnings: Use of Y/N, Pregnancy, swearing, throwing up. (We are going to pretend that season one took MONTHS long to develop bc that's what works for this one-shot.), Not completely show accurate but somewhat like it

Series Summary: It was a one night stand. That's all it was. Little did you know that it'd lead to something else.

Part Summary: Murphy's accepted he's going to be a dad. While his behavior towards you has definitely changed, his hot-headed behavior with others hasn't. It's what gets him in trouble and leaves you wondering what you're going to do next.

*Not Proof Read* Pt. 1

No Specific Description of Body type or race

Murphy and I are silent as he leads me in the direction of his tent. His eyes are trained on the ground in front of him, like he's lost in thought.

I try to ignore the lingering eyes of others around us. They whisper quietly amongst themselves, wondering why I'm so special.

If only Mbeige kept his mouth shut. I could've found a better way to tell Murphy and come up with a plan.

We finally make it to Murphy's tent. He pulls the flap aside, allowing me to enter before him.

My eyes wander around the tent as I enter. It's a lot bigger than I remember. To be fair, the last time I was in here, I wasn't focused on examining the space.

On the opposite side of the tent flap is a worn sleeping bag neatly spread out. To the side lies a journal and pen, a backpack, and a few other personal belongings. The tent is clean and organized.

The tent slightly darkens as the entry flap falls down to close. Murphy takes a seat on his sleeping bag. "Are you sure?" He asks quietly while looking up at me. "There's no way this isn't the flu or a stomach bug or something?"

I shift uncomfortably and wrap my arms around myself. "Pretty sure. I didn't believe it at first, but...Clarke said some of my symptoms match up. A stomach bug wouldn't last this long. " I explain. "And I think I'm starting to show." I slightly lift up the hem of my shirt, revealing a small, barely noticeable bump. "I also haven't had my period in a while."

Murphy is silent as the information sinks in.

I observe him nervously, my heart pounding loudly in my chest.

Murphy's eyes flicker back and forth between two different spots in front of him on the floor. "Fuck." He mutters quietly while tightly clasping his hands in front of him.

This is the last thing either of us needed.

My stomach sinks as my head fills with possible things he could say next.

"And there's no possible way this baby could not be mine?" He asks gently.

I feel my cheeks heat from slight embarrassment and frustration. "Well, I haven't exactly been sleeping around if that's what you're asking. Our thing was a one-time thing. I haven't been with anyone else."

"Just figured I'd check." He mumbles. "I didn't meant to call you-"

"It's fine." I understand where he's coming from. Some people are very sexually active here, I just don't happen to be one of them. Our thing was a spur-of-the-moment, drunken decision. One that's changing our lives forever and has made everything so complicated.

Murphy's head lifts up, causing a piece of his bangs to fall to the side of his face. His blue eyes meet mine. "What are we going to do? How-how do we go forward from here? I don't know shit about kids." His tone is serious, with no evidence of his usual sarcastic personality.

His response surprises me. It's the opposite of what I expected to hear.

My eyes widen slightly. "You want to help?"

Hurt and surprise flash through Murphy's eyes, like he can't believe I'd think he'd do otherwise. "Look, I know I've been a dick in the past, and I'm sorry, but I'd never be a deadbeat dad. I know how much a kid needs their dad." Vulnerability shines in his eyes with his honest response. "I know we don't know each other very well, but I will try to help you as much as I can. Just let me know what you need."

His genuine kindness warms my heart. His behavior now is so unlike what I've witnessed before. For a moment, it's hard to believe he's the same person who's helping Bellamy run the camp.

Murphy speaks again. "What do you need now? Do you have a safe place to stay?"

"I usually sleep in the drop ship when there's room." Most days, the drop ship is safe. Every once in a while, someone will get too drunk and cause a scene. There have been a few fights and incidents, but nothing bad enough to steer me away from the drop ship yet.

Murphy's brows furrow as if he isn't pleased with my response. "The drop ship? Didn't someone get stabbed there the other night?"

I roll my eyes. "He didn't get stabbed. It was more like a nick. The two guys involved were way too drunk, and they started fighting over the hammock. It's really not that big of a deal; it's not like it happens every day."

At some point, I want to get my own tent. I'm not sure where I'll get the supplies, but I need to make my own. I'm tired of sleeping with one eye open. And I doubt they'll let me sleep in the dropship with a crying baby. I have to start preparing now.

Murphy's expression is one of disbelief, telling me he's heard the stories and rumors and doesn't believe me. "You can stay here."

"Are you sure? I don't want to impose-" I begin.

Murphy shakes his head. "You're fine. I've got way to big of a space for just me anyways. And I'll be able to keep an eye on you, make sure you're okay. We'll figure this out."

This turned out a lot better than I had thought. I just hope that we can be the parents this baby needs.

I'm so scared of accidentally letting it down or getting it killed.

One day at a time, Y/N. Just take it one day at a time.

----

It's been a few days since Clarke told Murphy. We haven't told the rest of the camp outright, but there have been rumors.

I've heard people talking when I walk by. Some think I'm pregnant, some think I'm trying to sleep my way up the ladder. Some have no idea what's going on. Everyone knows something is up.

The camp has been tense these past few days, especially between Murphy and Wells. The boys have gotten into fights a few times, but thankfully, they haven't progressed into anything extremely violent.

Murphy's still hot-headed towards most people, but thankfully, he's changed towards me. It was a little strange to adjust to at first.

Instead of forcing me to move logs or work on other heavy-duty tasks around camp, Murphy assigns me simpler jobs. Sorting supplies. Tending the fire. Keeping inventory of rationed food. It’s subtle, but I know he’s watching out for me.

Still, tension thickens in the air each day, curling around us like smoke. Everyone’s restless. Resources are running low. People are hungry, tired, and very angry. They're looking for someone to blame.

It doesn’t help that Murphy's patience is wearing thin. He’s always been a firecracker, but lately, it’s like he’s holding a lit match in a dry forest.

And then it happens.

Wells is dead.

And Murphy’s been accused of killing him.

It’s chaos-people shouting, pointing fingers. Clarke and Bellamy trying to control the mob while the others circle Murphy like vultures. He's already got a bruise blooming on his cheek, lip split from someone’s punch. He’s not even fighting back. Just standing there, breathing heavy, blood from someone else on his hands.

I shove through the crowd, heart in my throat. "Murphy!"

He turns at the sound of my voice, and for a second, his eyes soften. But then his shoulders straighten, jaw clenches. He doesn’t want me involved. "Stay out of this, Y/N." His tone is firm. I almost miss the slight panic behind it.

"Tell them it wasn’t you," I say, stepping close despite the stares. "Tell them the truth." Murphy may be an asshole, but he's mostly talk. Yeah, he'll get into fights, but he's not the type to kill anyone. Besides, last night we spent hours trying to make a list of all the things we need to get ready for when the baby comes, a nearly impossible feat with the limited resources we have.

"I did,” he says. “No one believes me."

"Because your idea of honesty usually comes with a side of threats."

His smirk is bitter. "Thanks for the support."

I glare at the others. "He didn’t do it. He wouldn’t—"

"Stay out of it, Y/N," Bellamy cuts in. "This is camp business."

I open my mouth to argue, but Murphy touches my arm lightly. He shakes his head once. "Don't. It's safer if you stay out of this. You've got someone else to think about now." He says firmly while glancing down subtly at my stomach.

Instinctively, I wrap my arms around my stomach, an uneasy feeling bubbling inside.

What am I going to do if they kill Murphy? First of all, he didn't do anything wrong. Second of all, I need him. I need his help. There's no fucking way I can do this by myself. I'm terrified for him and us.

"Murphy, what are we going to do? If-if they do this, what do I do?" I ask, my breathing picking up from panic.

Murphy's eyes betray his false confidence. "You're going to be fine. Clarke...Clarke will help you. She hates me, but she doesn't hate you. You guys are going to be fine." Murphy's about to say more when he's ripped away.

They drag him to the edge of camp. Someone brings rope. A few of them chant for justice. Bellamy doesn���t stop them. They throw the rope around Murphy's neck, pulling him towards a tree like he's an animal.

I can’t move. Can’t breathe. My legs are frozen, and my voice is stuck in my throat.

Bellamy is shouting. Clarke’s yelling too-something about justice, about Wells, about how we can’t keep letting people die-but it’s all white noise because they’re going to hang him.

"Stop!" I scream, finally, pushing forward through the wall of bodies. "You can't do this! You don't even know it was him!"

"Just because you're fucking him doesn't give you the say to spare a murderer!" Someone spits.

"He's always said how much he hates Wells. It makes sense that he'd be the one responsible for his death. Murphy needs to pay!" Someone else shouts.

Murphy’s face is blank, expression distant, like he’s already halfway gone. "You think you’re any better?" he barks suddenly, eyes flicking around at everyone. "You think just ‘cause you’re scared, it makes this okay? You think killing me will bring Wells back?"

Bellamy shoves him toward the tree. "We all voted. This is what justice looks like now."

A noose is thrown over a branch. The knot slips tight.

I lunge forward. "Don’t! Please!" I beg, attempting to reach Murphy. Mbiege and a few of Bellamy's friends roughly hold me back. "You don't understand, I need him! My baby- our baby needs him!" I stammer frantically, not even realizing what I revealed to the entire camp. "Please, I don't know what I'll do without him!"

The crowd immediately grows louder at the confirmation of my pregnancy. The majority still agree to kill Murphy, but a few begin to disagree with the punishment.

Murphy’s eyes snap to mine. For a second, he looks terrified. Not of death-of me seeing it happen.

Then a small voice cuts through the crowd.

"It was me," someone whispers. "I did it."

Heads turn.

The noose pauses mid-air.

Charlotte steps into the clearing, trembling, eyes brimming with tears. "It was me. I-I killed Wells."

The silence that falls over camp is louder than any scream.

"What?" Bellamy asks, stunned.

Charlotte breaks down. "He said my parents were gone forever. I just wanted the nightmares to stop."

Everyone stares at her like she’s a ghost. No one can believe this child could be capable of something like this.

Murphy’s face is unreadable.

Then Bellamy rips the noose from Murphy’s neck, and the moment shatters.

I break through the arms around me, rushing to Murphy's side.

"Get her out of here!" someone shouts.

"No, protect her!" Clarke argues, shielding Charlotte.

The crowd erupts. People are shoving and yelling. No one knows what to do. It's utter chaos.

And Murphy… Murphy’s breathing like he’s about to explode.

Bellamy turns back toward him. "You need to back off."

Murphy’s fists are clenched so tightly, his knuckles are white. "You were gonna kill me for something I didn’t do! You were going to leave my child without a father, " he growls. "You think I’m just gonna forget that?"

Charlotte bolts.

Without warning, Murphy sprints after her.

"Murphy-!" I start to follow, but he spins around fast, catching me by the arm.

"No. Stay here. I mean it, Y/N. STAY."

I shake my head. "I’m not-"

He cuts me off, voice sharp. "I mean it, Y/N. Stay in camp. Don’t follow me."

Before I can say another word, he’s gone.

I hesitate for all of three seconds.

Then I run. If he kills Charlotte, Bellamy won't hesitate to kill him, this time for real. He's acting impulsive.

The forest blurs as I sprint through the trees, heart racing, branches clawing at my clothes and skin. I search for hours, unsure where the hell everyone is.

Maybe this was a stupid idea.

I hear distant shouting. A scream. Heavy footsteps pounding the earth ahead.

I follow the noise.

Up ahead, I see flashes of movement-Murphy’s jacket, Charlotte’s pale figure darting between trees, Clarke and Bellamy not far behind.

"Stop running!" Clarke yells.

Charlotte screams again.

Murphy catches her just before the cliff. He grabs her by the arms, his face a mask of fury and pain. "You ruined my life," he snarls. "They almost killed me!"

I burst from the trees just as the others arrive behind him.

"Murphy, let her go!" Clarke yells.

"She killed Wells!" Murphy screams. "And you let her walk around camp like it was nothing! Where was this forgiveness when I was about to be fucking hung?"

He looks wrecked. His eyes are wild, red around the edges, his entire body shaking with fury and betrayal.

Charlotte thrashes in his grip, crying, screaming. "I didn’t mean to!" Charlotte wails. "I didn’t mean to kill him, I just-I just wanted the nightmares to stop!"

Bellamy steps forward. "Murphy, this isn’t the way."

"Why not?" Murphy spits. "You strung me up. You let them beat the hell out of me. And now you want to play civilized?" His voice breaks, just a little. "I didn’t do it. I didn’t. This kid almost cost me everything."

I step forward, breathless. "Murphy-please. Think about this. You still have everything. Just let the kid go so we can go home. Think about the baby."

He sees me then. And his face twists-not in anger, but devastation. "You weren’t supposed to come. What if you'd been hurt?"

"I wasn’t going to let you go through this alone." We might not know each other well, but this baby means that we need to support each other. We're connected, whether we like it or not.

Clarke steps forward, arms raised, slow and careful. "You’re not a killer, Murphy. Don’t become one now."

His grip on Charlotte tightens.

And then-she yanks away from him.

"No!" Charlotte screams, tears blinding her. "I won’t let anyone else die because of me!"

Before any of us can move-she turns.

And throws herself off the cliff.

Everyone rushes to the edge, but it’s too late. She's gone.

Murphy stumbles back, eyes wide. "I didn’t-I didn’t mean for her to-"

No one says anything. We're all shocked.

Bellamy’s face hardens. "You’re done here," he says flatly.

Murphy doesn’t react. Doesn’t flinch.

"You’re banished."

"What?" I breathe, stepping forward. "You can’t-"

Bellamy turns to me, his tone sharp. "He chased a child to her death."

"She jumped," Murphy says, voice empty. "She chose."

"But you drove her there," Clarke says quietly.

I look at Murphy. He’s staring down at the forest floor like he’s not really seeing anything. The fire in him is gone-burned out completely. All that’s left is ash.

"Come back to camp," Bellamy says to me. "Now."

"We'll take care of you, Y/N," Clarke reassures me. "We'll get you what you need."

"I’m not leaving him," I say.

Murphy finally looks at me. "Yes, you are."

"Murphy!" I protest.

He walks toward me, slow, deliberate. His face is unreadable now, locked down. "You said you’d stay in camp. You promised. I can't take care of you out here."

"That was before they kicked you out," I whisper. "What are you going to do out here? How the hell are you going to survive?"

"I'll be fine. I always am. I've taken care of myself for a long time." His voice is low but firm. "You’re not safe with me. Not right now. Not with a baby on the way. I'd be crazy to let you stay out here with me."

"I don’t care-"

"Well, I do." His hand trembles as it reaches up to brush a leaf from my shoulder. "You have to be smart now. Smarter than me. You think this baby stands a chance out there? You think I can keep you both safe with no food, no weapons, everyone out for blood? You have to survive this. Even if I don’t. For the baby."

I shake my head furiously, tears spilling now. I hate myself for it. "Murphy-"

He leans in, voice barely audible. "Please. Don’t make this harder." And then he steps back. "Tell the kid I'm sorry, alright? I fucked up and just because I didn't get to meet them, doesn't mean I don't love them. I do, more than I've loved anything in a long time." He swallows harshly, his eyes reddening. "And I'm sorry I did this to you. I really am. You deserve a better father for your kid. I'll find you both again. I promise."

"Murphy, please," I beg, trying to follow him.

Clarke holds me back. "Let him go, Y/N."

Murphy's jaw tightens as he watches me try to get away from Clarke. "Take care of Y/N and the baby. Please." He asks Clarke quietly. He hesitates. Like he wants to say more. Like he needs to.

He doesn't. Murphy walks into the trees, not looking back once.

This time, I don’t chase him. I know it wouldn't be smart to. He's right, I have our baby to consider. I have a higher chance of survival with the group.

But every part of me wants to.

--2 months later---

Life's been rough since Murphy was kicked out. Emotionally and physically.

When I returned to the tent that night, I found a few things Murphy had been gathering over time. Extra cloth for diapers and clothes. Blankets. Little carved wooden animal toys, handmade by him. I'd seen him working on something during downtime in the weeks leading up to his banishment. I just didn't know it was for the baby.

It was hard. Knowing I'd be a single mother without any sort of guidance. The only person with any sort of experience caring for a child is Bellamy, and at the moment, he's on my shit list. I have no idea what to do.

Clarke has tried to be a resource. She's helped me figure out where to get the things I need. Told me what the next few months are going to look like for my body.

Not everyone around camp has been so generous. People like to talk, and my pregnancy, combined with the fact that Murphy is the father, has given the group plenty to gossip about over the past few months.

I try not to focus on the negativity, though. In a few months, I'll have a little baby. Someone to love and teach. And I can't wait to meet it.

I just wish Murphy could meet it too.

Sometimes I wonder about what happened to him. I wonder if okay and if I'll ever see him again. I hope I do.

Life's been rough since Murphy was kicked out. Emotionally and physically.

When I returned to the tent that night, I found a few things Murphy had been gathering over time. Extra cloth for diapers and clothes. Blankets. Little carved wooden animal toys, handmade by him. I'd seen him working on something during downtime in the weeks leading up to his banishment. I just didn't know it was for the baby.

It was hard. Knowing I'd be a single mother without any sort of guidance. The only person with any sort of experience caring for a child is Bellamy, and at the moment, he's on my shit list. I have no idea what to do.

Clarke has tried to be a resource. She's helped me figure out where to get the things I need. Told me what the next few months are going to look like for my body.

Not everyone around camp has been so generous. People like to talk, and my pregnancy, combined with the fact that Murphy is the father, has given the group plenty to gossip about over the past few months.

I try not to focus on the negativity, though. In a few months, I'll have a little baby. Someone to love and teach. And I can't wait to meet it.

I just wish Murphy could meet it too.

Sometimes I wonder about what happened to him. I wonder if okay and if I'll ever see him again. I hope I do.

Life's been rough since Murphy was kicked out. Emotionally and physically.

-----

It's a quiet day. The sun is just barely coming up when I hear someone yell. "Someone’s coming!"

I rush out of the tent, heart jumping in my chest, immediately alert. The gates creak as they open, and I can already see people moving to intercept whoever’s approaching. I’m too far back to see much, but something in my gut pulls me forward.

I push through a few people just in time to see him.

Murphy.

My breath catches at the sight.

He’s thinner. His skin is pale and clammy, and his clothes are ragged and dirty, like he’s been dragged through hell and barely came out the other side. But it’s him.

He’s back. He kept his promise.

"Murphy," I breathe, taking a step toward him, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Y/N-wait!" Clarke’s voice stops me. She grabs my arm, holding me firmly in place. "Don’t go near him. We don’t know what’s wrong with him."

"But he’s-he’s sick," I stammer, struggling against her grip. "He needs help."

"And he’ll get it," Clarke says, her tone firm, but not unkind. "But we need to be smart. He could have anything."

Murphy stumbles forward and collapses to his knees. A few guards rush to him with weapons drawn, unsure if he’s a threat. Bellamy steps forward, clearly just as stunned as the rest of us, but he holds his composure better than I do.

My chest tightens. He’s alive, but he’s sick-really sick.

Over the next hour, Clarke works fast. She sets up a quarantine zone and has Murphy moved there. I stand on the edge of the crowd, heart hammering in my chest, hands curled over the swell of my belly. I want to go to him. I want to make sure he’s okay. But I can’t. Not yet. As much as I hate it, Clarke is right. Who knows what Murphy's got.

I overhear Clarke talking to Finn and Raven. Murphy has some kind of virus-one she’s never seen before. She suspects the Grounders gave it to him on purpose. A form of biological warfare. It’s highly contagious.

People start panicking. There’s talk about kicking Murphy back out-again-but Clarke shuts it down. She wants time to figure this out. To treat him. I feel helpless, watching from the sidelines.

In the days that follow, people begin falling ill. Clarke fights to stay ahead of the infection, doing what she can with limited supplies and limited time. I stay in my tent, doing my best to keep calm and to stay away from anyone who looks even remotely sick. I can't risk it.

I haven’t seen Murphy again-not directly. But I hear updates.

He’s not doing well. The virus nearly killed him. But Clarke’s treatment is starting to work. Slowly, he’s recovering.

The day they finally let him out of quarantine, I’m sitting outside my tent, sorting through a pile of cloth scraps I’ve scavenged for baby things. I look up when I hear footsteps and there he is-Murphy.

Alive and walking. His eyes are dull but focused. While obviously still recovering, he looks a lot better than before.

He sees me. "Y/N."

"Murphy."

It’s awkward at first. Neither of us knows what to say.

"You’re... back," I manage to whisper.

"Yeah. Clarke says I'm not contagious anymore." He stops a few feet away, unsure whether he’s allowed to come closer. "They’re letting me stay. For now."

My eyes sting, and I blink quickly, trying to stay composed. "I’m glad."

"Me too." He nods once, his gaze flicking down to my stomach. His eyes widen slightly. "Whoa," he mutters. "You-uh. You’ve grown."

I snort softly, some of the tension breaking. "Yeah. That’s what happens when you’re pregnant, remember? Not convenient but impossible to avoid. It makes normal tasks 10 times harder." I sigh, gently rubbing the bump. "But it's worth it."

He rubs the back of his neck. "Right. Yeah. That's got to be rough."

"That's life." I gather the cloth in my hands and awkwardly try to lean against a nearby log for support to help me get up. I really need to stay off the floor.

Without a second thought, Murphy rushes forward and grabs my arms. "I've got you." He mumbles while pulling me up. Once I'm finally on my feet, he keeps on hand on my forearm to make sure I'm steady.

"Thanks." I feel my face heat up in embarrassment. "Should've thought that through earlier."

"It's okay." Murphy is a lot calmer than before. All that aggression and impulsiveness is now replaced with quiet exhaustion.

"You look tired. Do you want to come inside?" I gesture to the tent we used to share.

He hesitates. "If that’s okay."

I nod and lead him into the tent. Some of his old things are still in a corner. His backpack of clothes and supplies. Next to his stuff is a small basket I weaved to hold the baby's items. The cloth, the carved toys he made. The little stuffed bear I put together for our baby to play with.

"I didn’t touch your stuff," I say softly. "Didn’t feel right."

He kneels slowly near the little corner I’ve made for the baby and his stuff. He pulls out the little wooden toys he made. "You kept them."

"Of course I did," I reply softly. "You made them. For the baby. I wanted them to know how much you loved them."

He looks like he’s trying not to cry. He carefully flips the wooden toys over in his hands, obviously fidgeting. "I’m sorry… for everything. For getting kicked out. For not being here. For making things harder for you. I was so impulsive. I didn't think about how this would bite me in the ass. I just wanted them to feel how I felt."

"It definitely was impulsive, but I understand why you did it. Just please try to think about it next time?" I reply gently.

"I definitely will." Murphy reassures me.

I really hope so.

It’s quiet for a while after that. The camp has started to settle for the night. Outside, the firelight flickers softly against the walls of the tent. Murphy looks exhausted.

Even though he's tired, he insists on helping me get up and down.

"You have to do this every day, by yourself?" He asks in disbelief after helping me sit on the ground for the millionth time.

I hate how often I need to pee now.

"Yeah." I nod. "It's okay, though, I like to think it's helping me get stronger."

Murphy isn't amused. "You could get hurt. Why isn't anyone here to help you? Have they been helping you at all since I've been gone?"

I avoid his gaze. "They do what they can. Everyone's so busy. I don't want to bug them more than I have to. Besides, I can take care of myself."

Murphy looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn't. "Let me know when you need to get up. Or if you need any sort of help at all. I don't care what time it is. Wake me up and I'll be there. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Thank you, Murphy." I send him a small grateful smile.

He nods, a small yawn escaping his lips.

"You should take the bed," I say suddenly, scooting off the makeshift mattress to make room for Murphy, who's sitting on the ground. "You’re still recovering."

He frowns. "You’re pregnant."

"I’m used to it. Your body can't heal if you don't get good rest."

He opens his mouth to argue, and I beat him to it.

"Instead of arguing, why don't we just both sleep on it? We can both fit. If we squeeze."

Murphy stares at me for a moment, then nods. "Alright. Yeah. If you’re sure."

"I am."

We lie down, both stiff and tense at first, careful not to touch or break a boundary.

Then suddenly, I gasp.

Murphy jerks upright. "What? What is it?" I can feel his worried gaze on me.

I smile. "It’s just the baby. Little bug gets hyper at night."

His eyes widen. "It kicked?"

I glance at him. "Do you… want to feel?"

He hesitates-just for a second-then nods. "Yeah, I'd like that."

I carefully take his hand and guide it gently to the side of my belly. We both wait in silence.

Then, there it is. A soft, solid thump against his palm.

Murphy slightly pulls away in surprise. He's quick to get over it and gently sets his hand back in the place it was before. He lets out a breathless laugh, something almost like wonder lighting up his face. "Damn," he whispers. "That’s real. There's a real, living human in there."

"Yeah," I whisper back. "That’s our baby."

"Our bug." Murphy agrees. "I can't believe how big bug's grown."

I smile at his acceptance of the nickname. "Me neither. Soon we'll get to meet them."

Murphy's warm hand stays softly pressed against my stomach. Every once in a while, the baby will kick, and Murphy with press just a little bit harder, like he's trying to absorb as much of the interaction as possible.

"Clarke told me Bug is old enough to hear now. Sometimes I talk to them. I get worried, Bug gets lonely." I admit.

"That's sweet." Murphy hums. "I'm sure Bug appreciates it."

"You can talk to Bug too, if you want." I offer, hoping I'm not overwhelming the man.

"I'd love to." Murphy carefully positions his head inches above my stomach. "Is it okay if I...?" He asks, glancing at my belly.

"Go for it." I encourage him. "Little warning though, Bug might kick you a bit. Bug gets really active when you talk to them."

"That's okay." He gently rests his head against me. "Bug?" His voice is quiet, like he's afraid of disturbing the baby. "Hi, Bug."

He's greeted with a soft kick, earning a sharp inhale and laugh.

"There you are, baby. I'm your dad. I'm sorry I haven't been here lately. Dad messed up. But, I'm going to try real hard to be here when you come out. I'll teach you how to hunt and carve wood. We'll play with your toys and take walks." Murphy chuckles softly. "Maybe not as much when you're little, but when you're older, we'll do so much. And you won't have to worry about anything, because I'll take care of you and Mom."

My heart flutters at the sound of Murphy's dream for the future. He's just as excited as I am.

"Now, it's time for bed. You've gotta let mom sleep, alright? No kicking around. Goodnight, Bug." He whispers a goodbye. "I can't wait to meet you."

Taglist: @fallingblackveils @marinalo @oakleyshifts

(Sorry this has taken SO long)

[fumiscripts]

✦ OH, IN A BLINK, GONE!

✦ a monochrome record of Blink Gone with one sticker for Otoya Eita!

for :: @tired-xyra-urstruly! thank you for participating in the event!

content:: fem reader, badly written break-up, flings, angst

event post

Another fling. That's all that this was.

Otoya Eita. You know how popular he is, how easily he gets bored of relationships, and how he flirts with a new girl every other week. Your friends have disapproved of him, and you brushed them off, claiming that it was just another casual thing, that you aren't that far into him.

What a lie.

He had you hooked, head over heels. Crawled a way into your mind and stayed until you were addicted. Even when you knew this wouldn't last more than a few weeks, you held onto a thread of hope that you could fix him— that maybe he'll reciprocate the feelings you felt— and everything will go well.

You're not an idiot, but you were a hopeless romantic. You hoped. Even when deep inside, you knew you couldn't change him.

“Hey. Let's break up.”

In a blink, gone.

Otoya said it all too casually, like discussing the weather. Not even a hint of any other emotion other than nonchalance. A trademark of his character. And you wished he broke out of that indifference, because maybe then, you could've fooled yourself into thinking this hurts him, too. It would've made everything a bit easier to swallow.

You really were just a fling, and one that he has grown bored with. The rest were a blur, with choked up words and a crushing weight on your chest.

Those feelings still lingered, even as weeks have passed. Even with loud music blasting and vibrant neon lights, it still wasn't enough to drown out the piercing burn, the suffocating smoke that stuck in your throat and pricked at your eyes.

No amount of alcohol was enough to get you tipsy enough to tear your gaze away. Away from the man you promised a future with— a promise that's now being shared with someone else. It makes you feel sick, but you can't look anywhere else but him.

Not when Otoya is someone you can't ever forget.

© fumiscripts 2025. don't steal, repost, translate or modify my works without my permission.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere boyfriend is so pookie! Can’t wait to turn him into my yandere husband and start a family with him!

Would you be surprised if I told you he bought you a ring before he even introduced himself? Risky sure, but he knew you were meant to be before you even knew he existed.

And on your wedding day, you'll have to occasionally pinch him to remind him to actually talk to people and not just stare at you.

He's also 100% the type of guy who gets jealous when you spend more time with the kids than him. It doesn't matter that they're his kids too, you're his first and greatest love.

And if you have a son, just pray he's not a momma's boy or he'll spend the rest of his life with his dad silently glaring at him when his back is turned.

He's a wonderful father, don't get me wrong - but if he had to choose between you and the kids, its always going to be you.

[novasintheroom]

123. Desire

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 1.4k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: Vash slowly realizes that he wants to be yours.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3 (will post there and add link once AO3 is back up)

It comes up first one hot day in the town of Gargantan.

The bag of doughnuts crinkles in your grip as you weave through the morning bustle, heading toward the column of red at the end of the street. Vash knows he’s in trouble as soon as he smells it. You walk up to him, already giving a strange look. “What’s did you get?” You ask.

Vash laughs nervously. He keeps the two bags of doughnuts he already bought behind his back. “Just some bullets!”

You sniff the air. Lean forward and brush his cheeks with your fingertips. It comes away with powdered sugar. “Vash, did you get more doughnuts?”

He feels his stomach clench with guilt and hunger. Looking down, he gives a sheepish smile. “I just…wanted to try that other shop too.”

“Vash,” your mouth works, words forming and dissolving as you think of what to say. You’re fighting a smile. “We agreed we only had enough fun money for one bag of doughnuts.”

“I know.”

“We have three bags of doughnuts now, birdie.”

“I know,” he says again. He pouts, wondering what got into him. He’s usually much better about his money, but, lately, being with you…he feels…he doesn’t know. Like it’s okay to get food again. Even if it hurts the wallet a bit. “Hey, we don’t have to split a doughnut now, though! Look,” he pulls out a chocolate glazed doughnut, then another. “Two for one! BOGO!”

“You’re such a problem,” you groan.

He knows you’re joking. He knows. But something inside him shudders, and he wants to fix it. Make you feel better after his mistake. “Well, I’m your problem.” He says it as a joke. Tests the waters. See if there’s blood in them.

Your smile is genuine as you punch him in the shoulder, hitting the plating of his arm. “Yeah, you are. Heaven help me, but you are. Now give me a doughnut.”

The stirring of crickets in his stomach is the only warning he has of what’s to come. Your problem, he smiles, handing you a jelly-filled doughnut and eating his second with you. He likes the sound of that.

--

He toys with the idea. Handles it around and around in his head like a child with a very delicate antique, so clumsy with his hands but knowing how special it is.

It comes up again.

Nothing goes right all day, and by the end of it, you’re both tired and in a bad mood. Camping out in a buried, derelict ship is the last thing either of you want right now, but the ghost stories will keep the locals away. You set up your sleeping gear nearby. No fire tonight; there’s too many eyes searching for you two.

Vash can feel the breeze blowing through the holes of the ship. Cool, cool air that will turn to ice once the suns fully set. He looks over at you and sees the goosebumps rising on your arms, eyes picking out each individual hair standing on end. Vash chews the inside of his cheek. “Wanna sleep closer?”

It takes a moment for you to register he’s talking. Blinking, you look up. “Hm? What?”

 “Do you want to sleep closer tonight? For warmth, I mean.”

Your eyes flit across his face. You’ve always been a fan of your personal space. Vash isn’t sure you’ll accept. Then, you shrug. “Sure. Why not.”

The day must have really taken it out of you for you to say ‘yes,’ but Vash isn’t complaining. You drag your stuff over to his and set up sluggishly. “I’m mad about what that mayor said to you on the way out,” you say, baring your feelings like you do, always an open book. “He shouldn’t have called you that. Especially after we saved his daughter.”

He doesn’t feel like talking about it, a fresh wound on his heart that will heal anyway. So he hums and lays down. “I’m just glad we got away before they pulled out the whips. That was…weird.”

You laugh and scoot over to his side, and Vash can feel your warmth. “You think they’re into the freaky stuff?”

He laughs with you and shakes his head. He’s about to respond when you curl up next to him and place your head on his shoulder. Mouth drying out, a strange feeling in the back of his throat forms. You press your side shyly closer into his.

“You don’t mind being my pillow for tonight, right?” You mumble it, and he can hear the embarrassment in your tone. This is hard for you.

He clears his throat and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I’m all yours.”

It goes quiet, and Vash wonders if he said the wrong thing. But then your breathing evens out, and he realizes you’re asleep. The day really took it out of you, then. Carefully, he brings his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer. He doesn’t want you getting cold. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “all yours.”

--

What exactly is it that he wants?

You ask him this on the road. The suns are cresting some cliffs to the side, fall season turning the temperatures just a bit cooler – only just. And he says, “For love and peace to rule.” Typical.

“But what do you want? When love and peace is achieved and everyone’s happy?” You walk ahead of him, minding your steps, toeing an invisible line, kicking pebbles off to the side. “What do you want to be?”

He watches. Your figure curves as you bend over to pick up a white rock, throwing it up in the air and catching it again. You handle it, looking at the tiny crystals within that make it sparkle in the light. A habit of yours, he’s noticed – how you handle everything and everyone carefully, twisting them this way and that to find their hidden facets. You do it with him all the time. You’re doing it now, digging into his psyche, making him wonder about his own desires and wants. His eyes trace the shape of your lips as they purse.

Vash shakes out of his stupor when you glance at him, waiting for an answer. “I’ll probably be some kind of Plant engineer. Keep my sisters safe and healthy.” After all, what else is there for someone like him?

“Do you want to be an artist? An historian? You can’t just be an engineer all the time. What else do you want to be?”

His lips curve up. “I’ll still be with you, right? You’ve got the historian and artist bit down for the both of us.”

You groan and throw the rock away. The sands eat it up instantly, lost once again to the dunes of time. “Without leaning on me, Vash.” You look at him, eyes roving over his face for something he isn’t sure of. “When everything else is stripped away and accomplished, what do you want to be?”

Something in his chest erupts into butterflies. He knows the answer, cheesy as it is. Yours, yours, yours, his heart murmurs. I want to be yours.

--

It comes out in the quiet hours of the night, between dusk and midnight.

Your kisses are slow, sensual. He can’t get enough. The soft sand underneath, the cave overhead, the glow of worms in the distant sky through the mouth. You’re safe. He’s safe. His hands rove your sides, traveling under your shirt to massage the tender skin at your ribs. Your own hands travel from his neck to his stomach, back to his hair, feeling, feeling.

In a pause, a way to catch your breath, you look up at him in the blue gloom and grin. Your eyes are so full of love, twinkling like close stars. “Vash,” you murmur, petting your hand through his hair, tugging at the ends, his growing undercut. Your chests heave together, touching then retracting. Your nails scratch gently behind his ear, and goosebumps hike up his neck. “My Vash.”

It sends a shiver up and down his spine. Yes, this is what it is; this is what he has been searching for. And he should say something like ‘my mayfly,’ but what tumbles out of his kiss-swollen lips is, “Your Vash. Yours.”

Your laugh is deep and happy. He surges forward to catch it, feel it in his mouth as he kisses you again and again. “Yours,” he keeps murmuring, settling it in his own head, his own heart. “All yours. I’m yours.”

This is what he wants to be.

A place to belong. A place in your arms.

Yours.

[campingwiththecharmings]

Some Like it Hot (2)

AN: HIIIII. Right. So. Part one is here. This...diverted quite a bit from what I had originally intended but, I can't say that I'm too mad about it. 🤭 This has very little to no plot, negl.

(Un-beta’d)

Poe is your muse and you can't help but see the beauty in everything he does.

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 1,481 Pairing: Firefighter!Poe Dameron x Photographer!F!Reader Warnings: PWP, smuffy af, p in v, idiots in love, morning sex, please let me know if i missed anything. AO3

——————

You wake gently, the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains, filling the room with its glow. You smile, eyes fluttering as you stretch, allowing yourself to sink into the mattress a little. The sheets rustle beside you as Poe shifts, drawing your gaze. You take a moment to study him, splayed on his belly, your eyes tracing the soft curve of his lips, the sharp cut of his jaw, smooth brow, and stubbled cheeks. He’s a work of art, really. Just…stunning. Every inch of him is perfect, as if he’d been chiseled from a block of marble by the gods themselves. And if that wasn’t enough, he also had a heart of gold. Never in your life have you met someone so kind and caring, so ready and willing to help others. 

You’d started dating almost immediately after your encounter at your studio (quite literally that same evening), and now here you are, months later waking up with him in your bed. Maybe it’s strange but you love watching him sleep, love to watch the light from the windows play over his bare skin, love to study the way his short curls fall across his forehead. The artist in you longs to capture this moment, and you can’t help but give in. Silently, you reach over to the bedside table and grab your phone, quickly swiping the camera app open and pointing it at him. You take a few moments to get the angle just right, then click the shutter button. 

He knows, of course, knows your gallery is full of photos of him (and occasionally, him and you). That’s not to say that he really gets it though, how inspired you are by him. As far as he’s concerned, he’s just a regular guy. He’s supportive though, indulging your fascination.

Unable to help yourself, you roll toward him, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips. He stirs almost immediately, his full lashes fluttering as he opens his warm, brown eyes. You smile at him, pushing your fingers through his mussed curls.

“Morning,” you greet, your voice soft as you rouse him from sleep.

He returns your smile, eyelids heavy as he shifts and rolls onto his side to face you.

“Morning,” he says, his voice rough with sleep. 

His eyes drop to the phone still in your hand and his lips quirk in amusement. “Taking creeper shots of me again?”

You chuckle at his teasing, your cheeks warming. “Guilty.”

He grunts, reaching over and plucking the device from your grasp. “My turn.”

“No, stop,” you laugh, covering your face with your hands. “I haven’t even washed my face yet, come on.”

He tsks, grabbing your hands and playfully pushing them away. “You got me, only fair that I get you.”

You groan theatrically, pouting at him as he sits up and quickly your phone into position. “Yeah but, I’m not you.”

He snorts, the click of your shutter reaching your ears. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suddenly, you lunge, kicking the blankets away to free your legs and arms. He chuckles, moving the phone out of your reach. 

“Not all of us are as photogenic as you, Poe, just—give it back.”

He rolls onto his back laughing, your phone still clutched in his hand. “A photographer who doesn’t like getting their picture taken. Aren’t you a cliche?”

You growl, crawling over and up his torso, arm outstretched as you reach again for your phone.  “Shut up.”

His laughter becomes muffled as your chest presses against his face, the vibration sending a tiny shiver down your spine. You rise up slightly on your knees, the hand not reaching for your phone braced on his muscled shoulder. His free hand comes to rest on your lower back, steadying you as you reach. 

When you finally manage to take your phone back, he doesn't put up much of a fight, instead taking the opportunity to pull you even closer with his other hand. He nuzzles your breasts through your t-shirt, your breath hitching when his nose bumps against your nipple.

“You had ulterior motives, I see,” you breathe, the fingers of your free hand tangling in his hair as his hands slip down and underneath your shirt.

He chuckles, moving his face back from your chest as he pulls your shirt up and over your head. His hands slide up to your shoulders once you’re bared to him, his eyes meeting yours as he leans in to take your nipple in his mouth. Your lips part in a gasp, your fingers tightening in his curls, and he groans at the slight sting of his scalp. The vibration makes your hips jolt against him, your body instinctively seeking friction as desire quickly wells inside you.

You sigh his name as he releases your nipple, mouthing his way over to your other breast to lavish the same attention. 

“So beautiful,” he mumbles, flicking the tip of his tongue against the pebbled flesh before sucking it into the molten heat of his mouth.

Your head falls back with a moan, your phone slipping from between your fingers and landing on the plush comforter of your bed. Poe’s hands slide down to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he encourages you to keep grinding against him. You can feel the hardness of his cock even through the thick fabric of his pajama pants, your need for him growing. He groans as you move, pulling back from your chest, the absence of his mouth dragging your gaze back to his. You swallow hard, the combination of lust and awe in his eyes making goosebumps rise on your skin.

He pulls your mouth back to his then, licking into it languidly, as if he has all the time in the world. You melt into him, your bare chests pressing together as you wind your arms around his neck. You let yourself get lost in his kiss, in the soft, wet slide of his lips as they brush against yours. It feels like you’re drowning, drowning in a sea of bliss, a sea where Poe is your only lifeline.

Poe slips his fingers beneath the edge of your panties, his thumb briefly circling your clit as he slips the others lower. He works you open gently, your cries of pleasure muffled by his lips and tongue. He brings you to your peak quickly, drawing out your pleasure with each pump and flick of his fingers.

You share a moan when you finally sink down onto his length, your slick heat welcoming him, engulfing him. He pulls your mouth back to his as you begin to ride him, your body rising and falling shallowly at first. His hand on your hip helps to steady you as you gradually increase your pace, your hands braced on his shoulders. 

“Poe,” you whine, throwing your head back as you chase the pleasure racing through you. “Feels so good—fuck, so good.”

He groans as he watches you, his eyes almost black with desire. “You feel like a dream, sweetheart. So beautiful like this.”

A shiver races through you at his words, at his attention. He’s always like this, so present, making you feel so desired, like there’s no one else he’s ever wanted so badly as you. He pulls you close, pressing his forehead against yours as you race toward your release, groaning as you move and clench around him. You moan when his thumb finds your clit, his touch bringing you even closer to the edge.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathes, pushing his hips up from the bed every time you sink down onto him again. “Take what you need.”

A few more thrusts and you’re there, body going taught, mouth slack, as you sail over the edge. His moan is broken as you fall apart around him, your body squeezing him, trying to take him with you. He spills himself deep inside you with a groan moments later, his hips stuttering with the force of his release. 

You stay like that for a while, just wrapped around each other, his softening cock still sheathed inside you.  It’s comforting, having him this close, feeling this connected to him. Poe strokes your back soothingly, leaning in to press a soft kiss against the corner of your mouth. You smile, winding your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning across your skin as he melts into you.

“You working today?” you ask, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair.

He makes a noise, then shakes his head. “Nope. I’m all yours today, baby.”

You chuckle, eyelashes fluttering as he presses a hot kiss against the side of your neck. “Mmm, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

🌟 Masterlist 🌟

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[arjwrites]

left my heart at home for you to hold- dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: leaving you is the hardest thing dean has ever had to do, but coming back home is the joy of his life.

warnings: none, fem!reader

word count: .9k

a/n: my first drabble for my 100 follower event! based on the song russell county line by 49 winchester (how fitting!) thanks for the request, i hope you enjoy!! <333

arj's 100 follower event

xxx

“I miss you, sweetheart.” Dean's words came out almost desperately. 

The giggling of your response through the phone speaker sent a pang of hurt through his body. He was so sick of being away from you. On hunts these days, Dean felt like he was just going through the motions. He used to enjoy hunting, at least to some extent. He felt a sense of satisfaction and purpose when he ganked the monster and saved the day. But ever since you came into his life, nothing satisfied him like you did.

“When will you be home?” Your sweet voice bounced around in his mind and he held tight to the shape of your words, imagining them in the shape of you. Sometimes, when his eyes darted up to check the rearview mirror, he would swear he could almost see you perched back there, nodding along to the music and throwing him a cheeky grin.

A few days was the answer to your question, though he didn’t like it very much. Hunts these days felt lonelier than ever, and a routine three-day hunt stretched into lifetimes apart from you. Of course, his brother was right there next to him, thumbing through newspapers and lore books. Sam would jump right into discussing this next case the second Dean snapped the phone shut. But he wouldn’t hang up just yet. He’d hang on to this little scrap of you for as long as he could.

The hunt would go on longer than expected, like they always did. Each snag in the road would enrage Dean. He was always desperate, needy, longing to return home to you. More often than not, Sam would catch him distracted. He’d be staring off into space while researching, or zoning out while interviewing a victim’s family member. He just wasn’t on his game. It was like he wasn’t fully there- a piece of him was always left behind, his heart all those miles away, tucked into your gentle hands for safekeeping until he returned.

Eventually, things would come to an end and the boys would emerge victorious- sweaty, tired, and often bloody, but nonetheless victorious. Before Dean had you, car rides after a successful hunt were full of classic rock sing-alongs and lazy diner stops. It used to be a common occurrence to stick around, hit the local dive bar, celebrate a little. These days, however, when the bodies hit the floor and the case was said and done, Dean put the pedal to the metal. The second their work was done, he was ready to hit the road. Sometimes, Sam would turn away to say goodbye and offer some comfort to a victim, and when he turned back around, like magic, their bags were all packed and Dean was already posted in the driver’s seat, revving the engine and honking the horn. “Let’s go, Sammy.” As they hit the open road, Dean would press his foot down, reveling in the growl of the Impala’s engine as they barrelled down the highway en route home to his girl. 

There was a familiar routine when Dean returned from a long hunt. You’d always have some sort of meal ready, no matter the time of day, knowing he would be returning tired and hungry. He’d stroll in dramatically, tossing his bag down and throwing some sassy remark like “Honey, I’m home.” When you’d run up to him all smiles, he would wrap you in a hug that radiated the genuine love you had been missing. He’d pepper your face with kisses, absentmindedly recounting stories of the hunt that seemed boring now. Once he had you again, back in front of his eyes and in his arms, nothing else mattered. 

In the days between hunts, when life was normal for as long as you each could manage, Dean wouldn’t leave your side. He’d follow you from room to room, lingering in your presence for as long as possible. His eyes were always locked on you, drinking you in. He couldn’t get enough. Most often, he was quiet. His love for you was strong, silent, reverent, yet ever-present. But there were always moments where the feelings inside him became too much. They bubbled up inside him and threatened to spill out uncontrollably. It was in moments like this where he attempted to turn his sentiments into words. 

“I love you so much, you know that?” Dean spoke from his spot next to you as the two of you washed the dishes from dinner. Your beauty made the mundane so fascinating. He could see your face reflected in the shine of the plate you were drying, capturing your form in a way that was so uniquely you, and yet, could never live up to the real thing. 

“I love you too, Dean,” you hummed in response, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you placed the final dish into the cabinet.

“No, seriously.” He wrung his hands, turning from the now-empty sink to face you. “You’re home now, kid. It’s always gonna be you. I hate leaving, but I’m always coming back to you.” 

You smiled, wiping your hands on your jeans before taking Dean’s. You lifted his arms up, wrapping them around your shoulders and allowing him to pull you close. There you stood in the kitchen, swaying gently to a song that wasn’t there, yet you both could hear it so clearly. It was as if you could feel your life together growing up around you, sprouting and blooming. This was home, where Dean would always return. And you’d always be waiting.

[missfrustration]

strictly psychic business (reigen arataka x fem!reader) 18+

A/N: my first fanfic i wrote on ao3 two years ago. part 1 of the "strictly messin' with a psychic" series.

rating: explicit! minors do not interact please!

tags: smut, porn with plot, vaginal sex, oral sex, good person reigen arataka, smoking, one night stands, hook-up, top reigen arataka, light dom/sub, bro eats it like a madman, wacky socks, consent is sexy!!, no use of y/n

word count: 8k

part 1 part 2

You held the invitation to tonight's networking mixer in your right hand and your purse in your left as you scampered down the street. You were about a block away from the most prominent business event center in downtown Seasoning City, running slightly late. You cursed yourself for taking too long to get ready. On top of that, you should’ve figured that being a visitor of this side of town also meant it would take you longer to get there due to the unfamiliarity.

Looking in the mirror earlier, you felt too good to walk out the door so fast. You donned a silky blue mid-length dress that hugged your curves while still being modest. The front was a very subtle v-cut, while the back revealed almost half of your back. Your hair was styled earlier this morning, and your makeup was soft glam with a hint of dramatic brown eyeliner. Because of this, you had sway with each step of your walk that slightly lessened as you reached the event’s doors.

As you glance at the fancy door’s golden handle, you hear a voice coming from inside. You cringe, knowing it’s the host of the event. As you slowly open the door, your suspicions are confirmed. The CEO of the host company is finishing his welcoming speech, as everyone watches him on the main floor. This is horrible timing for you to walk in, but you take your chances. You meet a few pairs of eyes slightly gawking at you once you enter the room. They seem stragglers themselves from the way they are distanced from the main crowd, so you don’t mind.

As the host bro makes one more finishing statement, you scan the room more as people start to clap. You are hoping to spot some familiar faces from your company, only to be disappointed by the mass of bodies mostly turned away from you. Although it was a little isolating, you think you blended in with the others well enough that no one was giving you scowls.

From the corner of the hall, you spot a man that captures your attention. While everyone’s formed social cliques, is on their best behavior, and in classy attire, the man before you is the exact opposite. This dirty blonde in a tacky, gray suit is lazily leaning against the wall about 50 feet away from you. Plastered on his face is the most indifferent look you’ve ever seen. You notice his legs crossed over which reveal…some very eye-catching socks. Because of the distance, you can’t see the design save for the neon yellow and deep brown they have on them. They are very noticeable under his suit pants that were tailored too short for his legs. It’s impossible to tell if his pants were intentionally short or if it was just secondhand. One hand is resting above his head while the other is picking in between his teeth. As the audience roars with applause, he kicks off the wall and yawns.

People start to disperse around the hall now, both talking amongst themselves and heading to the different fancy food stands. You lock your eyes back on the blonde, only to be met with his eyes. He’s looking straight at you with a goofy smirk on his face. Before you could react, the contact was broken from the groups of people filling your vision. You get slightly annoyed at the crowd, and keep staring, waiting for the commotion to clear up. By the time you could look again, he was gone. You click your tongue, feeling like an idiot for trying to stare at some random stranger. ‘Whatever,’ you think, ‘let’s get this thing over with.’

-

About an hour has gone by since you arrived at the venue, and you’ve been relentlessly worn out. After meeting with some colleagues shortly after arriving, you meet some of the businessmen who are associated with the main companies that have sponsored the event. While you let your colleagues do most of the talking, you half-heartedly listened in on the conversations. You despised the networking aspect of your job. You could tell everyone, including collogues, feigned an excessively polite attitude while speaking to one another. It was all an act to create these hallow connections. After about an hour of this, with a minimal amount of business cards and contacts in your pocket, you dismissed yourself and found your way to the luxurious bar area. Typically, mixers don’t provide bars, much fewer ones that are all expenses paid. You can’t believe they had all this money to sponsor this… so you were taking advantage of it for the rest of the night. As soon as you got there, you flagged the bartender and ordered a vodka lime. As you sipped, you scanned faces at the bar table. If only…

You would want to talk to him. Out of all the different suited men, he was the most on your mind tonight. Exactly why, you weren't sure, but being able to ask him why he was here in such an idle way would give a little clarity. You wanted to know why you found him so enticing.

Then you spotted him.

He’s at the end of the bar with a big platter of food and a lemon sour. His finger is in his ear, and he slightly squints when pulling it out. Oh wow. And he doesn’t give a fuck. Hm.

By the time you decide if sparking a conversation is a good idea, you’ve already sauntered over to him. After your first glass, you were acting impulsive. His platter of food looks like it was previously filled to the brim judging by the number of empty toothpicks and cherry stems that scatter the plate. Only a few fruit cubes and a mini sandwich are what's left. You stop in front of him and briefly check out his socks. Upon close inspection, you can finally figure out that the brown and yellow socks he’s wearing are crudely drawn cartoons of monkeys and bananas, respectively. Oh, tooo funny, you thought. He sways his head up to look at you, slightly chewing the rest of the contents in his mouth as he tilts his head.

“Hey there.” You stifle a laugh. “Nice socks.”

“Hey, it’s you from earlier. That girl who came in super late. Thanks, I take pride in my appearance.” He emphasized the super and pointed to you as he took a small sandwich held up by a toothpick on his platter and chomped into it.

“Wow, the one and only. This seat taken?”

“What do you think? Be my guest, sweet thing.” He gestures towards it dramatically as you scoff at the name and sit.

“It’s not sweet thing,” you proceed to informally introduce yourself to the man with your name. “By the way, I didn’t stand out as much as you, Mister… uhh-”

“It’s Reigen. Reigen Arataka. The Greatest Psychic of the 21st Century is at your service. I would give you a business card but I’ve run out for tonight. You interested in my services?”

Not the services you typically offer. You thought. Stifling a laugh, you continue, “Psychic, huh? Why the hell did you get invited to a tech mixer? This doesn’t seem to be your scene anyway.”

“I’m just that good I’m needed everywhere. Actually, I could ask the same out of you, Miss I’m-too-pretty-for-this-place.” He emphasizes the last sentence with flashy hand movements, finishes the sandwich, and starts gnawing on the toothpick with a rather indifferent expression. Rodent-style.

You held back a blush at his subtle compliment and fire back, “That so? I was required to come here for company reasons and not of my own accord. Now, why don’t you answer my question about why you’re really here? I’m not buying your story.” You lean forward in your seat and look right at Reigen. He looks at you with a somewhat confused face, puts down his now abused toothpick, and sighs.

“I don’t fancy your attitude, I might just not tell you. Not that it’ll matter either way.”

“What about another drink in return?” You use your thumb to point at his now empty glass, offering to get him a new one in exchange for some answers. He’s fascinated you at this point, so you would love to see this conversation fully.

“I’ll pass. ‘M not trying to piss myself blackout drunk at the nearest gas station.” As he says this, he reaches into his suit pocket and grabs a pack of smokes. “Care for a cancer stick instead?”

“If I get what I want.” He shrugs at your response as you both head out to the nearest exit. It seems to be an outdoor patio about a hundred feet away from the bar and would be considered vacant save for the few bunch hanging around.

“Fine by me.” He responds. After two attempts, Reigen takes one cig out of the box with his mouth. He then meekly takes one out for you, and quickly retreats the pack in his pocket. The cigarette starts wiggling up and down gently in his mouth as you both start walking to the outdoor patio. As you watch him do this you nearly trip into the screen door. Reigen opens it for you in time, however. You hear him snort as he maneuvers his arm to keep it from bumping into you. It’s a small, sweet, and awkward gesture.

As you walk out, you met with a slightly cool air kissing your skin and amber lights dangling on the pergolas above you. There are a few seating areas with even fewer suited men smoking cigars and chatting. You both migrate to the balcony area, which looks over Downtown Seasoning City. It’s a beautiful sight that wraps up the whole venue, even if it’s not as noticeable to most of the guests.

“So… you're in tech?” Reigen hands you your smoke as he pulls out his lighter and brings it to his fresh one. It takes a considerable amount of flicks to light up and barely lasted long enough to light up the cigarette.

You shrug, largely unengaged with his question. “Yeah, software developer- My turn, what’s your angle? You should answer this time.” You lean back against the balcony with a smirk and lock eyes with him.

“You wanna know that bad huh?”

You nod, moving in closer.

“For the food honestly. That’s my answer, you happy?” He gives you a shit-eating grin, obviously enjoying the annoyed look on your face.

You pause for a moment and sigh, “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Oh well.” He chuckles at your response before it eventually dies out in the night air.

There is a moment of silence shared between you. Reigen drags a puff out of his cigarette as you think about excusing yourself. You should’ve guessed that you wouldn’t be satisfied with the answer of the man with unsightly, mismatched socks. Before you can, however, he speaks up.

“I wasn’t invited actually.” He sighs. You peer up at him with a raised brow. He continues, “They saw the suit and just let me in. I came here at first wanting to advertise my services to other businesses but instead got bombarded with them doing the same thing. It was obvious they didn’t even hear what I was saying to them… they are just so dang caught up on the next line they plan to say.” He takes another long drag of his cigarette and looks out to the city. “After the first few I gave up. I guess I can’t blame them, so I thought I would stick around and eat what I can. After all, free food digs, so I’on mind.”

You hum in approval and cross your arms. He seems like the type to rarely open up to others, much less a stranger like you. You appreciated the effort. Eyes still locked on him, you chuckled “You act more naturally telling the truth. I like that. To be honest, it blows ass. Welcome to my world, baby,” You gesture to the venue dramatically and give a half-hearted chuckle. “This just comes with the territory.”

“Sounds like it sucks. I feel bad for ya.” He looks back at you, a slight blush on his face due to the cold. You see he has a somewhat nervous demeanor for a few seconds before quickly switching back to his previous suave one. The subtle compliment you’ve given him must’ve struck a chord after all. After a few moments of locking eyes, you discover the deep brown that envelops his pupils. They resemble the color of deep, rich honey. You blush at yourself due to your admiration of a nearly total stranger and have to break eye contact out of pure embarrassment. He points to your cigarette gingerly, “Uhh, you need a light… yet?” It makes you snap out of any deep thought you were in.

You nod, “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” You never smoke, but you didn’t want to deny Reigen for fear that wouldn’t have indulged in your interest in him.

He takes out the lighter from inside his suit pocket again and scoots closer to you. He gently wraps his hands around the cigarette being lightly held by your lips and tries to flick the light to life.

Flick, flick, flick. Flick. Flick, flick.

Each time Reigen flicked the lighter, a light ignited quickly but died out quicker. You figured it was due to the lighter’s life nearing its end. The gradual wind isn't helping, either. He tries a few more times with his hand cupped more and body closer to yours.

“Tch. I don’t know if you will now.” He clicks his tongue again after the last try with his cupped hand lightly brushing your nose, sending a slight shiver down your back. You peer below his face and hands and just now notice his tie has been loosened and the button-down has the top two buttons undone, showing a glimpse of his collarbone. You two are so close that if you stretched out your hand a few inches, you could touch his chest. Does he know how enticing he is right now? You feel your breath hitch at the subtle appeal of it as you come up with a great solution.

“Sorry, ‘bout that.” He puts the cigarette back in his mouth as he retreats the lighter to the nearest pocket he can reach. As he takes a step back, you find the perfect opportunity to execute your plan.

“It’s alright. I found a better way, anyway.”

“What do you m-” You quickly step up to meet his face. You take your cigarette and meet it with the lit-up end of his. You lock eyes with a now surprised Reigen as you gracefully blow in through your cigarette to light it. Your faces are so close to each other that it causes both of you to blush. Reigen hitches his breath as he looks deep into your doe-like eyes with more intrigue. He’s suddenly way more interested in your intentions than he had been up to this point. However, you can tell this is very out of his comfort zone, as when you pull away, he’s frozen with both hands in the air and a cigarette holding onto his mouth for dear life.

You try to act as suave as you can about it, however. In a tone that sounds largely unaffected by what you’ve done, you remark, “Thanks, Reigen. Didn’t know I needed that until now.” You then take a long drag off your freshly lit cigarette with a flirtatious grin. You needed the nicotine as relief at this point to calm your nerves down, both excited and nervous about how he’ll react to your advances.

It takes a moment for him to respond. “Wow, I suppose like my women forward now.” He breathily says. He somewhat fidgets with his tie as he composes himself into that rather matter-of-fact demeanor again. “Are you trying to turn me on right now? Because it is so working.” You admired the way he could switch up so fast. It made it more enticing to get him riled up. He finally caught on to your flirting, too.

“Oh, of course not, sir.” You fake feeling accused, lifting your hands in surrender. “I wanted to talk strictly business here. My work is very professional, in fact.”

He ignored how ironic it is that you state how professional you are when you were the latest out of all the people at this mixer.

“Something tells me you’re not in the mood to talk about work either,” Reigen sarcastically states as he raises an eyebrow. He lifts his cigarette to flick the ash off. It sparks something primal in you as your last sense of inhibitions finally snap.

“Oh wow, I wonder what gave it away. So,” You step in closer and lean up to whisper in his ear, “What will you do about it?” Your lips lightly brush the lobe of his ear, and Reigen jumps from your hot, moist breath.

Reigen doesn’t respond for a moment. You see a drop of sweat roll down his forehead as you feel his arms shift around you. A thought briefly passes your mind, Why is bro so sweaty? “I see,” he murmured, “Well in that case...” You suddenly feel his hand firmly on the small of your back that skims just above your ass. The grip is firm and causes your breath to hitch.

“Sorry, it’s been a while. I’m surprised,” He doesn’t look as nervous anymore, now sporting a lustful grin. You sigh in both relief and lust as he finally states, “but I get the gist of what this is.”

“Yeah? And what do you think this is?” You start to toy with his pink tie as you look at the man merely inches away from your face. The amber lights of the patio reflect on his face and bring a spark behind his eyes.

“Heh. C’mon, I’m psychic, remember? I know what you want. Let’s go already.” He gives you a mischievous look as he starts leading you off of the patio with his hand still firmly placed. You shiver so much at his touch, it's enthralling. You can’t imagine how you’ll feel if things go beyond this.

“Well, I mean,” his hand leaves you as both wave around so frantically it's hard to follow. He abruptly stops and holds out his hand, inviting you to take it. He releases a breath that seems less easygoing than Reigen hoped for, and more exaggerated. “Uh, no pressure. Only if you want.”

You stifle a laugh as he gingerly takes your hand in his. You can feel the slight, no scratch that, excessive clamminess in his hands. You find it cute, but really… why is bro sweating so much? Whatever, a risk to spend the night with him is just what you need.

“You’ve caught me, Reigen. My hotel is only a few blocks away. Now, show me what a psychic can really do.”

--

As soon as you closed the door to your hotel suite you kick your shoes off, ready to jump Reigen. You spent the travel to your hotel mostly in idle conversation. Just from the few minutes, you learn that Reigen’s life is filled with interest that makes you further intrigued by his mystique. While it made you more intrigued, it made you even hornier.

What could you say, you were willing to see what powers this psychic really packed.

By the time you were prepared to pounce, you felt his hands latch onto you. With a soft but steady grip, Reigen pinned you against the wooden door of the hotel room. You shuddered at his forwardness, as well as the cold surface your semi-bare back was pressed up against. He doesn’t do anything following this for a while, however, and you squirm under his gaze for a moment before you break the silence.

“Hey,” You awkwardly said.

“Hey,” He says back. “This… this is okay, right?”

He lightly brushes your shoulder with his thumb, showing that’s what he was talking about.

“You’re cute. You ask me that after pinning me?” You blush as you giggle.

He blushes in embarrassment and rubs his hand behind his head. “Man, my fault… you’re sexy. You’re right, though. I apologize.”

You breathily respond, “It’s okay,”

“I can kiss you though, right?” He asks in barely a whisper as he leans in closer to almost touch your lips. You softly smile, nodding your approval. Like clockwork, you feel his lips press against yours tenderly for the first time. They are warm and soft, but a little chapped at the fullest part. His hand reaches the bottom of your jaw to lightly lift it, deepening the kiss. As you melt into it, a soft breath lewdly escapes you.

You want more of him, so much more than a kiss. You needed it now. Wanton ignites in your core as you hold his head between your hands. Your tongue reaches between his twitching lips, pleading for entrance. To your satisfaction, he swiftly obliges and invitingly parts his lips for you. You feel him shudder against you as you slip your tongue to collide with his. It ignites something in him, further deepening the kiss as much as he can.

The tender kiss you both shared is now escalating into an intense makeout session. With it, comes a plethora of flavors on his tongue that dances with yours. You taste the hints of lemon sour on his tongue, along with a slight taste of the food bar helpings he had at the mixer earlier. Above all, the taste of tobacco from earlier lingers, covering the insides of his mouth. You so softly shiver from the sensation.

Tonight was the night exclusive for only the two of you. It’s a night full of impulse and lust, which you would love to take to the fullest. Reigen must feel the same too, as confirmed by his break of the kiss. He must be reading your mind or something with how great his timing is. He lightly hovers his hand over the smallest part of your waist and looks deep into your eyes, “Is it good to touch you here?”

You meet him with the prettiest doe-eyes Reigen has ever seen. Although he peers into innocent hues of brown, he’s thinking of anything but innocent thoughts. After a moment of catching your breath, you give him a nod yes, which he instantly reacts to. However, he’s relieved that your waist is still clothed by your dress, as his now extremely clammy palms won’t be detected by you just yet.

He places his palm firmly on your waist and slides it up and down to gently caress it as continues his tirade on your mouth. You softly groan into it as your tongues dance together. His grip presses into your skin firmly, further locking you between him and the cool wooden door on your back.

He breaks the makeout periodically and asks the same question for your shoulders, down to your waist again, down to your hips. His touch is slowly driving you wild. It’s like he’s slowly teasing you, waiting for the perfect time to take it a step further. It’s riling you up and leaves you panting, wanting more.

With his free hand, he brushes your hair back and breaks the kiss once more. In a breathy rasp, he asks, “Can I kiss right here?” With his lips now hovered over the side of your neck.

Your core tingles at his words. In anticipation, you hold your breath as you whisper yes. He hungrily takes your neck in his mouth, starting with a wet kiss in the center. He connects his tongue to the kissed skin and traces it down to the top of your shoulder. You lull your head to the side to give him more room to work his magic. He stops briefly to caress your waist more as he travels back to the neck. He takes his lips and slowly peppers your neck with small kisses right up to the ear. You lean into his mouth as it slowly sucks onto the lobe of your ear. It sends a shiver down your spine as you mewl in approval. Your ears are too sensitive for this in all the right ways.

“What… What about here?” You hear the faint shudder in his voice as he whispers in your ear. His voice sends a spark from you as you realize what he’s asking. You peer down to see his hand lightly brushing over your left breast. Satisfaction washes over you after what has felt like hours of this little game he’s been playing.

“Please, Reigen.” You panted.

That’s all the motivation he needed. He releases a hot breath of relief, you squeak a little as he grabs your clothed breast in his hand and squeezes. His mouth stays on your ear as he nips and pecks all over. You instinctively grab a head full of his hair and tug at it as you slightly pant.

His touch is driving you crazy, your body feels like it’s being put into a trance by this psychic. It was so much, it wasn't enough. Either way, you knew that you needed more from him. You jump the gun and lean into him.

“Please touch me more, Reigen. I need more.”

Your words snap him out of his actions as he locks eyes with you, a bead of sweat rolling down his face as he responds. “My bad… it’s been a while. What do you want me to do exactly?” The pitch in his voice rises higher than it needs to at the last sentence.

You take Reigen’s tie in your hand as you lead him into the bedroom part of your suite. “First, can you help me with this zipper?” You turn around so your back is facing him.

“Oh, sure thing.” You think it takes him a bit to realize you mean the dress zipper, as Reigen stands idle for a moment. After a few moments, you hear him shift and land his hands on you.

He somewhat fidgets with the dress, lightly grazing the bare area of your back and checking the edges of the fabric for the zipper. You barely hear him murmur, ”What the- how do I even get this thing off...Ah! There we go.” which causes you to giggle.

“Got it- Hey, don’t laugh!” He lightly stammers. You both revel in an awkward moment, which pauses as soon as you both hear your dress fall to the ground. You forgot the zipper of the dress reaches down to your ass, which makes the dress instantly slip off if zipped down all the way.

The chilly air of the air-conditioned hotel suite instantly hit your back as you indistinctly arched into Reigen. His hands land on you as you fall back into him. Instantly, the concentration of his scent is prevalent when you lay the back of your head on his shoulder. You smell the cheap cologne he had on his neck, and the musk he carried which must’ve elevated from the amount he’s been sweating tonight. Finally, you could detect the familiar smell of cigarettes on his clothes.

“You… really don’t know what you’re doing to me right now.” He peers down at your now highly bare body with more of his hot breath landing on you. As you turned around to face him, he has a full view of your figure. Except for your frilly panties covering your ass, you left nothing to the imagination. You watch as Reigen slowly gazes at every curve and edge of your figure. From the plushness of your lips to the fat on your arms, the fullness of your chest and hardened nipples, to the small of your waist and wide hips you have, to the plump shine of your legs.

“God, you’re so sexy like that. I won’t be able to resist myself anymore.” He spits out. He covers his mouth with his hand as a dark blush envelope both of you.

You place his hand on your cheek and look up, “Then, touch me wherever you want.” You plead with him.

That seems to do the trick. He locks you into yet another feverish kiss as you help him out of his upper garments. He throws his blazer to the side. The pink tie swiftly slips off of him along with the button-up you both work on taking off. You instantly claim the newly exposed skin with your hands as he does to you. You feel the slight sweat on his body and palms as you both explore each other. He keenly grasps your breast once again, and you moan in excitement. He studies your face to see its reaction as he toys with both of your hardened nipples in between his fingers. He leans down and pops one into his mouth while continuing to play with the other. You rake your nails down his back, which causes his teeth to graze over the areola, sending electricity down your spine and heat through your core. You arch your back and lightly pant from the sensation.

Reigen comes back up with a pop that echoes throughout the room. He groans in approval. You were on fire with lust at this point. Needing relief, you grabbed his chin and lean into him.

“Reigen,” You mewl in his ear, “I’m gonna be honest with you. I'm really fucking wet right now and I might die if you don't do something about it asap.”

You swear you feel Reigen slightly jump into you in response. Suddenly in one fluid motion, he squats down, picks you up by your middle, and lifts you. Instead of dropping you, he carries you to the bed and softly presses you into the sheets. He sits back up and catches his breath, wiping the sweat off his brow. You raise your eyebrow, waiting for his response.

“I can uh, definitely do that for you. Now, is that a comfortable position for you?”

You gulp and nod your head. You rub your thighs together in anticipation as you realize just how wet you are. Your underwear feels slick against your heat due to how sodden it is. You whimper a little from the sensation as Reigen perks up from your sounds. He also craves more of you as you do him. He’s about to show you how serious he is about this.

“Great. Can I take this off?” Reigen gently asks, standing over you from the bed. You hold your breath and nod as his skinny fingers instantly hook around your panties. You feel the garment slowly slide down your legs, closing them to not reveal to Reigen how wet you are. You watch as he tosses them to the side and looks at you with a confused look.

You’ve grown a little nervous now, biting your lip and looking away from him to not reveal anything. It’s embarrassing that you didn’t think about this until after the man has you stripped down to the tee: you haven’t shaved in a bit. It’s not too bad, but it would be enough to ruin his night if he’s into bare skin only.

“Um, I haven’t… I haven’t shaved in a few-”

“A real man hunts through the jungle.” He deadpans.

“H-huh?”

“You heard me. I take pride in… well, you’ll see. But you won’t see if you’re like this.” Reigen sighs, gesturing to your body and slightly pinching the bridge of his nose before looking back to you. “What I’m trying to say is, it doesn’t matter to me if you have or haven’t.”

On his immediate response and genuine tone, you could tell he was serious. Of course, you still wanted to do this, but still, your thighs rubbed together, causing you to blush even harder. You feel his thumb gently on the plumpness of your calf.

“Relax. Open sesame.” He softly orders, raising an eyebrow. “Will you do that for me, darling?”

You swallow thickly. Now that you think about it, it’s him. The psychic before you sweats a little excessively and has the least business casual socks you’ve ever seen. You trust him, nod back to him, and begin spreading your legs. He smirks in satisfaction, blushing deeply.

“I’ll show you how much that means to me.” He soothed.

He grips both inner thighs and spreads them for a full view, causing you to bite your lip and squirm under his gaze.

“Wow,” Reigen stammers, “you weren’t kidding when you said wet.”

Reigen admires as your cunt glistens in the moonlight. Its illumination makes your juices almost sparkle as it seeps around your lips and down to your ass. “So beautiful.” He thinks out loud.

You feel his hot breath tingle against your heat, causing you to whimper in pure wanton.

“Please, please-” A moan rips through your throat and stops the words in their tracks when you feel Reigen’s hot tongue glide against your inner thigh.

“Relax, I said. I’ll take care of it.” He cooes, wanting to let his mouth do the talking.

His fingers keep a hard grip on the hamstrings of your legs, not letting them close in again. His tongue traces shapes and squiggles around the skin of your inner legs–slowly reaching their way toward your pussy. You start panting in anticipation. What a fucking tease he was. The psychic knew just what to do for you to want him more.

Your hips buck up trying to meet his lips, but to no avail. You groan in frustration, cursing the grip he had on your thighs. Your pussy throbs with the need for him to go further. He gets the hint, however.

“So needy!” He playfully huffs. God, he’s a piece of work.

Your thoughts are cut short as Reigen’s tongue traces one line from the bottom of your slit, to the tip of your clit. An inhumane noise spills off of your tongue and you unconsciously wrap your calves around Reigen to envelop him. He returns to the bottom again, tongue practically gliding in and out of your folds. There was little to no friction due to how wet you’ve gotten. He’s tasting all of you with one motion.

He flattens his tongue out on top of your clit. His right-hand releases the hold on your leg as it traces around your slit. With his fore and middle finger, he squeezes your labia, sandwiching your clit between them. With his now pointed tongue, he explores the bud with urge, keeping steady eye contact with you while doing so. You tremble under him, fisting his hair.

He begins a relentless pace on your sensitive bud. Electricity runs down your spine as you buck your hips into his face further. He already buried his face into your heat, lapping up all of your juices and slowly building up those white, hot coils of pleasure you’ve been craving. With the pace he’s going, you aren’t too far off.

Reigen's dark brown eyes study you during this. He wants to enjoy every reaction, every moan, every pant that you make under his touch. Your responses help him see what certain angles and touches get you undone. With a sweaty forehead, he quickly brushes the hair out of the way as you admire him. He looks so beautiful like this.

You whip your head back in bliss, unapologetically basking in your arousal. Fisting his hair, you use it to guide him in all the right spots faster, quicker. He looks at you, with a darker blush covering your face as moans and whimpers come out of plump, parted lips. He could tell your close too, and strategically laps it up like a madman.

You come undone further when he dips two long fingers inside your folds, curling in and out at a dizzying rhythm. He perfectly reaches the gummy spots inside you and pumps into them with vigor. His tongue increases its pace, creating sloppy sounds on your swollen clit from his spit and your juices. All the stimulation he’s given and the hard eye contact he’s given you this whole time is starting to unravel you. It was becoming enough to climax you right then.

“F-fuck, Reigen!” You start to lose your composure, mewling his name over and over as your grip on his hair trembles and your legs start to spazz. Your hips sporadically jerk all over Reigen’s face as you ride out your orgasm. Your back arches, seeing hundreds of stars in your vision, and shockwaves grip your body. You sing his name one last time like it’s honey on your tongue as your entire body goes limp.

You go completely still, basking in the afterglow from Reigen’s work. You’re guessing that his way of saying that he was rusty earlier was a cop-out. He was way too skilled for his own good. Frankly, if this is his version of being rusty, you are nervous about what he’d be like if he brushed up more on his game.

After a moment, Reigen comes back up and looks at you, finally pulling his fingers out of you.

“Holy crap! You came pretty quickly.” You glance at his face. Different types of juices from your pussy and his mouth have covered his whole face and dripped down his chin. His hand is floating in the air, with fingers covered in some of your creamy, sticky substance.

“No shit. You’re really good at that.” You cooed, sitting up.

“Of course. I take pride in all of my abilities.” He smirks.

He lays his fingers on your bottom lip, inviting you to suck on them. Looking deep into his eyes, you do so graciously. You messily lick it up, tasting the tanginess you’ve made. He seems pretty satisfied with this.

You just now notice the ache in his pants. Under his suit pants, his throbbing dick is almost begging to be let out. He notices you staring right at the tent, causing him to palm it for some release. His face slightly scrunches up, and you realize he needs this as much as you do.

“What do you want to do now, Reigen?” You roll his name on your tongue like butter.

His lips meet yours, causing you to taste yourself once again and focus straight on Reigen when he pulls away.

“I want to see you, I want to see you come,” He says shamelessly staring at your body. His hot breath dances over you.

You pretend to ponder his request, acting like you have to consider if you want to or not. “Hmm. I think we can work something out.” You respond, seeing some relief washing over his body.

With grace, you start undoing his belt for him. You unbuckle it, tossing it over with the other abandoned garments. He finishes the rest, shimmying off the suit pants and boxers, giving you a very generous view of what he was hiding.

You gulped at the girth of his cock. Under the shine of moonlight, you can see the length is average but very thick in girth. The tip was pink with a shaft decorated with several veins. Honestly, it doesn’t match up with the skinny build he has, but you weren’t complaining. Reigen watches as you lick your lips, telling him you like what you’re seeing.

The first impressions of his freed member completely distracted you from those socks again. Now without his pants covering them, you see that his socks are abnormally long. They go halfway up to his calves. You blink in disbelief. Bro what.

“Again, nice socks. You keepin' them on?” You tilt your head in confusion. If he didn’t just finish giving you the best head in ages, you would have really questioned why you brought this man here. You really couldn't take mismatched monkey and banana socks seriously.

“Yup, they bring me good luck. Take this night, for example, that’s what attracted you to moi, correct?” His eyelashes playfully flutter as he flamboyantly gestures to them. He sits down on the bed, adjusting himself to directly face you.

You scoff at him and roll your eyes, trying to take him down a few pegs. “Yeah,” you giggle, “something like that.”

“Hah, that’s what I thought!” He suddenly takes the meat of your hips and pulls you towards him, causing you to gasp.

Your back falls against the bed, as Reigen sits over you.

“So, are you gonna show me what a psychic’s real powers are?” You jokingly purred.

“Only if you want me to, pretty girl.” He sits over you, rubbing the bottom of your cheek.

That’s all you want at this moment. He pulled you in the perfect position for him to sheath himself inside you at any point, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Please do, I need you inside me.” You beg him. Reigen steals your lips then in another steamy kiss, both of your bodies pressed together. His skin is warm against yours, feeling his cock rub right against you.

He pulls away and travels down your body in kisses and bites. He takes a few moments to suck the flesh around your breasts, leaving a few lovebites dancing around on your skin. When he reaches your legs, he takes both and gently places them on his shoulders.

Oh fuck. He was about to destroy you with this position.

He takes his cock, rubbing it up and down against your entrance to coat himself in your juices, earning a delicious whimper from you. He couldn’t help but admire the lewdness on your face. You look so beautiful like this to him. With one last question of consent and you nodding, he lines himself up with your entrance and tenderly pushes it in.

The feeling of him stretching you is so sensual, you start to hiss as you feel him inch by inch. You trembled, feeling your walls stretch farther than they’ve had before, taking a while for you to adjust. Every single inch you take in makes you want him more. You and Reigen both share a sigh of pleasure the deeper he plunges in, a deep blush speckling both of your skins.

“Fuck… hah, that's good. You have… no idea what you’re doing to me right now.” He grunts. His voice felt like a drug to you. He finally sheaths himself in you, feeling dizzy by how you swallowed him up with such warmth. He couldn’t control himself anymore.

“Show me then, Ara-AH!” You gasped as he suddenly pulls out just to hilt himself again, urgently. Seeing how well you’ve taken him, he continues with a raw, languid pace of pumps into your core.

Indescribable pleasure fills your body like electricity as your back arches. You feel stars each time he pulls out just to thrust himself back in again. Still, you haven’t fully adjusted to his girth, turning you into a moaning mess. You try to cover your mouth to stop the unholy noises from coming as your body clamps down around him. To no avail, you can’t even bite down on your lip to stifle them. You look at him, admiring the sweat running down his forehead as he lets out breathy groans and grunts from above. You grab onto his arm, nails digging into his flesh as you shudder from his girth. His face contorts into one of pure pleasure at each pump he dishes out to you, his hips powering the movements with vigor.

Your toes curl at the delicious sensation that you feel each time he fills you up. As pleasure takes over pain, you were desperate to move along with him. Unfortunately, your legs that are wrapped over his shoulders pinned you against him and the mattress, making it hard to move them against his firm shoulders. Your hips slightly roll up, bucking to meet his, resulting in a shock of pain and pleasure reaching you as he hits your g-spot just right.

You instantly dissolve into pleasure, lewdly reciting his name on your tongue like it was the death of you. With each pump, he was carefully unraveling you into a hot mess as you reached closer and closer to your climax

Against your better judgment, you moan his given name more, followed by a symphony of pleasurable hums and moans.

“Ugh, please say that again.” His pleading voice sounds so angelic, you had to oblige.

“Yes… Arataka. Hah…” You breathily moan.

“Again.” He growls, pulling out and pounding in even harder than before. The room radiates with the clapping of his balls against your wet cunt. Its lewd sounds and a new wave of pleasure from Reigen’s girth puts you into a new wave of existence.

“S-shit!” You follow with even more whines of his name. His pleas to keep you talking have you turned into an incoherent, blubbering mess under him. It was fucking hot being ordered around like this. You wouldn’t be able to resist the climax anymore

He picks up to an unrelenting pace, with his hips snapping up and down relentlessly on your already sore cunt. His hands lock onto the edges of your hips, giving him more force to pound into you. You squint your eyes shut and your knuckles turn white, awaiting the right moment to peak your crescendo. You just needed a little bit more.

In between his thrusts, it’s almost as if Reigen read your mind, knowing exactly what you need. In a slight pause, he praises you. “Jesus, you’re beautiful.”

His words push you over the edge. You thrash under his body, the orgasm taking over your entire being. You silently scream in pleasure with the widest mouth you could muster. You clamp around his member as spasms radiate throughout your body. Reigen’s breath hitches, watching the angelic show you’re giving him and almost stopping from how hard your walls have started squeezing around him. It flared a newborn vigor for him, however, as he tries to jackhammer through to his end.

After the first few seconds of the first wave, you whimper numerous profanities and praises on your tongue, barely registering what you are saying. You feel almost drunk off of Reigen’s touch, bucking up for more satisfaction.

Meanwhile, the show you’ve been giving Reigen sure has done well. He calls your name in pleasure, looking down at your flushed face as he also starts to slowly teeter over the brink of cumming. His pace is relentless, trying to chase of own end.

At times like this, you think it’d be good to give some words of encouragement. “Please, cum for me, Arataka.”

His damn explodes, shooting ropes of white hot cum inside of you. Reigen weakly rides it out, giving airy moans with each mindless thrust. Your walls milk every last drop of his seed that he has to offer to you, as his hips violently sheath into you once last time.

His body quakes under you as he also goes limp. He practically falls on top of you, your tits giving him a perfect cushion to rest his head upon. You gracefully accept, however, enveloping his sweaty body and damp hair around your arms.

You both take a moment to catch your breath, amazed with each other and yourselves for what a mixer night has brought. There’s nothing in the air for a while except for the two of you breathily recovering in your afterglow.

You mindlessly run your fingers through his dampened hair, fully satisfied by what this man had to offer to you. He put that work in, which was highlighted by the ripeness of his sweat.

After the silence of the night takes over, and you both have recovered from your climaxes, you look at his face, softly giggling when you see he’s been peeking up at you this whole time.

“Yeah. Not too fucking bad for a night, Mr. Psychic.” You purr to him.

“You said it, alright.” He responds, brushing the remaining strands of hair on your forehead. He pauses, “Y’know, if you ever want more of my services, definitely call whenever you need a, uh- spirit exorcism. I always treat my clients well.”

“I’m sure you do, Reigen.”

------

Part 2 here!

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[aihaloos]

Tempted to write a replaced au twst fic where Yuu (or alternatively, I'll use my Yuu, Riyuu, who is basically who I'm writing this for) used to be the cutest girl around, the cheery one who's always around everyone, the one you can't seem to dislike even if your crush falls for her because she earnestly says sorry (even though it's not her fault) and will always help you out if you need her back in her old school. But one day, a new girl comes around and her whole reputation got destroyed. She helps the new girl adjust, tells her all the rumours and introduces her to all the popular kids. But the girl ends up backstabbing her, telling the popular girls rumours about how she intentionally plays up the act to steal their crushes to her, and lies to the boys, telling them she's just playing with their hearts and that she's a horrible person.

Yuu ends up alone and excluded, being seen as "annoying" and only having a few close friends who doesn't really interact with her in public in fear of their reputation being ruined. She ends up miserable at school, and wishes to not go anymore. But one day comes a saving grace, she gets whisked by a mysterious black carriage into Twisted Wonderland, or more specifically, Night Raven College. She doesn't mind working if it meant she doesn't have to deal with her old school, there was still 1 and a half years left of school and she doesn't want to deal with all ghe group projects to be assigned that will inevitably end with everyone not wanting to team up with her. Plus, as annoying Grim is, he's like the animal friend all of the anime and storybook protagonists she knows has, and she doesn't mind him too much.

Some things did change after she and Grim got officially enrolled, but she had no problem adapting to the social expectations of the world, part time jobs with Sam -- and occasionally the canteen -- paid enough to get her tools for cooking basic but delicious food, and new friends without the weight of her past helped her get settled comfortably.

The existence of Overblots stunned her for a bit, but a peek into Riddle and Leona's memories helped her understand the concept, even if just a little. However, things began to change eerily simlarly to her old school when a new girl comes, also in a similar position to her, getting transported to a new, unfamilliar world, and seemingly hailing from a similar world to the Earth she knows. She warmly welcomes her, eager to finally befriend another girl, but it seems that the girl does not share the same enthusiasm.

The girl only barely responds to Yuu's attempts at forming a friendship, and always seems to talk her in a condescending way, and often dismisses her, and especially so whenever there are any boys around.

Yuu will not deny any statements claiming she's an attention seeker or that she plays up her sweet innocent girl act, but she knows to never, ever sacrifice a bystander for it. But if someone insists on war with her... well that's another, different story. She's learnt her lesson of being overly optimistic, and she will not make the same mistake twice. She will not let her make her life a living hell more than it already is with Crowley's irresponsibleness.

Aaand thus begins the story. Or well, however you wanna continue it. I'm honestly in favour of most Housewardens (Kalim, Vil, and Idia in particular. I'll put my reasoning in a few paragraphs down) Adeuce, Tweels, and Ortho for team Yuu. Why?

Well, first of all, Adeuce. This is mostly because the duo is like. with Yuu since Day 1, as much of a bitch as Ace is, I think those two are the most likely to trust and know Yuu well enough to not believe the lies R (< Replacer) tells. Especially Deuce, he doesn't want to betray a friend he knew for quite a while, that would not be very honor student-like of him!! And she helped him out in a lot of situations too! He doesn't want to hurt you after all the trouble you go through to help him, and also knowing how horrible your living conditions are. Ace would most likely give in to peer pressure if the student body is overwhelmingly in favour of R, but as of now, he maybe enjoys your company just a bit more than R. Just a bit, promise.

Tweels I feel like is self-explanatory. Those two are perceptive as fuck istg it scares me. Jade especially. I feel like the two would just toy with R for a bit despite her facade and lies before dropping her after she bothers them for attention and favours one too many times.

(Ortho ties in with Idia so I'll explain him in Idia's paragraph)

Kalim is actually very emotionally intelligent. He can come off annoying and stupid, but from all the scenes I see of him, he's actually really good at dealing with people. Have you seen how he deals with the Scarabia residents after Jamil's OB??? The way he phrases his sentences?? He didn't force or even plead with them to forgive Jamil, he simply asks them to wait before making permanent judgements, and I think he's gonna be uncomfy with how condescendingly R talks to Yuu, and even if he's used to people going after him for money, I feel like R mostly eyeing him for money and how she "secretly" sighs in annoyance everytime she goes out of the party for a "bathroom break" will only solidify his dislike/discomfort, even if he doesn't show it.

Vil is also kind of self-explanatory if you read into his character and not just the shell the official English localization makes for him. (I could rant for hours about how the official tl portrays his character istg. He's hardworking and he actually didn't attempt to poison Neige out of pure jealousy, he did it because he felt like all his efforts to be beautiful will never be able to surpass Neige, who, in his eyes, always seemed to be innocent and naturally beautiful. He feels like the villain in Neige's story. He feels like he is reduced to what he often plays as, a snobbish, overconfident villain obsessed with overthrowing the hero. And because of it, it became a twisted self-fulfilling prophecy, pushing him to, in a fit of despair, be that same villain everyone sees him as.) I really don't think he will take well to R's condescension to Yuu, who genuinely wants to befriend R. (I actually have a whole thing in my head where Yuu and Vil occasionally have sleepovers where they do skincare together after the whole VDC thing happened. I feel like this is also a "vent sesh" of sorts for the both of them, just to air out their grievances without much seriousness, and I think Yuu would admit to wanting a fellow girl in the school that she could befriend, since no matter what, being the only girl can be exhausting.) Ik Vil's not a girl but he is such a girls' girl istg.

Idia... this mostly ties into Ortho and The STYX Incident, but like,, I think we can all agree on this one,, Idia is smart and capital V Very pessimistic. Would you rather trust the girl you've known for a while, who saw your memories, who helped you in awkward social situations when she can and is besties with your brother or some random new girl who trash talks said girl behind her back? The former, right? Plus, even if Yuu did only hang out with him and his brother because she likes to secretly laugh at him behind his back, there's mo guarantee R wouldn't do the same, given his experience. And he would rather have someone who actively helps him and his brother out than someone who wouldn't.

I didn't put Malleus in because of how canon him actually treats Yuu. I feel like the fandom kind of put on rose-tinted glasses on with his character, and kind of ignored some things like, idk... him just leaving them to fend for themselves homeless during Octavinelle... maybe he thought Crowley would offer them a place to stay but like... I'm still bothered by how didn't atleast offer a spare room in Diasomnia. He's a housewarden goddamnit. He's not as distant or scary as the rumours say but like. still rubbed me the wrong way.

Anyways I don't think my attention span will let me write it to completion so if anyone likes this and wants to write it feel free. Pls tag me if you do tho. I would love to read it :3