#he's not just this stoic silent character but he shows a bit of character

[h0ped3lusion]

I just found out that not only does Drifter refuses to pull out his sword in the Central, he also refuses to throw out explosives but would throws out little flowers instead,,,

[clegfly]

Getting REAL sick and tired of how omori TikTok views sunny.

Like, they view any scene of him being emotionally vulnerable, affectionate, or even just making an expression outside of just being completely neutral as “mischaracterised”. He’s not some cool, stoic, unwavering badass, he is a traumatised teenager. Don’t cry whenever he dares to give his friend a hug or (god forbid) be SAD about something??? Isn’t like. Part of the point of his development about him allowing himself to break down the repressive walls he built when he shut himself in? And being able to rely on his real friends instead of imaginary versions? And isn’t the game like. Meant to SHOW that he still cares about them despite isolating himself?

It’s really stupid to get mad at a character like that showing emotion or affection personally, especially since he’s not used to expressing it properly after so long. But that’s just me

[swampjawn]

Character Acting > Action Sakuga (sometimes)

There's nothing like a sudden burst of 24-fps action sakuga insanery to convince people that the animation in a show is good,

but Dungeon Meshi Episode 23 shows that attention to detail in the subtler character acting moments can be just as, if not more important to telling a compelling story because while there is some great action animation too, the most crucial moment in the episode is a dwarf eating some soup:

This bit is done by the mysterious animator just credited as "Haruki," also known as Haruki Sakamoto, another relatively young talent like Ichigo Kanno, and in fact the two apparently studied together and collaborated on this project as students:

Haruki trained at Kyoto Animation and you can see the influence plainly in his style which, much unlike the flashy, snappy, grandiose style of his friend Ichigo Kanno, is characterized by very smooth motion and attention to realistic detail in nuances that might otherwise go overlooked.

Even starting from the anticipation (and here I mean that in the normal sense, not the technical animation sense) the attention to detail is on point from the incredibly consistent shapes of the spoon and bowl which each rotate toward and away from the camera, to the subtle rotation of his head not only when he actually lifts the spoon to his mouth, but also even earlier as he brings the bowl up to his face, to the little half blink as his expression goes from worry to determination, there's SO much nuance in the series of facial expressions

Senshi has generally been depicted as the most cartoony of the bunch; a stoic but goofy little teddy bear who's often silent and almost always has almost his entire face obscured, so it's all the more powerful to see his face with so much detail and expression in this cathartic, emotional moment that finally solidifies this group as his new family.

And there's more where that came from, you sick fuck. This post is an excerpt from this video where I broke down the whole episode, so go watch it!

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗲 | emmett x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | after being rescued from your captors, tension grows between you and the man that killed to save you.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | nearly 11K (?!?! WTF?)

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only!!), angst, kind of a slow burn?, age gap (reader is twenty, emmett is late forties), pining, voyeurism, dark themes (slavery/kidnapping, discussions of noncon and loss, but emmett is not dark he's nice!!), traumatized reader (and emmett, let's be real, nobody's not traumatized here), violence (use of guns) and minor character death

This was where you waited— at his feet.  Every deal, every ‘business meeting’, every mission report, you sat there on the floor beside his legs.  He wanted everyone else to know your place just as much as you did.

Living with smugglers and looters like this was a rough life— but the man who bought you, Paul (though you only knew his name from hearing others speak to him) insisted you had a better life in here as his ‘pet’ than out there running missions for him, finding valuables to barter and sell.  Considering there were plenty of missions that not everyone made it back from, you knew he kind of had a point.

But even so, it didn’t exactly feel luxurious being a man’s property.  You’d been looked at like a thing, like less than human, like a piece of meat since you got here; and you’d been here just long enough to get really used to it.  You sat here on the floor while Paul, his men, and his customers stood or at least sat on chairs.

That was why it felt so different, so shocking, when he looked at you.  The man that came today, to trade with Paul.  He was lean and gaunt, it was obvious even with his heavy layers of clothes; he had long hair on his head and face, but his icy stare pierced through… and it was concentrated on you from the moment he stepped into the smugglers’ compound.

He didn’t say anything, even when one of Paul’s men shut the bunker door and it was safe to talk— he didn’t react much on his face, either, staying stoic and flat.  But it was obvious that you had his attention, even your ‘owner’ noticed that.  

“Just bought her,” Paul explained with a proud grin as he tightened his grip on your wrist; you winced slightly.  “Slavers picked her up just past the lake, she’d been camping out there for not even a week… don’t know where she was hiding before that.  Isn’t she cute?”

You figured that was why he brought you here— to show you off.  You, like the guards at either end of the room and by the door, were a symbol of Paul’s power.  The other man just looked away from you, and back at Paul.  “Can we get to business?” he asked in a rough voice.

“Of course,” Paul replied with that customer service smile of his, dropping your wrist which you held yourself right away.  “You’ve got a few extra guns, and we have some extra cans of food— good shit, too, not just soggy old veggies.  Or, maybe we can throw in some medical supplies, if you have ammo for those weapons,” Paul explained, gesturing to the table of goods for trade.  “Whaddaya think?”

The man was silent, looking blankly ahead at the cans and boxes before him.  “How much for her?” he asked suddenly, lowly.

Your heart stopped for a moment; feeling the man’s gaze run over you, you looked away and pressed your lips together.  “Oh, she caught your eye, huh?” Paul purred.  “Sorry, pal— not for sale.  But the folks I bought her from had a couple other girls, how’s about I tell them where to find you and they can strike up a deal of their own?”

The man shook his head.  “Her.  I want her.”

Paul did that thing he did where he sat up straighter, and dropped his smile; you bit down on your lip to hide a whimper, because you got very fucking scared whenever he did that.  “If you’re not interested in what’s available, you’d better just leave now and keep your guns, old man.”

He paused for a moment, nodding in acceptance.  “Alright,” he said, “I think I will.”

He held tighter onto his gun, looking down at it for a moment.

“After all, this thing’s pretty damn useful.”

It was only a couple seconds of pure chaos.  He shot Paul first, then stood up and took down all three men in the back of the room— one of them pulled his pistol fast enough to fire back, but he missed, and in a split-second he was on the ground with the others.  You screamed, covering your head with your hands; your ears were ringing, and your whole body shook with shivers as you dared to glance over at the bleeding, lifeless bodies just a few feet away.

“C’mon,” the man said— it took you a half-second to realize he was talking to you, even though you were the only other living person in the room, “grab what you can.  We need to run.”

We.  He just killed them all, like it was nothing… for you.  And now you were a we?

Shuddering, you could only shake your head.  “N-no, no,” you choked out, whining when he grabbed you and yanked you to your feet; you could hear the commotion outside the room, it wouldn’t be long before someone from one of the nearby bunkers came to investigate the gunshots.  

“They’re coming, and they’ll kill us both,” he growled at you, far too close to your face, and you felt your lip quivering.  “Help me carry this shit and let’s go.”

~

It was a long walk back to… wherever he was taking you.  Since you ran from the compound with your stolen supplies, you obviously hadn’t said anything to each other— you’d barely even looked at him, for some reason you were scared to.  

The only interaction you’d had since you started your trek was when he noticed you shivering, and stopped to take off his jacket and give it to you; considering all you were wearing was a baggy old t-shirt and socks, it helped a lot against the chilly gusts of wind.  It was awkward in the silence, not being able to reject the jacket or even thank him for it, so you just nodded as he slipped it on you.  It was baggy even on him so it fit you even more awkwardly, but it made your shivers soothe instantly.

He guided you on the trail, keeping his gun close by, and eventually you came to some kind of processing plant; with what little you knew about manufacturing, your glances around the factory made you guess it was once a metallurgy building.  Now it was abandoned, and as you climbed down the ladder he pointed you towards, you realized he was taking you right into some horrible small space— with a massive iron door.  You hesitated, but he silently gestured you forward; your heart raced, knowing you had no chance of escape from a place like that.  Not that you ever really stood a chance of escape from someone as capable as he had proved himself to be so far— but the idea of going into that little room with him made you feel a bit sick.  It reminded you of your first day with Paul, of having all your freedom and dignity torn away, and you wondered if this was all just the beginning of another cycle: out of the frying pan, into the fire.

But you had no choice: you stepped forward, crawling into the little nook, and he followed behind you and shut the large round door.

It was pitch black for a moment, and you felt a sort of primal fear— would he really do this here, in complete darkness— would he really force himself on you?  You tried to scoot as far away as you could, until a hard wall hit your back; but you knew there was nothing you could do to stop him from doing whatever he wanted to you now, and you closed your eyes in hopes he wouldn’t be cruel.  But within a few seconds, he’d taken out a camping lantern and opened it, filling the room with a sort of speckled white light, and you opened your eyes slowly.

“Are you okay?” he asked first, and you weren’t sure how to answer that.  “My name’s Emmett,” he informed you quietly.  “Don’t… you don’t need to worry, alright?  I won’t hurt you.”

You shrunk away slightly, holding your legs to your chest.  Paul had said the same thing, but then again, he’d never actually said it like he meant it.  In fact, what he’d said exactly was I won’t hurt you if you behave.  And he still did.  Because he could.

“I don’t wanna— I won’t do anything with ya,” Emmett explained, and you could’ve sworn you saw a slight blush above that long beard.  “Just couldn’t leave that place knowing you were there, against your will and all… it’s not right, keeping people like that, keeping girls…”

You looked away, eventually giving him a small nod as a response.  You wanted to believe him, he sounded genuine, but you weren’t ready to trust a stranger you saw kill four men so casually.  

“Mind tellin’ me your name?” he encouraged softly.

You mumbled it into your arms into the fabric of the old t-shirt which still smelled like the prison he’d broken you out of. 

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he pressed.

You said it again, louder, and he smiled a bit at you; you smiled back, too, but it was partially hidden by the tattered shirt’s sleeve.

“Pretty,” he said.  “M’gonna keep you safe here, alright?  I-I mean, you don’t have to stay here.  You can go back wherever you want, I just… I figure you might end up where I found you again if you go out there on your own.  No offense.”

You nodded; you weren’t cut out for making it on your own out there, you weren’t too proud to admit that.  You used to run with a group of survivors, which made it much easier to get by, but you’d been naive enough to think you could reject the group leader’s advances without suffering consequences: they left you in the night, without a word, and you only made it one more day on your own before getting captured by slavers.  That felt like a lifetime ago now, like stories that happened to a whole other person, but it wasn’t actually that long— Paul bought you a few weeks ago at most.  Still, those few weeks had changed you as a person, and you went from being terrified of being alone to being terrified of everyone else.  Maybe you were still an impossible mix of both…

“I have a decent set-up here… some food and water, a little more since we took some from your old friends back there,” he chuckled nervously.  “And, uh, you can sleep in here… sorry it’s so small, never really planned to share it… I— I can find another place to sleep if this isn’t enough room—“

“Why are you doing this?” you interrupted, and he seemed startled to hear you talk so much.  

“Huh?”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked again. “For me?  I mean… you don’t know me.”

“Well, I could,” he shrugged, “you could tell me about you.”

“But why did you save me?”

“I said so already, I couldn’t leave you there with those men.  Young girl stuck in that place, just about the worst thing I can imagine…”

“M’not that young,” you protested, “I’m twenty.”

He smiled a little.  “Of course.  Sorry.”

You sighed, relaxing slightly, and he seemed to lower his own shoulders as well. 

“You seem tired,” he noticed.  “It was a long walk.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I used to be able to walk a long way, but I lost my stamina— I wasn’t really going very far when I was there, you know…”

“I’m sure,” Emmett agreed.  “You hungry?  We could eat something.”

“Um, maybe…” you mumbled nervously.  You felt nervous to ask for anything of him— like he might ask you for something in return.  It wouldn’t be absurd of him to expect some kind of repayment for saving you; but if he expected that, then he wouldn’t be much of a savior after all.

“I saw granola bars in one of the bags we took,” he said.  “Sometimes I still get nervous, opening something crinkly like that— but nothing can hear us in here, I promise.  You’re safe.”

You hesitated before nodding; safe.  That sounded nice.  Now you just had to convince yourself it was true.

~

You’d noticed him looking at you a lot this evening, while you were both preparing dinner; you tried not to react to it.  He kept glancing at you, just for a moment, like he thought you wouldn’t notice.  You just kept focusing on the work at hand— peeling an orange— and tried not to think about why he kept looking at you.  Maybe he had something to say, but that would be odd since he usually didn’t.  Maybe you were doing this wrong somehow, or he was jealous that you were going to eat that fruit as an appetizer before the real meal.

Or maybe he just found you appeeling!  

You snorted a little involuntarily, amused by your own joke, and he looked at you again.  “You alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, sorry,” you mumbled, fighting a smile as you shook your head.  “It’s nothing.”

And the silence continued.  Even for a time when most everyone was quiet by necessity, Emmett was quiet.  He had this special place, somewhere safe enough to talk, but he didn’t often utilize that privilege; or at least, he hadn’t since you got here a few days ago, but there wouldn’t have been anyone to talk to before then.  You figured he just didn’t have a lot to say— and it’s not like you were some kind of conversation queen either.  You didn’t ask about him or his life before this, even though you were actually pretty curious: you just watched him, and if he noticed, he didn’t react to it.  This was the first time he seemed to be returning some of that attention.

“You can talk about it, if you want,” he suggested suddenly, making you furrow your brow a bit.

“About what?” you asked, not taking your eyes off your orange in progress, but you knew already what he meant.

“About how you came to be where I found you,” he said.  “Don’t have to— I wouldn’t wanna talk about it, if I was you— but if you do… I just want you to know you can tell me.”

You shrugged, keeping yourself from looking up at him.  “Why do you wanna know?”

“I don’t,” he insisted.  “But sometimes I can tell you’re thinking about it.”

Swallowing thickly, you looked away; here you were, wearing the clothes he’d given you, living in his ‘home’, surviving off of him.  On paper, it was the same as it had been before— that’s why you were thinking about it.  But it was night and day: Paul gave you rags to wear, if that, and Emmett had you in his own clothes— comfy plaids and knitted sweaters that smelled shockingly good for any apocalypse survivor; Emmett had a few creature comforts here, art and decent food and pillows… Paul’s bunker was exactly as flat and rigid and cold as the word ‘bunker’ indicates; and surviving with Emmett felt the most like real living since you were with your old group— though you knew them infinitely better.

“But we don’t have to—” he began again, shaking his head like he regretted the whole idea.

“Who are those pictures of?” you asked, interrupting him.

“Pictures…” he mumbled.

“The ones you hid,” you said, “or tried to hide.  Drawings, paintings—”

“You shouldn’t have been looking there,” he said firmly, looking down.

“I know,” you breathed, “but you were gone— I was bored—”

“Gone getting you food,” he reminded you, pointing with his knife— don’t worry, he was just peeling a potato with it— to the orange in your hand.

“Us,” you corrected, “we’re both eating.  And I’m sorry… you don’t have to tell me, either.  We can just have another quiet dinner.”

He paused before sighing a bit, looking at you and then back to his half-peeled vegetable.  “My sons,” he said quietly.  “Those are my sons.  Were my sons…”

“I know,” you whispered, and he looked at you quizzically.  “I could tell, I mean— you have that look in your eyes, I knew you’d lost someone.”

He shrugged.  “Everyone lost someone.  Some lost everyone.”

You almost found the energy to smile, but it came out more like pressing your lips together.  “Yeah,” you agreed.  “They kinda look like you, in the pictures.  You’re talented.”

“Oh, I didn’t draw them,” he scoffed, “no way— I couldn’t draw a circle.  It was my wife.”

Why did you get a little pit in your stomach when he said that.  “You’re married?”

“Uh huh,” he nodded, “but she— um, she passed.  Not too long ago.  Well… I guess a few months is a while ago.  But it still feels new.”

You nervously looked down at the orange in your hands, peeling off the last strip of skin and picking off a few white chunks of pith here and there.  Not sure what to say, you simply pulled a segment off of the rest and reached over with it, offering it to him.  “Here,” you said, and he looked at the piece of fruit in your hand before looking at you.

“No, s’fine,” he shook his head, “I’ll eat when dinner’s ready.”

“Come on,” you insisted, shaking it a little as if that would make it more enticing.  “You’re working up an appetite peeling the spuds.  Just have a few.”

Finally, he relented.  “Thanks,” he said, taking it and putting it in his mouth.  He chewed for a moment, working on the potato still, but he talked a bit around it just before he swallowed.  “You don’t have kids, do you?”

You shook your head, laughing.  “No, do I seem old enough for that?”

“No,” he agreed, “but you know— stuff happens.”

“I wanted them someday,” you admitted, “but no.  I actually, uh… I was pretty nervous about getting pregnant in the bunker…”

He swallowed, for more than just the orange.  Looking at you, you found his stare somehow both intimidating and comforting.

“I shouldn’t complain too much,” you shook your head, “he wasn’t that bad.  He was more interested in showing me off to others than actually doing too much when we were alone.”

“You shouldn’t complain too much about being a sex slave to a smuggler?” he repeated incredulously, like he was offended on your behalf by what you had said.

“I was just a trophy,” you shrugged, “I was the most expensive thing he owned.  It was all business with him: he wanted you— you know, anybody who bought from him— to know he was capable of that.  Of owning somebody.  And, um… that only happened twice.  Once the first night, and then, um… well—”

“You don’t have to say,” he offered you softly.  “It’s okay if you just never wanna think about him again.  I certainly sleep better at night knowing I turned his head inside out.”

You smiled a little, even though the image of that still haunted you.  “No, it’s fine.  I think it’s easier to just treat it like anything else.  Like, one time I broke my arm, one time my pet cat died, one time this gang captured me and sold me to a trader in exchange for pills and pickles— just something that happened that I hated and now… now it’s over.”

Now I’m safe.  You could talk about it because you finally believed that Emmett wouldn’t put you through it again.  When you looked at him, he smiled at you a little; you popped a piece of the orange into your mouth.

“S’good,” you mumbled as you chewed, giving him another piece and feeling the tips of his fingers just barely brush yours as he accepted it.

~

A few days later, he did the same thing: interrupted your silent meal with a sudden interjection.  “Y’ever shot a gun before?” he asked, and you awkwardly shook your head.  He sighed.  “Alright, well, you should learn.  Case something happens.”

“Guns don’t work on those things,” you noticed.

“They work on people,” he replied.  “And you’ve had a lot more trouble with them.”

You shrugged, certainly in no place to deny that.  “Guns are loud,” you reminded him.

“A little noise is worth it,” Emmett promised, “if it’s you or them.  And if you’re not packing, then it’ll be you.  You need to learn.”

Not if I have you with me, you almost blurted out.  Thankfully, you stopped yourself and nodded in agreement instead.

“I’ll teach you up there,” he gestured towards the world above with a quick tilt of his head, “unloaded.  Obviously.”

Going up to the surface was a strange feeling.  You hadn’t felt this safe anywhere since this global nightmare began, honestly, and you were almost spoiled by it now— here, with Emmett, you were sure that nothing would come to harm you.  But up there?  You knew, logically, that it was usually alright as long as you kept quiet, but you were pretty fucking quiet when the slavers found you.

Even being down here alone gave you the smallest tinge of anxiety— that someone might find you and steal you while Emmett was out foraging— and you never navigated the forest alone.  You had the feeling that Emmett was teaching you to use a gun so that you could do just that, but it didn’t sound worth it to be away from him.

But, you had to admit, you sort of enjoyed the lessons.

He stood behind you, wrapping you up in his arms as he corrected your stance.  Out here, he had to speak under his breath beside your ear, and it made chills run up your spine.  “Align the sights,” he told you, tapping the small metal divot on top of the pistol.  

You nodded, shutting one eye tight and trying to aim better; adjusting your head to get the right stance just pushed you up against his shoulder more, and you tried not to lean back into him.

“Pull the trigger when you’re ready,” he instructed; he was barely making any sound at all, more shaping a breath around his words than really speaking.

Even knowing it wouldn’t go off, you started to shrink away as you pulled the trigger; it was heavier than you expected, forcing you to strain to turn the revolver.

“Don’t flinch,” he warned.  “Stay steady.”

You still did, a little bit, but you calmed yourself with a breath and tried not to pre-emptively react: when you finally pulled the trigger all the way, the revolver turned with a click, but that was it.  

“Good,” he said simply.

“How can you know?” you asked.  “Without shooting anything—”

“You’re not using a bullet for practice,” he reminded you with a frown.

“I know, I know— I just mean, how can you know I would’ve hit what I was aiming at?”

“As long as these line up,” he replied as he touched the sights again, “and you don’t flinch, you will.”

You nodded, hoping that was enough, but then he took the revolver and took his shotgun off of his back.  “I— I can’t shoot that thing—”

“Yes you can,” he promised, shaking his head dismissively.  “The rifle— you can’t shoot that.  That requires a steady hand.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were shaking as you took the shotgun from him, so you couldn’t exactly deny it.  And, furthermore, the whole point of the sniper rifle was to get things that were far away… you were only planning to use these things if something got too close.

~

A lot of things had gotten more natural with Emmett— you talked sometimes, you ate together, he even let you come with him on trips out sometimes.  But one thing that never really changed was how weird it was to sleep beside him; what did change was why it was weird.

From the beginning, you couldn’t sleep unless you knew where he was.  Even if you couldn’t fully trust him then, you still had that anxiety of being abandoned in the night like you had before you were captured; for better or for worse, Emmett was obviously tough enough to protect you and was the only thing between you and certain death or enslavement out there in the world.

As a result, he’d been sleeping beside you, just to get you to stop waking up in cold sweats as often.  And now that you trusted him and knew him a little better, you expected it to be easier to sleep with him there… if anything, you were getting less sleep than ever.

You were struggling to understand why— or maybe you were just struggling to accept it— but having him right beside you all night kept you up, kept your heart beating fast, kept you listening to the sound of his breathing instead of just focusing on your own.

At least tonight, you could blame it on the cold.  You both had on several layers, but it was pretty much impossible to keep a space like this warm— underground, uninsulated— and it was only getting colder since the sun set.

"Chilly," you announced as you pulled the blankets up higher, and Emmett hummed in agreement.  That was the extent of your bravery, you couldn't bring yourself to ask him outright if he'd move a little closer so you could share some heat.

You waited a few minutes, wondering if he was already asleep, and then reached towards him in the dark; but when your hand brushed against him, he shrugged it away.  Turning his back to you, he seemed to huddle up a little bit more as if shrinking away from you, and you sighed.

“You don’t have to be so far,” you whispered, and he sighed.  

“Yes, I do,” he insisted, stern yet soft-spoken.

“Please, Emmett, it’s cold…”

“I know, sweetheart, I just… I wanna do right by ya, that’s all,” he sighed.  

“There’s nothing wrong with holding me to warm up,” you sighed.  “I mean, it’s not like you’re… thinking about anything else.”

“Of course,” he choked, “okay, fine, if you’re cold… c’mere, then.”

You wiggled your way closer as he rolled onto his back, sighing when you felt how warm he was even through his clothes.  Pressing your head to his chest, you heard his breath catch as you lifted your leg to drape over his, trying to get him as close as possible.

He seemed to hesitate first, but then he relaxed slightly and rested his arms around your back.  

It had been a long time since someone held you like this.  You sunk into his arms, loving how it felt to be pressed into him, and you let out a little hum of satisfaction as your shivers went away and his warmth began to absorb.

He seemed tense beneath you at times, and you feared that doing this would keep him from sleeping; but, frankly, you were desperate enough for your own sleep that you weren’t planning on worrying too much about his… you quite literally didn’t plan on losing any sleep over it.

It was impossible to say how long you'd been asleep— you weren't even fully awake yet— but when you started to stir, you felt him shifting under you.  But you were taken from half-consciousness into pure lucidity when you felt a harder, hotter shape against your inner thigh; didn't take a detective to figure out he had an erection.  You shouldn't have reacted, you realized it a second too late, but you had to gasp when you felt it— mostly because it seemed quite thick even though his pajama trousers—

“I’m sorry,” he breathed right away.

"It's okay," you assured, but he kept going.

“I can’t help it— I don’t mean anything by it, I just… I’m only a man.”

“It’s okay,” you repeated softly, though your face had never felt so hot.  “I understand, it’s normal—“

He started to pull away, and you whined as you grabbed at his shoulders.

“Wait, you don’t have to go,” you gasped, “I won’t be able to sleep…”

“Well, it’s never gonna go away with you pressed up to me!” he grunted.  “C’mon, sweetheart, gimme a chance here…”

“I really don’t mind it, Emmett—“

"I do," he snapped.  "You're young— younger than you realize."

"I'm grown," you promised, but he peeled you off of him and turned away.

"Go to sleep," he demanded.

"But—"

"Just go back to sleep!" he ordered.  

Though you weren't sure how you were supposed to sleep with your heart racing and your mind playing the moment you felt his cock against your leg on loop, you decided you would try just because his stern voice sort of scared you into obeying.

It did work, eventually— you can only lay down in the dark for so long before sleep is unavoidable— but you still awoke sometime later, and heard him breathing differently beside you.  There was no light to see what he was doing, but you could hear his arm moving against the blanket under him— and when you heard him sigh, you imagined that he might be jerking off.  Maybe his erection wouldn't go away until he did that, and you bit your lip as you tried to picture it: stroking himself, breathing deeply, being careful not to make too much noise or even move too much.  But in your head, he was too desperate, struggling to hold himself back from bucking up into his palm, his cock flexing as his orgasm threatened to spill over at any moment.  

The thought made you want to touch yourself, too— you were getting wet already and your hips shifted in hopes of finding something to rub against— but you were far too afraid to get caught or startle Emmett into stopping.  

You heard a tense sigh and all that motion behind you stopped; you bit your lip as you wondered if he just came.  And if he did, what had he been thinking of?  He seemed so offended by the idea of being attracted to you— he didn't even acknowledge it, like it was wrong to even suggest— but you hoped somehow that he had been imagining you.  If only he could've told you, if only he had pulled you closer in the dark and asked you to take care of his problem for him… maybe you should've been ashamed for thinking it, but you would've spread your legs for him right away if he'd told you he wanted you.  Even if it was just taking care of his needs, not real love— even if it was only a practical thing.  You couldn't do much for him, but you could certainly help in that regard.

But, at the same time, you knew that if Emmett ever did use you in such a way, you'd fall in love with him.  Even if it meant nothing to him, you wouldn't be able to stop yourself; you couldn't admit to yourself how close you were to that edge already, but you couldn't deny how quickly you would fall over it if he ended up fucking you.

Or maybe it wouldn't be like that— fucking, that is; it's a rather crass way to put it.  Maybe it wouldn't be that way, maybe it would be gentle and sweet and passionate.  He certainly was kind to you, and unexpectedly patient… you wondered if that would translate into him being delicate with you, soft touches and slow kisses— really making love, you know.

Or, maybe he'd been alone so long that he wouldn't be able to help himself; maybe he'd just have to moan in your ear while he took you roughly, holding tight to your hips so you couldn't do anything but take him just the way he wanted.  Maybe he'd leave bruises and marks on your skin, reminders of his work, and bite down on you to keep himself from being too loud.  

Your back was arching into nothing, just hoping that he would turn around and pull you close, press his chest into your back, and whisper in your ear as he started to tug your pants down.  Sorry, sweetheart, I just need you too bad…

It was a miracle you ever fell back asleep with that thought in your mind.  But you did, somehow— a frustratingly dreamless sleep— and when you woke up in the morning, he was gone again.

~

Since that night, you’d felt this tension between you— but you had no clue if he felt it, too.  He was nice, in his own way, but definitely on the aloof side; and he seemed to avoid you a little more after all that happened anyway.  It sort of made you wonder if he resented you, if he was angry with you somehow for what happened— maybe you’d been too pushy, you were never trying to force him into anything of course— but then again, you figured he wouldn’t be working so hard to take care of you both if that were the case.

Even if you couldn’t hunt or even cook very well, you tried to be helpful in various ways; this little underground hideout was certainly tidier and cozier than it had ever been before, and you tried to take pride in that instead of thinking of yourself as useless to him.  And all his clothes were mended, you made sure of that; he seemed to appreciate it, at least.

Now that you thought of it, you were sort of becoming a homemaker now— you felt a bit conflicted at the realization.  There’s nothing wrong with it, right?  Just being here, helping how you can?  But you wanted to be more useful, if you could— you just didn’t know how.

(Well, you had ideas… but you weren’t about to suggest that, after how awkward it all was last time.)

Maybe just your company was enough for him, otherwise he probably wouldn’t still keep you around… but then again, for someone who apparently wanted your company, he wasn’t so talkative.  It would make more sense if you two were up all night, telling each other everything about your lives and your dreams and anything you could possibly remember to talk about— but it wasn’t like that at all.  He still avoided personal questions even after nearly a month together, and he had a tendency to just hum and nod or shake his head when you asked him something.

But, the good news was, you’d gotten a little more comfortable leaving the underground hideout without him.  You never went far, obviously, but you went far enough to stretch your legs and get some fresh air and, today, stumble upon a little clearing with a pond.  It was relatively small, but deep, and best of all it had a river that fed into it, over a cliff; to put it more plainly, it had a waterfall.  It was small— you figured it probably didn’t pour at all unless there had been good rainfall recently— but it still meant you had a little more freedom here than usual.  Ambient noise, as you understood it, deterred the creatures because they couldn’t stop it and couldn’t hear other sounds over it.  You weren’t about to belt out Whitney Houston or anything, but you could make some sound— and the sound you made right away when you saw it was getting your clothes off as fast as you could and diving right in.

The water was a little cold— okay, very fucking cold— but it was worth it: being able to clean yourself more thoroughly than normal was quite a treat, and one you planned on relishing.

You found yourself laughing— you sort of couldn’t stop, actually.  Partially because you were cold and shivering like crazy, partially because you were giddy… mostly just because you could.  You kept your clothes and revolver in a neat pile by the cliff wall, trying not to stray too far from it in case someone came by; but, at the same time, you were also trying to just forget about everything that scared you for a moment and be free.  

You soaked your hair and ran your hands over your face, letting the water renew your skin— you couldn’t deny this cold plunge was invigorating, if not especially relaxing like a hot bath would’ve been.  But hot baths were obviously rare in these times, and you closed your eyes as you tried to remember the last one you took.  You leaned back in the water, floating partially against the flow of the waterfall behind you, and remembered simpler times: long baths, fresh meals, 

Not everything was perfect then.  Your life was easier, yes, but you’d still longed for someone to share it with.  Someone to trust.  You opened your eyes and looked up at the sky, a pale grey-ish blue that covered the sun but was still somehow too bright and made you squint; you sighed, moving your arms enough to feel the water swirl between your fingers.

For some reason, you thought of Emmett just then; you wanted to tell him about this place as soon as he got back home, you could bring him here and he could swim too— he probably wouldn’t skinny dip with you, right?  Definitely seemed out of his comfort zone, he wouldn’t even sleep next to you at night anymore… but you still giggled at the thought, wondering if you’d get a chance to see the rest of his tattoo that you’d noticed peeking out from his sleeve sometimes.  Then you could ask him about it, move closer, trace the lines with your finger; you could watch the goosebumps prickle on his skin from the cold water, and shiver even more when you met his gaze—

You shook your head like it might knock the thought out of your brain.  He’d made it clear he didn’t have that sort of interest in you.  It broke your heart a little, but you had no choice but to accept it.  Still, you had this nagging feeling that it wasn’t you— he implied before it was your age, or some kind of chivalry thing; and then there was all that grief, something anybody left had to have by now.

You, too, had lost loved ones that day, and in the days since— that was unavoidable— but what you had nearly lost most of all was yourself.  And then he found you, and you’d found something you’d been looking for for so long… much longer than all this.

Your heart skipped a beat when you heard something moving, just past the trees; you whipped around in the water, looking everywhere for the source of the noise, and you saw a figure slip back behind a trunk.  You’d never felt so sick with terror all at once, and in a second, you leaned over and snatched your revolver off the top of your pile of clothes.

Pointing it at the tree, you wondered if you should be barking out orders right now— come out with your hands up or something— but that wouldn’t be helpful if there was a creature nearby… or if there was more than one person in these woods.  You swallowed, knowing a revolver wasn’t going to cut it if there was a whole group closing in on you now.  

Slowly moving through the water, you walked up the bank of the pond, and when you heard another shifting movement from behind the tree, you shuddered and shut one of your eyes.  Align the sights.  Stay steady.

Suddenly, the figure stepped out, and you didn’t even stop to think: you pulled the trigger and fired, eyes shutting tight as the kickback flung your arms up and the sound echoed through the forest.  

You hesitated to open your eyes, but just before you did, you heard a groan— in a voice all too familiar.  When you looked, there was a man on the ground, and your heart stopped again when you saw his face.

“Fuck!  Emmett!” you yelped, running the rest of the way out of the water and not caring at all that you were naked and dripping— you ran up to him and straddled him as he rolled on the ground, clutching his arm.  “Oh my god!  I’m so sorry— oh my god!  Please, please tell me you’re okay—”

He didn’t say anything, in fact his face was still screwed into a tight wince as you tried to see where he was holding— his arm, just below the shoulder, you could see where the sleeve of his jacket was torn and blood had begun to stain the fabric.

“Emmett, Jesus, I swear to god— I didn’t know it was you, I—” you began to promise, before you wondered if you should ask what the hell he was doing there.  Why didn’t you tell me it was you?  Why didn’t you say something?  But you decided, as you watched him bite his lip to keep from being any louder, that now was not the time to interrogate him; shooting him had clearly irritated him enough already.  “That— that was fucking loud,” you realized, lowering your voice.  “We need to go back before—”

He just nodded, and you got up off of him to help him up and grab your clothes— a naked woman and a bleeding man running through the woods.  Maybe that’s just a normal day in the post-apocalypse.

~

He hissed when you applied the disinfectant to the cut, looking away rather than letting you see how this affected him— that, or the other side of the room suddenly got incredibly interesting.  But you knew as well as anyone, living in this room for over a month, that it was not very interesting.

“God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you mumbled, wincing yourself just having to put him through this.  “Can I keep going, or—?”

He nodded, still looking the other direction, and you gave him a sympathetic frown as you started to dab at the cut.  

It wasn’t too deep, thank heavens— it probably didn’t even need stitches, just some alcohol and gauze— but you still felt more guilty than you had for anything you’d ever done in your life.  “Thank god I missed,” you chuckled softly, wondering if it was still too soon for humor— and he didn’t laugh, so maybe it was.

“Yeah— you flinched,” he noticed, sounding correctional, and your jaw almost dropped.

“Fucking— are you serious, Emmett?” you snapped.  “You’re mad at me for not killing you?!”

“You didn’t know it was me,” he replied.

You sighed, thankful he was looking away so he wouldn’t catch your eyeroll.  “Of course,” you breathed.  “Of course I didn’t know it was you— I would’ve never…”

He looked at you again.  “I know,” he promised quietly.

You chewed your lip and nodded.

Taking the bloodied rag away, you looked at the wound— it was a lot better already, and it looked clean, and you still couldn’t imagine forgiving yourself for doing it to him.  You took out a bandage and started to wrap it up around the gash.

“Your ink’s still intact,” you noticed, smiling as you got your look at the tattoo— although you obviously didn’t mean to go through all this just to see it.  You didn’t trace the lines but you did run your fingers over the whole piece: a mountainscape, with tall trees and a cloudy sky.  “It’s pretty.”

He snorted a little.  “I was just a kid when I got that— tryin’ to be tough.  Definitely wasn’t going for ‘pretty’.”

“Well, then you shouldn’t have gotten this lovely view,” you smiled back.  “Is this a real place?”

“Yeah, Montana— grew up there,” he said.  “Always thought I’d go back, then I had my kids— and then, you know—”

“Right,” you nodded, finishing up your gauze-ing of the damage.  You were gonna let him put his shirt back on, not that you really wanted him to, but he didn’t yet.  “Must have been nice, growing up under mountains like these.”

He shrugged.  “It was— sometimes.  It was quiet, I’ll tell you that.  All I wanted was to escape, back then.  Then all I wanted was to go back.”

You smiled a little.  “Yeah, I know that feeling— I mean, I think everyone feels like that.  I always wanted to move to the city— New York, you know,” you said with a whimsical affect on your words, “it’s like a mythical place to anybody from anywhere else.”

He chuckled slightly, rubbing the back of his neck (with his uninjured arm) and nodding in agreement.  “Yeah, I get that.  But then how’d you end up in the suburbs?  Or— don’t tell me you came all the way from the city—”

“No, no, not that far,” you promised, “but I was a little closer to it before everything happened.  I, uh… I actually ended up in the suburbs because of a boy.”

He nodded, wearing a sort of knowing look, and you felt a little embarrassed.  “Ah,” he said simply.

“And then, um, you know— he left.  As they tend to.”

“Boys?”

“Everyone.”

He swallowed; you regretted saying it, sort of, but you were still talking— like you couldn’t stop yourself.  Your hands were shaking— you were looking down at them in your lap, you knew they were— and you just felt like you couldn’t keep your mouth shut any longer.

“You know, this is the first time that I really…” you sighed and shook your head, looking for the words.  “This is the most I’ve ever trusted somebody.  I guess because I have to— but you—”

“S’alright,” he interrupted, “you don’t have to say all that.”

“You won’t even let me thank you?” you laughed, but your frustration was obvious; when you looked up at him, his eyes were filled with something that finally made your hands stop shaking.  Flooded with a sudden wave of courage (and wanting to act on it before it inevitably subsided), you leaned forward and kissed him; you shut your eyes tight— you would’ve lost your nerve otherwise— and you held his cheek in one hand, the tips of your fingers brushing against his hair while your palm pressed against his somewhat unruly beard.

For one moment, it was perfect, but then he reached up and took your hand, guiding you away slowly.  You pulled back, more dejected than ever, and he gave you a soft frown as he shook his head. 

Falling back into your chair, you slumped dejectedly; you didn’t want to cry, it would just seem pathetic now, but your eyes were watering anyways.  “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“No— it’s alright,” he promised, “I’m not… offended, or something.”

“What am I to you?” you asked, point blank.  “I mean— I know I’m not— fuck, I’m stupid.  I know I’m not…”

Despite starting again, you couldn’t find the words the second time, either.

“I just mean… do you see me as, like, a charity case?  A daughter figure or something?”

He shook his head.  “No,” he said, “but I— you’re not my property.  That’s not why I took you from that son of a bitch.  You can leave whenever you want, you know.”

“But do you want me to stay?” you asked, feeling tears run down your cheeks suddenly even though you had specifically requested that they not do that.

Your real question was trapped in the middle of that sentence: do you want me?

He looked away again, and your hurt started to shift into anger— because that’s all anger really is, anyway: hurt, dressing up as something else.  “You treat me like a child!  Sometimes you won’t even look at me, like you’re embarrassed of me!  I’m not your property but I’m not your equal, either— so what am I to you?  Do you even see me as a woman at all?!”

That accusation seemed to get his attention, and he almost looked angry, too.  “I am well aware that you’re a woman,” he said sternly.

“Is that why you were watching me at the pond?”

You’d never seen him with that deer in the headlights look— technically, you still didn’t, because he turned his head away quickly.

“That’s what you were doing, wasn’t it?” you pressed.  “How long were you there before I heard you?  Come on, Emmett— look at me.  Or will you only do that when I’m naked?”

He snapped, standing up quickly and grabbing you by your— his— shirt to pull you with him.  “Do you know what you’re fucking doing to me?” he growled at you.

“Same thing I did to you that night it got too cold?” you returned with a sneer, and he shoved you away with a shudder, turning to face the wall and crossing his arms.  

There was a silence, though it wasn’t nearly as long as the ones you’d gotten used to with him, and he dropped his shoulders as he sighed.  “I’ve done what I can for you,” he said quietly— and your stomach twisted in knots.  He’s going to ask me to leave, you assumed instantly.  “I’ve tried to… to leave you alone—”

“That’s what you think I want?” you realized, almost laughing it was so absurd.  “Begging you not to leave, to stay where I can see you all night, trying to get you to talk to me— because I want to be alone?”

“After what happened to you— after how it must have been with him—” he started, turning around and looking at you sadly— “I’d wanna be fucking left alone.  I’ll say that.”

“Well, I guess I’m just not strong enough for that,” you decided with an unhappy sort of smile.  “I guess I still need someone.  I need you.  And clearly that’s just my fucking problem, so I’m sorry for making it yours.”

But he stepped closer to you, reaching out to hold your shoulders, and you met his gaze again.  You shivered, just like you thought you would.  “Say it again,” he requested flatly.  It wasn’t very specific, but you knew exactly what he meant.

“I need you,” you said again, softer, and he shut his eyes with a sigh.

Your eyes shut, too, when he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours; you breathed together for a second, your hands moving up to his bare chest as you bit your lip.

“I need you,” you repeated, even quieter— a whisper now— and another tear striped your face.  “Emmett, I need you—”

“Fuck,” he said softly, and you smiled.  “Fuck, I need you, too.”

You smiled even wider then; he could probably hear your heartbeat, you would’ve sworn it was beating out of your chest.  Opening your eyes when you felt him pull back, you waited patiently— like you had been since this all began.

“I just— I don’t want you thinking that you have to—” he started to explain.

“I don’t have to,” you nodded, “but I want to.  Is that wrong?”

He didn’t answer, but he kissed you; he held your jaw gently, tilting your head back, and he kissed you in just the way you’d dreamed of.

It was simple enough at first, sweet and sort of slow— he pulled you closer, wrapping you in a hug while you held onto his shoulders— but then it got… heavier.  Hungrier.  Hotter.

You were gasping as you opened your mouth wider, all but begging him to dive deeper; and for his part, he kept grabbing your waist and hips, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get you close enough, and you thought your knees were going to buckle.

The two of you stumbled back, together, towards the sort-of bed that you sort-of shared; he laid you back on it, and you heard yourself whimper a little as you let him slot himself between your legs.

His weight was oddly comforting on top of you, pressing you back into the nest of blankets as you arched your back against him.

You both pulled back from the kiss as you looked down, needing to see somewhat what you were doing as you started to open his belt.  He looked down too, watching you do it for a second, before laughing a bit and leaning in to kiss your neck.  “Fuck,” you sighed, “come on, you’re gonna distract me—”

“What’s the hurry?” he purred, grabbing your hands and pinning them back instead— and that made you moan out loud.  “We’ve got all the time we want, darlin’...”

“Fuck, but I—” you whined, though you struggled to pull a sentence together when he dragged his tongue over your pulse like that.  “God, I just— please—”

“Shh,” he soothed, “m’gonna take care of you.  Gonna take care of you, sweet girl, I promise…”

And he’d taken care of you every way he knew how before, so you trusted him.  Still, you weren’t exceptionally patient.

You gasped when you felt him press his hips to yours through all these goddamn clothes; he was hard, really fucking hard, and it made your head spin.  How were you supposed to wait for him to be all slow and romantic and stuff when you felt that?  “Pretty girl,” he cooed at you quietly, “look at me for a second.”

You looked up at him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and he smiled back at you as he pet your forehead for a moment.  

“There you are,” he breathed, and your heart swelled.

He undressed you carefully, like you were the one with an injury, and you bit your lip to fight the urge to beg him to hurry the fuck up.  He kissed all over your neck and chest, even as far down as your belly while he was pulling your panties down your thighs— and of course he looked up at you as he did it, like he knew it would absolutely wreck you.  “God, Emmett, please,” you whined, sighing with relief when he sat up and finished opening his belt.  He kept looking at you while he did it, something darker and heavier in his stare as he pushed his jeans down; you couldn’t help but look down at it, and you breathed in sharply as you bit your lip.

Of course it was fucking big— you’d figured it was from what you felt before— with a thick, leaking head and a curve that you could just tell was going to fit perfectly inside you.  Your hips rocked a little into nothing at the sight, and you moaned when he kissed you again— more desperate than ever, both of you.

You whined loudly, much louder than you meant to, when he pushed inside you all at once.  It wasn’t too fast or too rough or anything— but it was plenty to be filled by in one go, and your nails dug into his back.

“Fuck,” he grunted, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment.  “So fuckin’ wet.”

You whimpered, feeling your walls tighten up hearing him say that.  It was no wonder, with the way he’d been toying with you— and not just tonight.  “Oh my god,” you gasped out, instinctively wrapping your legs around his hips like you didn’t want him to move at all.  Obviously, though, you couldn’t stop him from pulling back and thrusting in again, nor did you want to; your back arched, hard, and your moan echoed around the room.  “F-fuck,” you choked, “it’s so— you’re so— god.”

“Shh,” he soothed, in a sweet way, and his hands found your hips to pull them up higher to his; he moved you just how he wanted, you were putty in his fingers, and he groaned as he thrusted into you at the new angle.

It was deep.  It was really, really fucking deep; and you thought you were at your limit, but you still somehow wanted more.  Toes curling, you let your back arch between your hips held to his and your shoulders laying back on the blankets— your arms went limp and yet your fingers were searching for something to hold onto as he moved a bit faster.

“So fuckin�� beautiful,” he groaned, a spare hand leaving your hips and groping roughly at one of your tits.  You just gasped and pushed your chest up into his touch, pulsing inside when he pinched a hard nipple.  “Feels good?”

“Yes!” you shouted.  “Yes, fuck yes— don’t stop, please, please—”

Panting, he snarled a little, but he sure as hell didn’t stop.  He was right about you being wet, you could even hear it when he thrusted faster; and that just turned you on even more, the whole thing was a vicious cycle really.

For the most part, you kept your eyes shut because it was just what felt natural— but when you did open your eyes, you caught glimpses of him staring down at you, his eyes moving from your face to your bouncing tits to where he was inside you, where his hands held onto your hips and pet them soothingly in contrast to his rough thrusts.

Then, he watched his hand move to the middle, just above where his cock filled you, and his thumb started to rub your clit.

You had no excuse for being so sensitive, but you cried out and tried to grab his wrist from how intense it was.  “Emmett!” you nearly screamed.  “O-oh god, oh god—”

“Jus’ wanna feel you come, sweetheart,” he explained, his voice darker than usual.  “Can you come for me?”

“Y-yeah,” you agreed with a nod, already feeling delirious from all this.  “Yeah, fuck, I can come— you’re gonna make me come, fuck…”

You went from yelling to whispering by the end of your sentence, though you weren’t sure why, and he kept a steady pace with his hips and his hand until your whole body started to shake.

“I— I’m close,” you choked out.

“I know,” he said.  Smug little shit— too bad you were too busy coming to complain about that attitude.

Shuddering all over, you opened your eyes and looked at him one more time— he was looking right back at you, jaw tight and nostrils flaring, so that only made it worse— before you arched back harder than you thought possible and gave into it.  Your hands kept searching for something to hold, like you might actually fall somehow if you didn’t get an iron-tight grip on his thigh or arm or something.  You found his bent knee but his hands found yours a second later— and he interlaced his fingers with yours, laying on top of you again and pressing deep into you even while you were still in the middle of your ecstasy.  

You weren’t even sure what you were saying anymore, you could tell your mouth was moving and that was about it.  It probably wasn’t even words; but this pleasure, you were totally submerged in it.  He kept kissing you and praising you, fucking you deeper into the feeling and into the thoroughly-disturbed blankets under you.  “Good girl,” he whispered against your neck, “good fucking girl— god, I can feel it— so good for me—”

When a hint of your awareness of reality returned, your mind and body coming down from the high and settling into something a little easier and familiar, your arms reached up and held him close.  "Fuck, Emmett," you whimpered, tears welling in your eyes as you were flooded with an emotion you couldn't name.  "Emmett, I love you.  I'm in love with you."

He breathed heavy and held you tighter, burying his face in your neck as you started to really cry.

"I love you," you said again, grabbing at him harder as he began to kiss your neck— your jaw, your cheek— and his hand wiped your tears away.  

"Shh, I know," he promised quietly.  "It's okay, beautiful, I know."

He wasn't ready to say it yet— but you felt it.  You could feel it just in the way he held you. 

He pulled back enough that you could see his face, propping himself up above you.  Sweat made his hair cling to his forehead, and you smiled at the sight— he looked damn good like this, finally giving in.  You hadn’t realized he was going easy on you, until he pushed in a little harder and a little deeper.  

You whined, reaching up to grab onto his arm, and he hissed when you accidentally grabbed onto the gauze-wrapped wound.  “Fuck, sorry, sorry,” you breathed, moving your hand down, and he laughed a little.

“S’okay,” he assured, leaning down and kissing your cheek sweetly.  “It’s okay, sweetheart…”

You eventually ended up holding onto the back of his neck, running your fingers with his hair even if it was damp from sweat— you were sweating, too, and you’d never thought it could be this sensual to get this way.  All this heat and movement in such a small space, all these blankets and insulation, somehow it made you both even needier.  You didn’t care if it was putting that pond bath to waste, you just wanted more: you made it clear, with the way you needily hugged him closer.

You didn’t even realize you were about to come again until he pointed it out.  “Fuck, another one for me?” he realized with a proud groan.  “Gonna give me another one, sweet girl?  Fuck, that’s it— so good for me—”

It was so sudden, not like the last one that built up and spilled over slowly— this one was hard and fast and left you completely spent and almost too fucked out to notice how much faster he was moving.  But it was impossible not to notice him picking up the pace, getting a little louder himself, grabbing your hands again and squeezing them tightly.

The way he moaned in your ear was just too perfect; you whimpered and tightened your legs around him, gasping each time he reached the deepest parts of you.

"Baby," he grunted, "say you’re mine.”

“Yours, Emmett,” you promised with a whimper.  "I'm yours, I fucking swear— all yours."

You'd never had a chance to know how good it could be to belong to someone— it didn't have to be bad, it didn't have to be like it was before.

He didn’t slow down until every drop was inside you; he gasped in heavy breaths, he held on tightly to your waist, but he didn’t stop until you were completely filled and he was exhausted in every way.

You both took a long time to catch your breath, and in the meantime, he kissed you again.  You figured you weren’t a very good kisser in this state, you were completely numb in the mind and body (in the most amazing way) and you could barely find the energy to even lift your hands— but he didn’t seem to mind, because he kissed you for a long, long time.

Eventually, you were both (mostly) in reality again, and he pulled up to hover above you.  You touched his arm softly, and he looked at your hand before looking at your face again.

“Sorry,” he blurted out suddenly as he looked down at where your bodies were joined, like he was just realizing what he’d done.  “I didn’t mean to— I shouldn’t have finished inside, I just—”

“It’s okay,” you laughed, “I would’ve been kind of pissed if you pulled out.”

“But we should— I mean, we need to be careful,” he panted.  “Next time we have to—”

“Next time,” you breathed happily, pulling him down into another kiss— less tired, more… smiley.  You’d probably seen him smile more in the last ten minutes than the rest of your time together combined.

“What, you thought that was a one-night stand?” he laughed, biting your lip playfully before he broke away from the kiss.  “Or do you just wanna fuck around and pretend not to want each other like a couple of morons before we do it again?”

“I mean, maybe that’s why this time was so great,” you shrugged, “all the anticipation.”

“Nah,” he breathed, leaning in and kissing your neck again— tender and patient, making you sigh and shut your eyes.  “It’s so great ‘cause it’s how this is supposed to be.  ‘Cause we need each other.”

You shivered, just as much from his words as his delicate kisses along your pulse, and you almost melted right back into those blankets again— but instead, you startled him by sitting up quickly.  “Alright, I think I’m ready for that next time now,” you purred, rolling him onto his back and straddling him with a mischievous grin.

“Jesus, woman,” he groaned, hands settling on your waist, “you’re gonna kill me, I think.”

“Well, I missed the first time,” you giggled as you touched the edge of his bandage.  “And we have some time to make up for.  God, I wanted you so bad, Emmett.”

He sighed, his chest sinking, and he let his head fall back as he gave in.  “This is how I always hoped I’d go out anyways,” he decided.

[softonshanks]

Beyond the sword

Characters: Zoro x female reader

Total word count: 1205 words

Plot: poor clumsy and ashamed Zoro confronts the reader about his feelings during a lazy sunset on the Sunny.

Author's note: Let me know if you like it (: English isn't my first language so I apologise for any mistakes.

The sun was sinking low, casting a soft orange glow across the endless stretch of ocean. The Thousand Sunny sailed gently over the waves, its sails filled with a favorable wind. The day had been long, and the crew was scattered across the deck, resting after another day of training and adventure.

Y/N sat near the bow, her knees pulled up to her chest as she watched the sun slip beneath the horizon. The ocean had always been her sanctuary—the steady rhythm of the waves, the smell of salt in the air. It was constant, something she could rely on in a world of uncertainty.

She sensed his presence long before he spoke. Zoro was silent, his movements always purposeful and controlled, but there was a distinct aura about him that she could feel whenever he was near. He walked up quietly, his swords clinking softly against his side.

“Hey,” his voice came, gruff and low but not unkind, even though Zoro usually sounded grumpy and cold. “Mind if I sit here?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Not at all.”

Zoro sat beside her, folding his legs beneath him as he leaned back against the railing, arms crossed. His eyes were sharp, focused on the horizon, though his expression remained neutral, almost unreadable. The weight of his presence was grounding, steady like the ocean itself.

“You don’t usually come to watch the sunset,” Y/N noted, trying to read his mood.

Zoro grunted in response, a faint smirk curling one corner of his mouth. “Usually I’d like to practice at this hour. Last night, I couldn’t sleep and trained, so today I have to rest a bit,” he explained.

“So that’s what all the noise last night was about,” she joked. “And I thought it was just Luffy searching for food in the kitchen again.” Zoro couldn’t help but smile at her answer, imagining the scene she just described.

She smiled softly at that, her gaze returning to the sea. It was peaceful, in a way that life aboard the Thousand Sunny often wasn’t. But with Zoro, peace took on a different meaning—calm and unspoken, like the silence between the crashing waves.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the gentle lapping of the water against the ship’s hull. Y/N found comfort in the silence, in Zoro’s quiet presence beside her. He wasn’t one for small talk, but his presence spoke volumes in its own way.

“You’re not even drinking tonight,” she observed after a while, her tone light but curious.

Zoro huffed lightly, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. “Told you, I needed rest tonight,” he said, his voice a bit softer than usual.

She turned to look at him, studying the lines of his face, the way his eyes seemed distant despite his usual stoic demeanor. Zoro wasn’t the type to get lost in his thoughts—or at least, he didn’t show it often. But something about him tonight felt different. More introspective.

“Then why aren’t you snoring somewhere else?” she asked, chuckling. Zoro smiled softly. Had it been Sanji who said something like that, he would have already punched him, but with her, he felt a sense of home he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“Something on your mind?” she asked, her voice gentle.

Zoro was silent for a moment, his brow furrowed slightly as he considered his response. “Just… thinking about where we’ve been,” he finally said, his voice rough but thoughtful. “And where we’re going.”

Y/N nodded, understanding the weight of his words. The crew had faced countless battles, impossible odds, and yet, here they were, still standing, still fighting. She knew Zoro carried the weight of his ambitions heavily, but he rarely talked about it.

“And what about you?” Zoro asked, his voice a little quieter now. “You’ve changed too, y’know.”

Y/N blinked, surprised by his observation. “Me?”

He nodded, finally turning his gaze toward her, his eyes sharper than usual. “You’ve gotten stronger. And not just with a sword.” There was a rare hint of admiration in his voice, though it was subtle, as if he wasn’t used to giving compliments so openly.

Y/N felt warmth rise in her chest at his words. Coming from Zoro, the one person whose respect was earned through skill and resolve, it meant more than she could say. “I’ve had good teachers,” she replied with a small smile, her eyes meeting his.

Zoro gave a small grunt in response, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place—something deeper than his usual detached demeanor.

“Zoro,” she said, her voice soft as she looked at him more closely. “What are you really thinking about?”

He hesitated for a moment, his jaw tightening as if he was weighing his words carefully. Then, with a deep breath, he let his arms drop to his sides, his fingers drumming against the wood of the deck. “You,” he admitted quietly, his eyes never leaving hers. “And what you mean to me.”

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat at his words. Zoro was never one to express himself easily, especially when it came to emotions. For him to say something like that… it was as raw and honest as he could get.

“You’re important,” Zoro continued, his voice rough but sincere. “I’ve trained my whole life for one thing—becoming the world’s greatest swordsman. But somewhere along the way, you… you became a part of that, too.”

His confession hit her like a wave, overwhelming and intense. Zoro wasn’t the type to be sentimental, but his words carried a weight that made her chest tighten. He didn’t need to say more—she could feel the depth of his feelings in every word.

Y/N swallowed hard, unsure of what to say in response. But she didn’t need to. Zoro leaned closer, his gaze locked on hers, his usual stoic mask slipping just enough to reveal the vulnerability beneath. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his voice low. “Just… know that.”

She nodded, her hand instinctively reaching out to rest on his. The connection between them was palpable, as if the sea itself had stilled in recognition of the moment they were sharing.

For a brief second, Zoro hesitated. Then, with a quiet intensity, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against hers in a way that was both hesitant and fierce. The kiss was different from what she might have expected—controlled, deliberate, yet filled with the quiet passion that Zoro always carried with him.

When they finally pulled apart, Zoro’s forehead rested against hers, his breath warm and steady. “I’ve never been good with this kind of thing,” he muttered, his voice rough around the edges. “But I meant every word.”

Y/N smiled, her hand still resting on his, her fingers tracing the callouses on his skin. “So did I.”

And for a moment, the world around them faded away—the crew, the sea, everything. It was just them, wrapped in the quiet of the night, the ocean stretching out endlessly before them as they faced whatever came next together.

[taro-bae]

°☆| Blow Your Mind~○°☆

Summary: how they react to a dancer S/O

Characters: (TWST) Riddle, Kalim, Jamil, Vil, Cater

Reader gender not specified, could be yuu

Some scenarios have specified dance styles (e.g contemporary for Vil), no warnings

|Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is sheltered, his mother definitely taught him that foolish hobbies are a waste of time. The only form of dance he knows about is ballet, a more elegant and traditional form of dance. So if he finds out you are a hip hop, jazz, contemporary or another style oriented dancer he will be suprised. He won't be able to take his eyes off you. However if you are a dancer in a more 'explicit' style, Riddle will be a flustered mess, blushing while trying to maintain a respectful composure but inside he is panicking.

Riddle enters the room wondering what the music is and decides to check so no students are breaking the rules. He stops in his tracks when he sees you moving to the music. He watches you silently, his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage. Once you finish the combo he speaks up-

"That's a rather...vulgar...song."

You are not suprised by his comment, he's always reserved, well-mannered and with a strict definition on what is classified as appropriate.

"But I have to admit, my dear, your dancing is quite...endearing."

He will be interested about your training and why you chose dance as a hobby. He wasn't allowed to have such hobbies so indulge him a bit.

|Kalim Al Asim

This angel of a boy is your number one supporter. Once he finds out you are a dancer he is going to be all over you, and he will ask you to dance with him at any party he hosts. Every single time. He will play music and expect you to join him in a dance, he loves it.

"Y/N! Baby, I did not know you could dance like that!" He exclaims with his signature grin his eyes wide taking in every move. He doesn't waste a second joining you. He doesn't care what music or style it is. He WILL join in. Get ready for a lot of questions. He wants to know how long you've been dancing for, what your favourite style is and so on so forth.

He can't keep his hands to himself. If he's dancing with you he will be all over you. No shame if you're in public, at a party or alone, his body will make contact with yours. How can he not, he loves you so much and he wants to share these moments with you. He has to show you off and tell everyone how good you are. The whole of NRC will know within a day.

At parties and events Kalim will hold onto your hand pulling you towards the dance floor with a excited "y/n, come dance with me! I want everyone to see how good you are!". He's so proud of you!

|Jamil Viper

He won't show it but you captivated his heart. Jamil has a passion for dance, he himself is a breakdance dancer mostly because Kalim would drag him into it. When he sees you dancing, weather it is at a party of Kalims or a dance room, he is analysing your technique, how your body moves, the articulation, the projection, everything to the smallest detail.

Jamil stands near the door frame arms crossed infront of his chest, remaining stoic as he watched. The more he watches you, a smirk grows on his lips. Once you finish or acknowledge his presense he approaches standing infront of you. He feels rather competitive and intrigued.

"Care to dance with me? Come on, show me what you've got." His intense gaze directed right at your eyes watching your every reaction, picking up how you're breathing and starting to blush. He snakes (no pun intended) his arm around your waist pulling closer to him.

"Indulge me a little". He breathes out his voice low and satisfied. He loves the fact that you are a dancer. He totally doesn't dream spending hours in a space, just you and him, coming up with choreographies together, your bodies pressed up against each other. Make his dream come true...

|Vil Schoenheit

Vil is an appreciator of the arts. Dance is a beautiful form of art and performance, not only with expressions but with the whole body in ways that are difficult and requires hours of work. So imagine if Vil comes across you doing a contemporary routine.

He walked into the Pomefiore dance studio seeing you performing your contemporary routine. He stands observing and judging, how you project through your body, your facial expressions, and flexibility when you execute a skill or floorwork sequence.

"Not bad. You move flawlessly, darling. You're full of suprises. We should have recruited you into the SDC group." He says impressed. He can't help himself but add some corrections or points that he noted on how you can improve your performance.

His heart is swelling with pride that his partner is a professional dancer, he is ready to support and promote you even if you say it's just a hobby. He won't let your abilities go to waste. He would occasionally ask you some questions on what you do for stretches or fitness activities to maintain your flexibility and strength. He will he be very invested in your hobbies helping you improve in any way he can.

|Cater Diamond

Oh, honey...get ready for a personal photo shoot. If cater catches you dancing he will whip out his phone faster than ever recording everything. He is not going to leave you alone after that, and yes he's posting it on Magicam with #mylittledancer in the caption. Now it is your responsibility to teach him how to do some popular dance trends , he'll be asking you to film some videos with him wanting to showcase your talent and skill to the entire wonderland!

So when he sees you dancing, especially if you were filming yourself for a post he will be ecstatic. He walks into your room seeing you practising a combo taking out his phone and cheering on you. Congratulations, you gained yourself a cheerleader!

"Oh my sevens! Get it, baby!" He cheers with an occasional 'woo'. "Can you show me another dance, honey? You looked totes adorable when you did that move~". If you offer to teach him a combo he will not say no.

"You're such a good dancer, baby. I'm so lucky to have snatched such a talented cutie for myself~♪"

He's posting photos and videos of you dancing or doing some cool skills the hashtags showing how much he's infatuated with you #mypartnerithebest #dancingqueen #mycutedancemachine

It's a little short but let me know if I should write anymore characters

xoxo ♡

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Rebound 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, body insecurity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Curtis Everett

Summary: after a divorce, you try to start over.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

A giggle crawls through you and nips at your ears. You can’t help your paranoia as every whisper prickles across your skin. Are they talking about you? Laughing?

Things were going pretty good. Your new regime of walking is going on day eight and you’ve cut back on your snacking. You're a bit sore from trying to jog along the path but that morning felt okay. Until you ventured down to the grocery store on your lunch.

Ugh. You should’ve just walked away. You shouldn’t have kept listening to the conversation. To that girls churlish laughter. And you surely shouldn’t have gone to peek at her. You could pretend she isn’t so much younger.

Her name is Greta. She spoke loudly about the sheriff, almost as if she knew you could hear. Maybe she did.

It’s over. Let it go. You keep telling yourself that. It’s not that you want Lee back.. You’d rather be alone than unwanted. It’s just that you were right. You were being traded in for a younger model.

Well, so much for starting over. You’re going to cry into a tub of ice cream tonight and catch up on reruns. You don’t have the energy to go out for your walk. You just want to lay face down and forget the world, or at least, Hammer Ford.

You wiggle a pen in the air and look around the library. It’s not very busy. It never is. This place is lifeless. Like everything else, it’s dull and empty.

“Um, excuse me,” a voice startles you from your self-pity. You make yourself smile as you face the man. It’s him, Curtis. “Return.”

He holds up the book he took out last week and sets it on the counter. You look at the cover and pick it up. You key it in as returned in the system.

“Thanks, you’re a fast reader,” you comment as you put it in the returns pile.

“Mm, sure,” he utters.

You turn back to him and stare awkwardly, unsure what to say. He hasn’t been unfriendly but he’s less than outgoing. You’re not sure what to say. He’s so stoic and stony, it makes you nervous.

“How was your—”

“Do you–”

He stops himself as you speak at the same time. You chuckle and wring your hands, “you go.”

“Yeah, uh,” his grey-blue eyes cling to you, “I was wondering if you had any suggestions.”

“Um, oh, yeah, of course, if that’s what you typically like to read, I can definitely make a few recommendations,” you breathe through your anxiety. You think he’s younger than you, maybe not by much but you definitely show your age a lot more obviously. “Have you tried any Dean Koontz? Odd Thomas is fascinating.”

“That ones my favourite,” he says.

“Heh, yeah, that was kind of obvious,” you sniff, “well, you can try Patrick Logan if you haven’t checked him out.”

“Logan,” he nods and looks around, “you think you could show me?”

“Right, yeah,” you step around and push through the door of the counter, “it should be with the usual stacks…”

You take him towards the fiction section at the rear and find the right shelf, “looks like we only have a few here… oh but the first one’s available.”

You slide out the book and offer it to him. He considers it and takes it, reading the back. His eyes flit up and startle you.

“Thanks, sounds good.”

“Great, well, er, I’ll let you look around. You know where I’ll be.”

“I’m good. I’ll take this one,” he affirms.

You nod and sidle past him. He follows you back to the counter and takes out his library card. You go through the usual routine as he stands silently across from you. You hand him his card back with the book.

“Hope you like it.”

He looks at it and tilts his head, “have a good night.”

“Yeah, good night.”

He turns and stalks away. He doesn’t lift his head as he stares down at the book in his hands. He passes through the library doors, a young teen dodging out of his way as he enters. You give a thoughtful hum. He’s a bit odd but who isn’t around here.

You go to the returns and start your closing duties. You zone out as you put the books on the cart, keeping them in order by which call number you’ll pass by first. A sharp woop makes you jump and look up as coloured lights flash outside the library.

Your moment of peace dissipates. The scene at the grocery store replays in your head. The laughter echoes in your ears. The silhouette striding up to the doors makes your heart drop. No, why?

Lee Bodecker enters, his thumb hooked in his belt. The sheriff. Your ex husband. You cringe as he approaches the counter.

“Evening, ma’am,” he drawls as he stops across from you, “you haven’t seen a kid in a hoodie, have ya?”

You swallow as you stare at him. He’s going to stand here and act like nothing happened. Like he doesn’t know you. You shake your head, “no, sir.”

His cheek dimples. A strike of anger zips up your spine. He used to stand just like that when you did something wrong. No, not wrong, just not the way he wanted it. And even then, you called him sir. He always had that smug smirk on his face.

“Mm, well, you see some twerp in a blue sweater and you give me a call. You still got my number, don’t ya?” He winks.

“Haven’t seen him,” you repeat, even as you recall the young kid who shied away from Curtis. The teenager couldn’t haven’t done anything that serious. “Good night, sheriff.”

“Night, honey,” he snickers.

You turn your back to him before he can see you crack. He’s mocking you. He struts around proudly, waving his dick around, gloating in the whispers. And you’re left to wallow in dejection. After all, he’s a man of the law, he’s untouchable. You’re the bitch who couldn’t do your damn duty.

[reemonna]

Hello can you make a another hc’s or Connor ? ;)

Yes, sure! Thank you for the request! (And sorry for the delay) To be honest, I was looking, lately, for some excuses to write more about Connor since he's my favourite assassin so here are some Connor headcanons. I hope you love 'em! (I will certainly be uploading other Assassin's Creed characters headcanons, but I think I'm going to stick with Connor for a while)

When you're stressed or panicked with Ratonhnhaké:ton / Connor Kenway

He blames himself for what you had to go through

He will try so hard not to show it. But his stoic face gaunts gradually seeing you weep and sob in his arms

He shows various signs, biting his lips, intensely moving his gaze away, gritting his jaws, or clenching his hands cruelly that his knuckles turn white

He gets narky and manic to the point he could set the whole world on fire just for your sake

He's considered socially awkward, thus why he's not really able to express what he really feels correctly -and nicely at the same time- since he comes from an isolated society, and he doesn't open up to anyone about any of these sensitive issues and events, especially these which happened to him as a child. So he just stays silent, holding the urge to say anything that might make the situation worse as much as possible

He will leave you alone for some time to let you calm down and manage yourself on your own should he feel you're stressed out in his presence

He tries containing and perhaps dragging these vengeful and bloodlust thoughts out of your consciousness -in a situation of one of your loved ones dying by the enemy-, whether by distracting you or alerting you of what walking down that road could lead to

He doesn't wish to witness you turning into someone he long-lived detested and fought, like the templars, or like himself sometimes

He'll try to know who's behind your sorrows and deal with them, staining his hands with more blood to keep yours clean

He will lean closer to you, aiming to embrace you, and by accepting his offer he will gently wrap his arms around you, holding you tight and absorbing your anger

Taking you to a tranquil place, where no one can be seen or heard except for your footsteps, and maybe the animals running around you -if you were in an open space among the nature-

He thinks a little walk in such places could ease the tension even a little bit, since he used to spend a lot of his time there whenever he wants to clear his mind

[changenameno]

My Own (Chapter 5)

Summary:
Geralt finds himself once more on the path, gloomily looking at what lies ahead.
And you? You had no one, no home and certainly no coin. Well that’d be something you had in common. No coin. You two are surely off to a great start…

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem. Nymph Reader


Warnings: 18+, death, cursing, angst and finally some fluff, hurt & comfort, MDNI (there will be smut in the future)

Word count: 1.2K

A/N: Hahah more teasing, sorry, not sorry…It’s not proofread, any mistakes are my own. Please be kind, comments/reblogs are much appreciated…Thank you and enjoy ❤️✨

 

!The Witcher characters and world are not mine!


🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

(In case you’ve missed CHAPTER 4)

 

CHAPTER 5

You couldn’t read Geralt’s expression in the moment, it seemed to only show stone-faced indifference. Then at last he opened his mouth, “No.”
Pausing briefly, before adding,” Of course not.”

Relieve washing over you at his answer. Safe at last.

Weirdly he was a bit disappointed that you’d believe him capable of doing something like that. He knew of course that this was unfair to you, as he’d be just as suspicious, if your positions were reversed. Still he couldn’t shake the feeling. You were somehow able to push all his buttons and make me feel drawn to you at the same time, which confused him all the more. He couldn’t explain it, if he wanted to.

Shaking his head, he went over to Roach, to do what he originally got up for.

Now that you felt somewhat safe and were no longer hungry, the lingering exhaustion and fatigue caught up to you, making you yawn. Just then Geralt returned with two bedrolls in his arms.

Silently spreading them out, close to the fire. It wasn’t particularly chilly but during night-time a glowing fire could certainly help, feeling more comfortable. An added bonus, the smoke would keep the mosquitoes at bay.

He knelt down, about to rest his aching body, when your amused voice cut through the silence, “Why do you have two bedrolls?”

Geralt rolled onto his side, facing you, looking more sullen than before. You giggled softly, “It’s the bard’s, isn’t it?” If it weren’t for the most delightful of laughs he’d ever heard, he’d have stayed stoic, but instead he nodded, even a little amused himself that you could look through him so easily.

You didn’t want to antagonize him any further, especially because he’d been nothing but nice to you. Though one last quip left your lips anyway, “Knew you were soft hearted…”

He felt rather pleased with your statement, warmth spreading through him. Content and tired he closed his eyes, about to welcome a better nights-sleep.

There was quiet shuffling as you lay down, on the other bedroll.

“Good night, Geralt of Rivia,” you murmured.

“Good night.”

 

🌻 🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

 

This time he woke because he heard your unsteady and shallow breathing, he kept his eyes shut, listening to your racing heartbeat.

Trying not to wake the witcher, you’d held back the sob that wanted to break free from deep within your chest. A nightmare had woken you a few minutes ago.

As you sat up, breathing heavily, you’d realized it hadn’t been a dream. At least, not really. Your subconscious had replayed recent events, mixing them with the past. Probably because you’d told Geralt about it.

It had all felt too real. An all-consuming sadness spread through you, as the first tears rolled down your cheeks.

He’d opened his amber eyes, even though he didn’t see your face, he could tell you were crying. A salty, bitter scent permeating the air. He sat up, very familiar with nightmares himself, his heart went out to you. To prevent startling you, he cleared his throat.

Making you stiffen and furiously wipe away the tears that didn’t seem to stop flowing down your face. Sniffling, “Fuck, sorry…I didn’t mean to wake you. Go…go back to sleep.”

How on earth was he supposed to go back to sleep, hearing you cry, sounding so distressed and miserable?

When you heard him getting up, you hugged your knees closer to your chest, hiding your face. Your breath hitched when a big, warm hand brushed over your back. Gently stroking up and down.

Geralt didn’t know what overcame him, but he couldn’t just sit back and do nothing, so here he was, attempting to sooth you. After a few tense moments, in which he thought you’d push him away, you finally started to relax into his touch.

Surprising him, when you suddenly turned and slung your arms around him, pushing your wet face into the crook of his neck.

You shocked yourself a little bit, when you turned and hugged him, but you felt so very safe and comfortable in his presents. And he smelled incredibly good, calming you instantly.

Unsure he slowly put his arms around you as well. Small hiccups could be heard, muffled cries leaving your quivering lips.

The embrace lasted quite long, until his slow, soothing heartbeat had reduced the speed of yours.

You lifted your head, wet eyelashes clinging together, as you found his gaze. Now it was his pulse that sped up, as you leaned in closer to his face.

You leaned in, placing a delicate kiss on his lips. Eyes closed, feeling his stubble scratching lightly over your chin when he started moving against your soft lips. The kiss was slow and deep, not rushed or needy. Both of you just wanting to feel the other.

Unhurriedly you pulled back, his ambers already fixed onto your face. His next words came out in a rasp, “We-we should get some sleep.” Because you couldn’t detect unease or regret on his face, you nodded, sliding off his lap and back onto your bedroll. He’d studied you all the while, before he went to get up.

A sudden fear reared its ugly head, what if you’d have another bad dream, so your hand shot out, gripping his forearm. Geralt halted, once he felt your fingers on his arm. Dark brow lifting in question.

“Please. Could you stay?” When you saw him hesitating, you softly sighed. “I just- don’t want to be alone right now. And you-you feel…safe,” mumbling the last word so quietly only a witcher’s keen ears could pick it up.

You couldn’t bear looking at him anymore, too embarrassed as he’d surely deny your wish.

He knew he was playing with fire, but he knelt down once more anyway, too strong was his desire to hold you close, to protect you. “Lie down.” Quickly moving, before he could change his mind, you lay down on your side, facing the glowing embers.

As he lay down, broad chest touching your back, Geralt heard the acceleration of your pulse. Which he mistook for nervousness, so he scooted back.

Though he didn’t come far, as your hand had reached back pulling at shirt, until he got the hint and drew closer again. He breathed in, no distress corrupting your sweet and flowerlike fragrance.

His eyes twinkling happily when you pulled his arm over your side, letting his hand rest against your stomach. Smiling even more, when you clarified, “Just…so you’re comfortable as well.”

A delightful shudder running down your spine when his answering, “Mmh,” sounded.

“Good Night.”

“Night.”

 

🌻 🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

Taglist:

If you’re interested in being on my taglist, please let me know! And if you want to be taken off (my taglist), feel free to tell me!❤️✨

[morose-melodies]

run and hide | yandere! genshin impact post-apocalypse AU

ft. dottore and capitano

want a part 2, if so, with what characters? :D

requests are always open ♡

dottore

content warning: none

wood isn't easy to break, right?

sweat dripping from your chin, your hand pressed against a weak wooden door.

the banging from the other side only gets stronger and the room only gets hotter.

"I will be done soon, (y/n), hold out for a bit longer," your body shook as you used all the strength you had left to keep the door shut.

the door was practically bending from out old and weak it was and you feared that the monster on the other side would see break the door down. "I... I'm scared... please hurry."

splinters dug into your palm as you pressed your hand harder against the door, the monster crying out with rage.

it was loud. the screams that came from the monster were loud, your ears rang when the monster went silent, huffing and grumbling at the other side of the door.

and then, it began banging on the door. over and over, pieces of the door were crumbling and falling to the ground. you panicked, "hurry! please hurry!"

"perfection mustn't be rushed, (y/n), i will be finished soon enough," dottore replied, his voice stoic as he poured a red liquid into a small glass and watched it bubble up.

your pleading slowly was slowly tuned out as the liquid began to smoke and become foggy, "hopefully this works," dottore scoffs to himself, "if not we will die an inevitable death."

dottore stood up, the glass in hand, he stopped by your side, and parted his lips to speak but just as he began to speak the monster cried out once again.

your eyes widened as the sound pierced your ears, you could hear or understand what dottore said, panic filled your body when you could understand.

you shook your head, trying to show him that you couldn't hear him or understand, dottore paused, reached out, and pushed you away from the door.

you fell back onto the ground, your eyes wide as the door fell open, you spent nothing less than a second getting up and running away from the door, tears streaming from your eyes.

you left the small building, and stopped on the outside, behind it, you waited for dottore. your chest heaving and you hadn't stopped crying.

all you could hear were the vile cries from the monster.

you lifted your hands and covered your ears.

your eyes were squeezed shut, this was overwhelming. all of this was overwhelming, you wished that you had just stayed home.

then you felt a hand squeeze your shoulder, you stilled, opened your eyes, and looked up.

it was dottore.

you knew from the beginning that dottore wasn't an affectionate man, but you couldn't stop yourself from hugging him.

he was still for a few seconds before his hand rubbed your shoulder, "did i not promise to keep you safe? what makes you doubt me, (y/n)?"

capitano

content warning: implied violence

there were times when capitano felt as if the only thing he could offer you was himself.

and if that made you happy, he would have, but you didn't want him. you wanted food, clothes, and proper shelter.

you wanted many things, unattainable things, things that capitano could only dream of getting you.

it was a lot to request in a time like this, but for you, he'd do anything.

he watched as you lay motionless, he felt uncomfortable, something he had rarely felt until he had to sacrifice everything he had for you.

capitano didn't like feeling uncomfortable.

he took a small step towards you, a branch breaking underneath his foot, you stirred in your sleep before turning to face capitano.

"forgive me, (y/n), i didn't mean to wake you up," he kneeled to your side, watching as you sat up and looked at him, nodding slowly.

he was going to do terrible things for you. terrible things that you would hate him for doing.

he was determined to make you smile, to make you happy, to make you love him. he needed to, he'd feel incomplete and useless if he didn't provide for you.

he stood up and left, wordlessly.

he pillaged the nearest village. his determination to please you made him mindlessly hurt innocent people and steal from them.

it was bad - what he did - and he knew it.

but if their cries meant you would be happy, he would happily live with the guilt of what he has done.

when he came back to the den the two of you were residing in, you were asleep, cuddled up in a corner, a thin blanket wrapped around your shivering body.

capitano wanted to draw out his sword and end his life.

but instead, sat down everything he got, took a thick blanket from the pile, and approached you, he placed the blanket over you, and you woke up.

you tried to sit up, but capitano shook his head, "lie back down."

you noticed the blanket and smiled, reaching out from the blanket to feel it, "wow... this is nice," you smiled.

you smiled at capitano and he felt complete.

your head dropped back onto your makeshift pillow, a small satisfied smile on your face. capitano went back to the pile and got you a new pillow.

"lift your head, (y/n)," capitano removed the old pillow and placed the newer one under your head.

"where did you get all of this?" you asked, a tired smile on your lips as you looked up at him, "from a village... east from here."

he saw no point in telling you what happened in gory detail.

"this is a lot of stuff! how'd you manage to get it all back in one go?" you looked back at capitano as he sat beside you.

"I'm not finished. there is more."

you raised your eyebrow, excitement apparent on your face, "how much more?" you scooted closer to capitano, resting your head onto capitano's lap.

"as much as your heart desires, (y/n).

[animeyanderelover]

Writer's gift. How would some characters from Attack on Titan react to their darling waking them up in the middle of the night, crying, because they had a nightmare? They want comfort from their Yandere.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, paranoia, clinginess, touchiness

I had a nightmare

Eren Yeager

👊Whatever sleepy confusion he might have had at first when you shook him awake, he’s instantly widely awake the moment he notices your tears. Eren is quick to shoot up, pull you closer to him and asks you in a slightly panicked voice what's wrong. He just listens when you explain in a shacky voice that you had a nightmare but tightens his grip around you when he notices that you're still quite distraught, clinging onto him. Eren can't deny that he's somewhat glad though that you woke him up because you wanted his comfort since he sometimes is a bit paranoid, almost untrusting against you. He just sits for a few minutes with his s/o in bed, hugs them and rocks them gently back and forth before he convinces them to go back to sleep. He can't help but enjoy their clinginess as soon as he wraps his arms around them though, murmurs that he's there in case you have a bad dream again.

Mikasa Ackerman

🧣​Mikasa is quite quick to be fully conscious as soon as she is woken up frantically by you and alarmed as soon as she hears the slight sniffles from you. She keeps the stoic expression on her face though her eyes show her concern as she asks you gently what's wrong. Her hands are already running over your skin in a soothing manner, caressing your hair and drawing circles on your back. When you explain to her that you've had a nightmare, she ends up hugging you for a while after where you return her hug gladly. Meanwhile she's thinking about what to do now before she asks you whether you want to try to go back to sleep or stay awake for a bit longer before going back to bed. She's just going with your flow here, if you want to go back to bed and hug her tightly that's fine, if you want to stay awake for a bit longer and talk that's fine with her as well. Mikasa just wants her darling to feel better as good as she can.

Armin Arlert

🐚​He panics as soon as he notices that his darling is crying, is busily making a fuss for a good few moments where he's quick to reciprocate their clinginess with his own and hush them somehow. He's probably trying to think more calmly himself now since he has to stay levelheaded for his darling. He asks them after a few moments if they had a nightmare since that's the conclusion he came up with after thinking a bit more cooler. He offers to listen if you want to tell him about what exactly happened in your dream, understands if you don't want to talk about it though. The man just feels bad for his poor darling for having such a terrible nightmare and wants them to feel better. Armin is willing to do whatever you want to do afterwards as long as it helps you calming down enough, he's a bit pressured to make you feel better. He just talks with you about something random, will make you something to eat or just cuddle you.

Jean Kirschstein

🐴​Jean is clearly a bit more out of it when he's woken up in the middle of the night by you. He needs a few moments to properly progress the situation but as soon as he has realized that you're crying, he lifts himself slightly up and asks, still in a sleepy but worried tone, what happened. Initially there is a chance that he might feel slightly annoyed but only because he's still a bit tired. He is quick to start feeling guilty though the moment he notices how clingy you've grown, still sobbing silently and what impact that dream had on you. That would be the moment where he completely rubs the sleep out of his eyes and attend to your needs. Similar to Armin, he feels pressured to make you feel better, maybe doesn't know instantly what to do. Jean winds up just laying in bed with you though, hushes some comforting words to you. He forces himself to not fall asleep before you to make sure that you're soundly asleep.

Hange Zoë

🔬​Hange is most likely a lighter sleeper since they're a bit more hyper so it's quite easy to wake them up quickly and they're just as quick to be fully awake. The happy greeting Hange wanted to give their darling at first dies quickly down on their tongue though as soon as they notice the tears. They're surely a bit odd as they just stare at you for a few moments with blinking eyes before wiping your tears away and asking you if you had a nightmare. At first Hange is a bit curious about what exactly you dreamed that had you so scared though they drop the subject if you don't wish to talk about it. They most likely end up suggesting that you two do something else now that both of you are awake, at least until you feel partially better. For a weird reason they're excited to stay up late at night, Hange has done it before, doing it with you is even better. They're probably even a bit disappointed when you want to go back to bed.

Levi Ackerman

⚔️​He barely gets sleep at all so it's a miracle that he is even asleep to begin with though Levi is still a incredible light sleeper, he probably wakes even up before you do. It's maybe due to that that you insist that he tries to go back to sleep as soon as you notice that you've woken him up, you know how little sleep he gets anyways, don't want him to worry about you. Levi just mumbles that he can't fall asleep now anyways, not when you have cried due to a nightmare. Instead he insists that he should help you to fall asleep as quick as possible because even if his sleep schedule is messed up, he wants to guarantee that at least one of you two sleeps enough. There might be a moment where he thinks shortly that you're being a bit silly but he doesn't say so since he knows it would hurt your feelings. Most likely ends up brewing a tea for you to help you to fall asleep again if you are feeling too uneasy. He's here to comfort you as good as he can.

[doberbutts]

The other thing I liked about Being Human (US) is that the core cast are all incredibly flawed and damaged people who still love each other at their core and genuinely want things to work even though they make spectacularly stupid choices at times along the way.

Aiden is incredibly easy to trigger due to his laundry list of past and present issues and when he's triggered he doesn't shut down or go quiet. He gets ANGRY. He gets *violent*. There was a joke between my friend and I when we watched over the summer and holidays that he was a big fan of using neck snaps to solve his problems but was startlingly bad at dealing with the fallout except by continuing to kill people to cover up his problems. When he fights with Josh he gets personal, he's so combative and confrontational, and he wears that prickly exterior whenever someone sees through the stone mask and pokes at a fleshy bit a little too hard.

But we also see Aiden break down and cry. We see him sobbing uncontrollably as he loses control again and again and again. Every time he manages to scrape together a bit of happiness before either he or someone else fucks it all up and it blows up in his face. He wants to stop. He doesn't want to hurt people anymore. And he can't figure out how to do it because it's like hurting people and driving them away or killing them is the only thing he really knows how to do.

So many times while watching I would yell "talk to your fucking friends asshole" and he would continue to either shut them out or get close but lose his nerve halfway through and remain silent. He wanted that connection very badly and simply couldn't make it happen. The few times he did open up to Josh or Sally he was well received, which I think was really a bright point in the writing because it showed the audience that the problem was that Aiden couldn't figure out how to be vulnerable due to [redacted plot things] rather than because his friends were jerks.

And overall I think that balanced well with Sally, who's various exploits *also* usually blew up in her face, and Josh, who oscillates wildly between "sad and more than a little afraid of himself" and "picks weird hills to die on because it's literally the only way he manages to feel any amount of control in his life". Josh and Sally both frequently vent about things to Aiden, but he almost never reciprocated until pretty close to the end of the series. He hides things from them, he dodges questions, he finds convenient excuses to not talk about stuff, even when they prod and pry to get something out of him.

He only explains after things hit the fan and everything goes to shit. Usually, because his friends have been there to catch him when he falls, and he has to tell them *something* about why there's so much blood on his hands (sometimes literally) yet again. And they get mad at him, but ultimately they forgive him, because fuck, a werewolf and a ghost aren't really in any place to judge now are they. Even then, it's not usually the whole truth.

(And it's interesting, in the what-if scenario where they weren't there to catch him as he fell, just how bad things got)

But then he's afraid he's going to lose Josh, and he's afraid he's going to lose Sally, and he's afraid he's going to die, and he goes to Josh, and he says "I'm scared, and I don't know what to do".

And Josh stops, and realizes that Aiden has never asked him for help, not really, and has never actually been vulnerable with him, and has always worn the brave and stoic face even as things are melting down at catastrophic levels. And he says, I'm here.

Aiden is such a bad victim and he makes some real stinkers of bad choices along the way but they make sense for his character once you learn about all the shit that's happened since he became a vampire and how fucked up things got for him before he realized he needed out. And he backslides and he backslides and he backslides but he keeps trying because what's the point if he doesn't at least try.

Anyway the hill I will die on is that this show would have done numbers on tumblr if it came out slightly later. Ah well.

[the-amazing-wonderss]

Waste it on me

A/N: ...OKAY SO NOT TWICE BUT BTS THIS TIME DONT@ME ABT MY SONG CHOICES 🤡‼️ Also my first time writing for Sakura because Mod 👻 wanted me to so i'm sorry if she sounds OOC, same with the others !! ⎯☠️

Content: Fluff, No gender specified for reader other than the terms 'lady/gentleman' used in Natsuhiko's part, yandere-ish behavior on Tsukasa's part, rushed and not proofread/edited. Summary: In which you are an anti romantic that's persistent to deny your feelings to them but they notice.

Characters: Sakura, Natsuhiko, Tsukasa

You say love is messed up, you say that it don't work. You don't wanna try, no, no (you don't wanna try, no, no) ⎯ From pushing and pushing, you don't seem to budge from where you stand. Instead you're waiting there for me. Waiting for my answer that you've already predicated. Am I that obvious? Or did you predict this as well?

It's actually hard for you to even notice that she knows. With her stoic expression and all, as well as her unbothered attitude, you never would've found out about her knowing until you had eventually confess.

But before that can even occur, SAKURA would remain silent and resilient to whatever nonsense you had to say about love. How it's foolish, silly, a lie, etc.

However one thing she does notice when you start talking about it is how each time you mention something different about it, there's always a distant look in your eyes.

Whether it's mentioning the way some couples act sickly sweet to each other or how they'd bring their significant other to some place special, there was always this... Longing expression that you yourself might've not noticed, but she did.

The way you stared afar for a while, making it quite easy for her to admire the look on your face. It makes her a bit sadden to see how you weren't honest with your feelings, but also understand why you weren't so open about it.

That's why she doesn't speak up about it, or try to approach you on the topic. She's the type to wait for your answer, and if you still weren't willing to? Well one way or another she'll eventually draw the answer out of you sooner or later.

I don't know your secrets but I'll pick up the pieces. Pull you close to me now ⎯ Why don't you leave me alone? Why are you such a thorn to my side? Can't you see that I hate you? That you make me sick? Just looking at you makes my stomach churn, so what's with that dumb look on your face for?

Oh he knows. He knows and he fucking loves it so much. Basking at even knowing but still chasing after your love is so exciting for him, especially when you kept trying to push him away and deny it all, he just keeps coming back.

NATSUHIKO as we all know him very well, is a romantic at heart ⎯ he'd go far and beyond to show his love for you, heck, even showing it off despite your counters against it.

And although he might not say it out loud for you or anyone to hear, he is a bit ... Hurt? For you, seeing as you weren't honest with your feelings and kept pushing it down, was it because of his previous acts of flirting to others that made you feel as if he'd toy with yours? Or was it perhaps a past relationship that made you see things the way they are now?

He didn't know, he wants to know but he didn't want to drag you into saying it.

So instead, he awaits for whatever your reason or answer might be while also still trying to court you in the best ways possibles for a lady/gentleman such as yourself.

Treat me like a comma, I'll take you to a new phrase. Yeah, come just eat me and throw me away ⎯ I don't understand what's so special about me that makes you act like this, so childish yet so loving... Is this some kind of joke to you? Are you pulling on the strings of my heart simply because it's funny? You're cruel to make me fall for you even more.

He knows and he's pestering you about it. Upset that you're trying to keep it from him while also finding it so entertaining, especially about the little comments you make on love.

Why did it upset you? Why are you denying it? It's interesting to see how you shy away from his touches due to not 'wanting to be in love' but at the same time, looking like a love stricken fool.

TSUKASA doesn't necessarily take too kindly if you keep up with this act though, as it soon becomes more irritating than interesting for him. So if you aren't admitting to your feelings by the time he starts switching up, you might be in a lot of trouble and find some of your classmates going missing.

He sees no point keeping them around if you aren't willing to have him either.

But...if you do end up confessing to him before all of that could happen, he would be so overjoyed! Bouncing around and clinging onto you as if he hadn't just threatened demanded for your answer earlier!

It did came out as forceful... Maybe even a bit worrying from how he made you get straight to the point rather than beat around the bush for too long ⎯ but in the end, you did end up getting what you wanted, right? You have him now and he has you.

(Gonna add this extra part here just in case some readers aren't a big fan of yandere endings: But Sakura would talk to Tsukasa at one point about it and let him know of your feelings before you even got the chance to. Instead, having him confront you about it rather than the other way around ⎯ so that he could take the initiative and put the end to this cat and mouse chase.)

[ichorai]

wasteland, baby! ; morpheus.

track fourteen of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; morpheus x bast!reader (gender neutral pronouns)

synopsis ; morpheus followed you as if he were your shadow—silent, yet ever so loyal.

words ; 6.3k

themes ; angst, fluff, egyptian mythology, bast au

warnings / includes ; reader is based on the egyptian goddess bastet, starts before the events of the show but ends right at the beginning, heavy angst, death of an unborn baby (not reader's), blood/injury/pregnancy (again, not reader), allusions to sex, mentions of the other sandman characters, mentions of other egyptian gods, khonshu is your half-brother, dream is the epitome of (-_-), they love each other lots <3 perhaps i'll write a part two to this !!

main masterlist.

She was dying. 

There was raw terror within her eyes—uncertain of what was happening to her. She was young—far too young to die, but it seemed that Destiny had other plans for her beyond life.

With gentle movements, you shifted into view, greeting her with a soft beam and kind eyes. 

“Do not be afraid. I’ll protect you,” you whispered in their plucking human language. One of your hands extended towards hers, slick with her own blood. “It’s time, darling.”

The faded blue of her eyes warbled. A hot tear meandered down her grimy cheek. 

“Can I say goodbye? I… my children…” The words caught in her throat upon seeing your apologetic expression. With a resolute nod, she took your hand, and you helped her spirit onto her feet. 

Once she was up, she glanced at her physical body on the ground. “Can you keep my children away from the body? I don’t… I don’t want them to see me like that.”

A protest was on the tip of your tongue, but upon seeing her pleading expression, you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no. Your expression faltered, softening. “I’ll do what I can,” you reassured her, offering a small smile.

And as you guided the petrified woman’s spirit across the threshold between the realm of the living and the Sunless Lands, you let go of her hand, and she began walking into the next part of her journey. You observed for a minute longer, brow creased with worry. That had always been a weakness of yours—you cared too much for the mortals and often found yourself attached. Though, perhaps, affection was not a weakness, but a defining trait of who you were. It was what made you their protector, after all. 

The feeling of an unfamiliar presence appearing beside you jarred you out of your thoughts. You turned to see one of Death’s siblings staring straight at you, eyes boring into your very soul. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, rather bluntly. His voice was deep and honeyed, soaked in sea water and nestled within the richest of soils. You found yourself blanching at his sudden question, unsure if you’d done something to offend him. He certainly looked offended. Or perhaps that was just the way he always was. “This is Death’s job,” said Dream.

After a considerably long pause, you tilted your head at him. “Death is busy at the moment. I am merely helping her guide souls into the afterlife. I’m a God to them—a protector—the humans, they call me Bast. But my friends call me Y/N.”

Morpheus’ expression remained ever unchanging. He dipped his head, suddenly all the closer to you. You blinked at him with wide eyes—eyes that Morpheus refused to meet. Stoic, he spoke once more, “Do you know where my older sister is?”

“She’s dealing with affairs in Hell. Lucifer has stirred up quite a bit of trouble, I’ve heard,” you told him, pursing your lips at the thought of the devil wreaking havoc in the underworld. “What do you need her for? Perhaps I could help—?”

With naught a sound, Dream brandished a pouch from his dark, draping coat, and disappeared in a flurry of sand and dust. You stepped away with a grimace, waving the particulates away from your face.

“Rude,” you huffed as you brushed sand off your shoulder.

She was hurt. 

There was a long, jagged gash splitting her shin open. A pool of dark ichor formed around her leg and soaked into the hardened earth. You stood over her, your chest constricting.

She couldn’t see you, but you knelt down beside her anyways, murmuring a protective incantation, gently running your fingers over her wound. A soft golden glow appeared over the cut, before slowly disappearing. The injury wasn’t completely healed, but you’d made sure it wouldn’t get infected by warding away any diseases and bacteria. 

The woman wiped away her tears with the back of her hand and found a cloth to bind the gash shut.

You tilted your head, smiling down at her, before stepping away. 

This time, the presence of the Dream Lord wasn’t as much of a shock to you, but still a surprise nonetheless.

“Dream,” you greeted, eyes brightening when you turned to see him. He looked just the same, though not nearly as sour as last time. “What brings you here?”

“The girl you were helping,” he said, slow and cautious, “she’s been dreaming of you.”

Warmth seeped through your form at his words. A grin etched itself beautifully across your lips. “I’ve been watching over her since she was a young child. Her name is Nubia—gold in their language. She saved a family of kittens from drowning in a river when she was merely nine years of age. And me being a God of cats and all—she’s earned herself a special place in my heart. I don’t often show myself to mortals, but I have with her, on occasion.”

Morpheus regarded you with a shielded expression, but it was evident that he was curious in you and your endeavors.

“What do I do in her dreams?” you asked, stepping closer to him. Morpheus seemed unbothered by this, slowly tilting his head to sweep his gaze anywhere but you. 

Perhaps it was a trick of the hot Egyptian sunlight, but you could’ve sworn the beginnings of a smile traced over the corner of Morpheus’ mouth. “You do the very same in her dreams as you do in the living world. You help people. You are kind to them.”

Stunned, you let your eyes travel back to the sweet girl you’ve grown so fond of, who was rinsing the blood away from her leg. 

“Why?” asked the Dream Lord. It was a tentative question, so simple yet would never have a clear answer. 

You glanced back to him, finding his piercing blue irises fixed on you, hardened and stormy as the sea. 

“Why what?” you replied, knowing full and well what he was asking, but wanting to goad him on. You rather enjoyed speaking to him. He was a mystery to you—and you loved mysteries.

Dream was silent for a long moment. It had you briefly wondering if he’d just chosen to completely ignore your retaliating question.

Finally, he asked his in return, voice thick and viscous, as if his throat were laced with honey. “Why do you show the mortals such kindness?”

“Because I love them,” you told him simply, an elegant smile gracing your features. “They are beautiful beings, and I wish them nothing but happiness and peace. It brings me joy to be their protector.”

Morpheus didn’t seem too satisfied with your answer, as if he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what you said. How could one as eternal and powerful as you love such simple and fleeting life? Despite his evident turmoil, he remained silent. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” you said, brushing past him with a hand on his shoulder. Morpheus stiffened beneath your touch, and you were quick to draw yourself away from him, not wanting to anger one of the Endless. Desire had once gotten angry with you centuries ago, and that hadn’t gone down well. The last thing you wanted was a repeat of such events. “I have other duties to attend to. I hope to see you again, Dream.”

Morpheus dipped his head in farewell. From your peripheral vision, you saw him disappear in another whirl of sand. You shook your head in amusement, before heading off to help another precious soul in need.

She was heartbroken. 

There were scalding tears dripping down her sunken cheeks, following the curve of her jaw, and falling from her chin onto her blanket. Sobs wracked her skeletal form, and there was a pallid color to her skin, as if completely drained of energy. You watched from beside her bed, feeling thorns crowd about your heart at the sight. You sensed great despair rolling off of her in large tidal waves, nearly overwhelming you into the same feeling. 

Morpheus was there, you knew, but you had yet to speak to him. He’d been following you for a while, silent as the night, merely watching as you went about your day helping women, children, and people alike. It seemed that he’d taken a keen interest in you and your duties as a protector of the mortals. 

“This is the doing of a man,” you said to him without turning around, anger clouding your expression. “She professed her love to him and he did nothing but scoff. He scoffed at her, Dream. I mean, look at her—she’s beautiful and she’s kind and she’s so very intelligent. Men certainly are the bane of my existence.”

When you finally turned your head, you were surprised to see Morpheus right beside you, not having registered him stepping closer. 

He had his eyes trained on the weeping woman. “She is tired,” he observed calmly. 

A soft sigh fell from your lips. “She hasn’t slept a wink in three days. The poor thing has been doing nothing but lament over this buffoon of a man. I’ve tried consoling her in many ways, but her grief is strong. She loved him very much—though I can’t quite understand why.”

“Perhaps,” said Morpheus, pulling out a pouch that you were now well acquainted with, “all she needs is a bit of rest. Three days is far too long for a mortal to go without slumber.”

With that, he blew a fistful of sand into the crying woman’s face, and her raucous sobs began to subside, and eventually slowed down to deep, rhythmic breathing. 

You looked to the Dream Lord, a grateful smile to your eyes. “Thank you.” As ever, he stared ahead and nodded, avoiding looking at you. 

With fleeting, soft touches, you gently shifted the woman so she wasn’t curled in an awkward position and wouldn’t wake up with aches all over. You laid her back against the bed’s springy mattress and adjusted her head onto the feather pillow. The pads of your thumbs gently wiped her tears away, and you murmured a quiet protective enchantment to keep her safe through the night.

“Come along now,” you told Morpheus, getting up and striding out the door.

He looked at you, finally, mild confusion painting over his features. 

“You’ve been following me all day,” you said, a laugh caught in the back of your throat. “I have much to show you.”

There was a twitch to his jaw, as if he wanted to say something. But still, he remained mute, before striding forward to join you by your side.

She was sick. 

There was an unusual murmur to her heart, disrupting an otherwise perfect beat. It broke your own to realize that Death would be coming to visit her soon. You could only hope that the journey to the Sunless Lands would be kind to her.

With little else you could do for the beautiful, sickly girl, you leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, brushing a stray, wiry curl of hair away from her face, softened with sleep. Your kiss made her stop twitching and sweating so badly, and you were glad you could lessen her suffering in some way, even if it was minute.

You weren’t at all shocked to see Morpheus behind you when you turned, and you crossed your arms with a teasing grin. It’d been several decades—nearly a century—of constant visits from him, and you weren’t ashamed to say that you’d grown very fond of him. 

“Why, if it isn’t Dream of the Endless,” you greeted, taking a step closer to him, so that he was forced to look at you, and no longer avoid eye contact. The blue of his irises seemed even sharper up close. “Is there something you need this time, or are you here to follow me again?”

There was a crack to his stoic facade, a small smile whittling into his expression. A thrill spidered up your spine. 

“I’m intrigued by you,” he finally professed, albeit still guarded and wary, even after all this time.

Much to his surprise, you reacted fairly lightly to his statement, throwing your head back as peals of laughter fell from your lips, the corners of your eyes crinkling with mirth. “Dream of the Endless, intrigued in me? It’s truly an honor,” you said, slightly breathless. Morpheus carefully watched the way you beamed so wide it was a wonder your face didn’t split into two.

Dream hesitated for a moment before saying his next words. “Come with me.”

You faltered for a moment. “What? Where?”

“The Dreaming,” he said simply, as if it were obvious.

You blinked at him owlishly. “Your kingdom?”

“Yes,” he said, already drawing out his pouch of sand. “I’ve seen what you do on Earth. Now I want you to see what I do in my realm.”

“They’re beautiful,” you said, watching in awe as Morpheus fashioned dreams and nightmares out of thin air, brow creased ever so slightly in concentration. Bits of earth and bone and something far more ethereal floated around him as he assembled the pieces—creating an entirely new being. 

Dipping his head graciously, Morpheus stepped away from his craft, still in progress. 

“Come,” he said, without a glance to you. “I shall finish this later. I have much else to show you.”

He took you to see the House of Mystery, also known as Cain’s home. There was a sweet gargoyle there—Gregory, his name was, and he seemed rather fond of you, constantly nipping at your ankles and grunting in delight when you tossed a ball over for him to catch. Morpheus watched from afar, with only but a shadow of a fond smile gracing his face. He took you to the House of Secrets as well, and introduced you to Abel, who was ever so kind and refused to allow you to leave without drinking a fruity, nectarous tea first. 

The two of you strolled through the Dreaming for a while after that, discussing everything and anything that came to mind. More accurately, you’d be the one animatedly telling stories and Dream would listen with a fond glint to his gaze. Dreams and nightmares alike stared at the two of you, partially because they’d rarely ever seen their King out and about, much less with somebody, and also because they were merely curious to know who you were. 

After, he brought you to the library and introduced you to Lucienne and Mervyn—the former a spectacled librarian and the latter a pumpkin-headed janitor with a cigar wedged within his mouth, who both seemed pleasantly surprised to see Morpheus bring in a guest. 

“There will be a celebration in the Dreaming tonight,” said Dream, quiet and contemplative. Then, he looked at you, and this time, you were sure it wasn’t a trick of light—he smiled at you. It was small and fleeting, but you’d caught it nonetheless. “Seeing as Y/N is a God of celebration, joy, fire, and music—have all those ready for our guest, Mervyn.”

“Yessir,” the pumpkin coughed out a plume of smoke, before saluting with two gloved fingers, and strode away with his hands shoved into his overalls. 

Once Mervyn left in a hurry, you turned to Morpheus, eyes wide. “Dream, really, you don’t have to throw a party or anything for me, you’ve been more than kind enough—”

“I am merely repaying you for all you’ve done for mankind,” said the Endless, which made you step back just a bit in shock. “I must deal with some private matters—feel free to stay as long as you want—you are now a welcome guest in the Dreaming.”

“I… okay, thanks, Dream,” you said, trying your hardest to contain your excitement. 

He nodded, before turning on his heel and marching out of the library.

Shelving the books in her arms, Lucienne interrupted the silence with, “There hasn’t been a celebration in the Dreaming in centuries.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“None at all. In fact, this is the happiest I’ve seen him in quite a long time. You’ve really done a number on him,” said the librarian, regarding you with a curious look. 

“This is him happy?” you gasped, feeling bad for laughing slightly. “I wouldn’t want to see him angry, then.”

Lucienne scoffed at the thought. “Oh, I doubt it. He’s taken quite a liking to you.”

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to reply with a coherent response, but found your tongue void of one. Morpheus liked you? All this time, you were only assuming that he was just tolerating you—interested, perhaps, at the very most. 

“Well, I’ll see you at the party, then,” said Lucienne, finding your stunned expression mildly amusing. She sent you a kind smile. “Let me know if you need assistance with anything.”

Not even three hours later, the castle was brilliantly lit with floating candles and dewy bubbles that emitted hazy, multi-hued light. There was upbeat music echoing throughout the expansive chambers, a rich accompaniment of wind instruments and chiming bells and thrumming beats of drums—though none of said instruments were anywhere to be found. Along with that, there was a large variety of snacks and nibbles arranged on a long, intricately designed table, including dates, cheese, and buttery pastries that practically melted in your mouth. Golden chalices overflowing with wines and honeyed ales alike were passed around like a contagious flu. The castle was packed, dreams and nightmares and gods (yes, even some that you recognized—Dionysus drunkenly greeted you with a hug and a slap to the back) were milling here and there chattering excitedly. From what you gathered whilst mingling with everybody else at the party, the entire ordeal was huge—evidently, Morpheus wasn’t quite the partying type. It came as a shock to everybody when they received prompt invitations to the castle. 

Speaking of which, you hadn’t seen him at all since the celebration commenced. Which was strange, considering he was the one that set it all up in the first place. 

“My, my, my, aren’t you a beauty? Have we not crossed paths just hours before, Lord Bastet?” a nightmare purred into your ear, roping you out of your thoughts. His name was Corinthian, one of the many that Morpheus had introduced to you on your little tour through his realm. You turned around, a flirtatious grin to your lips, hooded eyes flickering over to meet a pair of black shades. You were well aware that Morpheus would most definitely not be pleased with you seducing one of his nightmares, but he wasn’t even here at his own party, so you didn’t quite see a problem. “No wonder the Dream Lord’s gone full out—he’s aiming to win somebody over, ain’t he?”

A hum fell from you, and you stepped forward, cocking your head. “Do you always speak in questions, my sweet Nightmare?”

“Only works if you answer them, doesn't it?” he retorted, a handsome grin to his features. Corinthian was well aware that you were flirting around with him and had no issues with reciprocating the energy, but he also knew that it was all fun and games—nothing serious. Besides, he wasn’t particularly keen on getting in between whatever it is that Morpheus and you had going on. 

Rolling your eyes, you huffed, “Speaking of—do you know where he is? Don’t get me wrong, he’s thrown a splendid celebration—and this is coming from the God of celebrations—but I do have to admit that it puts a damper on the mood if the host himself doesn’t make an appearance.”

A laugh rolled off of Corinthian’s tongue. “Why don’t you turn around, darlin’?”

When you did, you were met with the sight of the Dream King, draped in his long coat, hair as scraggly as ever. He was watching the two of you with a sharp gaze, jaw squared. Though he let little slip past his guarded features, you were beginning to read him very well. He wasn’t angry, no—in fact, he was amused, but was furiously trying to hide it. “I’m pleased my presence matters so much to you, Y/N.”

You bit down on your lip to stave away your growing grin. “You’re late to the party.”

“I wanted to allow you space to enjoy it,” he graciously said. “The rest of my subjects would hardly speak to you freely if I was glued by your side.”

“True,” you admitted. “Though, I wouldn’t really mind being stuck to you.” 

Morpheus offered no reaction to your words, save for a glimmer of mirth behind the blue of his honed irises. 

“Were you waiting for me?” he asked quietly, barely audible over the raucous upswing of the celebration. 

Feeling bold tonight, you could only sidle closer to him, the cold golden jewelry of your party attire brushing against the very front lapels of his dark coat. Morpheus’ gaze flitted downward, soaking you in your entirety, before returning back to your face just as quickly. “You threw a party in my name and disappeared without a trace! Of course I was waiting for you, Dream.” 

For a moment, Dream had the gall to appear mildly apologetic. He didn’t seem to mind that you were much closer now, watching the way your searching eyes reflected the fires of the floating candles, like burning stars within the vast galaxy. “I am sorry for keeping you waiting, then.”

“Nothing a couple drinks can’t remedy,” you assured him, about to reach out to grasp his hand and pull him to a table of self-refilling refreshments, before hesitating and pulling your hand back.

Whistling loudly, Corinthian suddenly pulled both of your attentions away from each other. If you had to be completely honest, you’d nearly forgotten that he was there. In fact, you’d nearly forgotten there were hundreds of other beings in the room. He was grinning wolfishly, hands propped on his hips. “Well, aren’t you two a swell pair of lovebirds? It was lovely meeting you, eh, Bast? Take care of dear old Dream, will you?”

You waved him away with a grin before he sauntered off into the crowd, disappearing amongst a throng of boisterous dreams. 

The party had waned away to a couple of drunken gods (which took about a pond’s worth of fluid to get them to such a state) stumbling about in the halls, and a few straggling nightmares still trying to squeeze out the last remnants of the party. Everybody else had gone back to their respective homes or realms, exhausted and in need of a long rest. 

Much to your delight, Morpheus hadn’t left your side once the entire night. He stuck by you as if he were your shadow—silent, yet ever so loyal. However, you found that he’d been right—nearly all of his subjects that had initially been so friendly to you were now intimidated by their creator stonily staring them down. It was worth it, though. You liked Morpheus’ company, even if it was mostly silent and warded people away. Lucienne, however, practically immune to Morpheus’ temperament, spoke to you for a lengthy amount of time about the most interesting books she’s come across in her library, and you made her promise to lend copies to you whenever you returned for your next visit. Morpheus seemed to just barely smile when you mentioned that you were keen on returning to his realm.

You’ve spent far too much time away from the living realm, and you wanted to return back to your duties, you really did—but you were finding it hard to say goodbye to Dream. Especially when he was watching you with such attractive, hooded eyes. 

Had his eyes been like that the entire time, or was he just looking at you like that now that the two of you were alone, in front of his bedroom? How in the world did you get up here without realizing?

“What is it like? To have your subjects love you?” asked Morpheus, nearly startling you out of your dazed reverie. 

The question was an unexpected one, but you were quick to respond nonetheless. “It is perhaps the best part of serving them. I do not exist without them. I am nothing without them—and for that, I am grateful.”

Morpheus dipped his head, as if in thought.

“The humans have named you a God of many things, because they love you so,” he said. “Is it not tiring to juggle so many conflicting duties at once?”

“It’s not tiring at all. I like a bit of variety in my work. And I love them just as much for it, if not more—after all, I am a God of infatuation,” you replied, lips slanting up at him. 

Something changed within his scrutiny. It was minute, but you still noticed it. His jaw relaxed just a bit, and he angled his face to better look at you. Suddenly, your first few meetings where he had completely refused to meet your gaze whatsoever felt so very long ago. Not at all subtly, Morpheus’ stormy eyes glossed down to your lips, which were just slightly parted with want. 

Your breath hitched within your throat. 

Emboldened, you spoke again, voice an octave lower. “I am also a God of pleasure.” Ever so slowly, you reached out to graze your hand over his. His eyes remained on you, unblinking. When he didn’t jerk away, you threaded your warm fingers through his frigid ones. “Perhaps I can show you?”

There was a stormy grumble to Morpheus’ chest when his arm darted out to snake over your waist, pulling you close. He swallowed your pleased gasp when he sealed his lips over yours, noses bumping against one another amidst your vigor. Finally, finally, your hands reached up to bury within his unruly dark hair, sighing into him. There was a furiously desperate nature behind his touches, and you were nothing if not a match to his intensity. When you softly bit down on the bottom of his lip, a dangerous color melded over his features, and he made a suppressed noise of torment in the back of his throat, before kissing you again—harder this time. You most certainly didn’t mind. 

In tandem, you stepped back into his bedroom, and he kicked the door shut behind him. It closed so loudly, the very walls rattled—no doubt the entire castle had heard it. Neither of you seemed to care. 

She was screaming.

There was a long litany of crying pleas falling from her lips, hair plastered to her quickly paling skin with sweat. Tears rolled down her plump cheeks as she cradled her swollen stomach, where her unborn child was slowly dying within her.

She was losing her baby.

You were standing beside her, casting as many protective healing enchantments as fast as you possibly could, breathing labored. The very beginnings of panic seized your heart when none of it was enough. You weren’t enough.

“PLEASE!” she screamed her voice raw to any God that would listen to her. “PLEASE, HELP ME! I BEG YOU! I BEG YOU, PLEASE! I can’t lose them, I can’t lose my baby!”

“I’m trying,” you croaked, strained, even though she couldn’t hear or see you. You were trying—but it was too late. 

Death appeared in front of the bed, serenely calm, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You only shrugged her off, hurriedly casting more enchantments, more incantations, more protective shielding. You were a God of fertility, a protector of women and children—how could you let this happen?

“Y/N,” your old friend said, not unkindly. 

You ignored her.

“Y/N,” she repeated, a touch firmer. “You cannot bring back the dead.”

Another enchantment. Another incantation. Another spell. A scalding tear fell down your cheek. Your hands began to shake.

The child was still dead. The mother’s wails echoed shrill in your head.

“I’m sorry,” you hiccupped, your vision obscured with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

You didn’t even register when Dream gently pulled you away from the woman, so his sister had some space to properly do her job. Because you had failed at yours.

A sob thundered through you, shaking you to your very core. “I’m sorry,” you cried, turning away from the body. This wasn’t the first time you’d gone through this, but it only seemed to get more and more painful each time. 

Morpheus, grim-faced and solemn, brought you closer to him with soft touches, guiding your head to rest into the crook of his neck. You cried against his skin, fistfuls of his coat gathered tightly within your palms. He murmured a short sentence of comfort into your ear, but you didn’t quite catch what he was saying, ears filled with static. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeated over and over again. Morpheus tenderly stroked the back of your head, falling silent, and tugged you all the closer to him. 

She was asleep. 

A man laid naked beside her, his arm thrown loosely over her waist as he snored so loud it was a wonder she didn’t jolt awake. 

With a beguiling smile, you looked over your shoulder to Morpheus expectantly. A miniscule glimmer of amusement warbled within his eyes, and with a flick of his fingers, the slumbering man’s arm fell away from the woman, and he turned over with a grumble, falling deeper into a dreamful sleep.

“Thank you,” you told him, affectionately grazing the tip of your nose to his cheek. “You should come along with me more often—it’s fun having an assistant to help me with my duties.”

“I’m only but a call away, my love,” replied the Endless, an unmistakably doting edge to his words. 

Your grin grew double its size. Morpheus slowly gestured to the sleeping couple with his head, reminding you of your duties.

“They’ve been trying to conceive for months,” you told him, waving your hand over the woman’s belly. A soft aureate glow touched the ends of your fingers, and fell to her in periodic droplets. “Today’s their lucky day.”

With a final protective casting, you stepped back, satisfied. 

“She won’t know she’s pregnant until two or three weeks’ time,” you said, making your way back to him across the room. “I’ll be back by then to make sure she’s doing alright—will you come with me, Morpheus?”

The Endless regarded you with a soft, fond gaze, one that was reserved for you, and only you. He gathered your hands within his.

You arched a brow when he didn’t answer your question. “Morpheus—?”

“Marry me,” he cut you off quietly, voice saturated with feather-silken endearment. 

There was a beat of shocked silence, and you had to pause for another two to make sure that he wasn’t jesting with you. Then again, Morpheus was never the kind to jest in the first place.

Then, your expression cracked into one of joy, positively radiant. The moonlight streaming through the window cast mellow shadows over the slopes of your features, shifting as you smiled ever so brilliantly. 

“On one condition,” you murmured, drawing yourself closer to him and dragging a glowing finger down his jaw. 

“Anything, my love,” whispered Morpheus, his lips but a hair’s breadth from yours.

“You must know that my duties to the mortals will always come first and foremost.”

The Endless dipped his head in understanding. “Every passing moment with you is only something to be all the more grateful for.”

“You certainly have a way with words, don’t you?” you whispered, amused. Morpheus stole your smile away with a kiss, indulgent in nature and devastatingly gentle.

Khonshu thought you were a fool. A mindless, bumbling fool. 

“You married Dream of the Endless?” your half-brother harrumphed. “What of your courtship with Ptah? He is in love with you, sibling-mine.”

At the mention of your previous lover, you bristled, glaring witheringly at his bird-skulled form. “That was centuries ago, Khonshu. Perhaps if you’d bothered to keep in touch, you would know that. Besides, Ptah is madly in love with Sekhmet, and she with him. I have no interest in rekindling whatever it is we had in the past. I love Morpheus, and that is that. Now I’m very much glad you didn’t bother showing up to our wedding.”

“There was a wedding?” he snarked, which made you square your jaw. 

The two of you had always had a love-hate relationship, as most siblings often did. 

“Even Anubis showed up,” you retorted, mind wandering back to your first love from long ago, and the awkward introduction between him and your husband. “Though, Morpheus wasn’t particularly happy about that.”

“Anubis has always been a sniveling, groveling simpleton,” your brother snidely remarked. “I am ever so busy, as you can see—I have no time for frivolous events such as weddings.”

Knowing it was pointless arguing with him, you simply blew out a sigh, and watched as he carefully shifted the moon into appearance amongst the stars of the night sky. 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a sharp, searing pain tore through your chest, and you let out a choked groan, falling to your knees at the sudden sensation. Khonshu’s large head rounded to look at you, a litany of sharp, berating words on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back upon seeing you on the ground. 

“Y/N?” he asked, deep voice bellowing. 

It felt as if a dozen knives were plunged within you, twisting, twisting, twisting—

Morpheus. 

You didn’t know what was going on, but something was happening to him. You could feel it. He was in danger. Panicked, you called for him in your thoughts, and received no response. With a trembling voice, you called for him out loud.

Nothing.

Khonshu was beside you by then, helping you up, asking you about a dozen impatient questions at once, but you had no time to answer any of them.

“I have to go,” you told him, before stepping away, determined to get back to the Dreaming to find your husband.

“Lucienne!” you called, running into the library after scouring the castle, finding it completely empty. The librarian looked up from her book, a smile on her face upon seeing you. It was quick to melt away when she noticed your terrified expression. “Where’s Morpheus? Where is he?”

She looked taken aback by your frantic nature, before she calmly replied, “I’m not quite sure, he was here recently—I thought he was with you?”

“So he’s not here?” you asked, breath hitching. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Lucienne, I have to find him. I’m afraid something’s happened to my husband!”

Concerned, she tilted her head. “What makes you think so?”

“I just—I felt this searing pain within me, and for a moment I could feel him, like I… I could feel his pain, as if it were mine—I felt his anguish. And then it was just gone.” 

“Alright, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, I’m certain he’s perfectly fine,” Lucienne placated, a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We can wait until nightfall—Morpheus is sure to return from wherever he is by then.”

He didn’t return. 

Not at nightfall. 

Not the next day. Nor the next week, nor the month after that.

Not for years, not for decades.

The living realm was in shambles without him. Some went for days without sleep, collapsing only out of pure exhaustion, and others slept in a comatose state for weeks on end. 

Dreams and nightmares looked to you for guidance at first—but you weren’t equipped to rule an entire realm on your own, much less one that wasn’t yours to begin with. 

And not long after Dream’s disappearance, they began to leave the Dreaming, in search of something else. 

The kingdom was crumbling apart, and you tried your best to keep it together at first, you really did. But with so much of your time devoted to the living realm, you began to weaken, and you couldn’t uphold both strenuous duties at once. With time, the Dreaming began decaying and breaking down, until all that was left was ash and rubble.

Lucienne was one of the only ones that stayed in the broken realm, and it shattered your heart to see her so dejected, living amongst the ruins that she once called a home.

And what made it all worse was that you missed him. You missed your husband. His comforting presence, his smooth, melodic voice, his muted kindness, despite his cold exterior. You missed him, terribly so, and to see his world crumbling away filled the cracks within your chest with a thick, tar-like despair.

During your time in the living realm, when you weren’t helping out the frantic mortals, you spent your time scouring city to city, country to country, tribe to tribe—and nowhere was Morpheus to be found. You’d even gotten so desperate to ask your brother, Khonshu, to help, and he’d reluctantly agreed, using his poor sleep-deprived avatars to help search for him. Perhaps you didn’t search hard enough.

Or perhaps… perhaps he was simply gone. 

No. No, it just couldn’t be.

Morpheus wouldn’t up and disappear like that—he loved his subjects, his dreams, his nightmares, all of them—and he loved you, more than anything else. 

He wouldn’t do this to you on purpose, you knew that. He was somewhere out there, in the vast cosmos. 

And he needed your help. 

“I’ll find you, my dearest Dream,” you whispered, still trying ever so desperately to reach him through thought. “Wherever you are… wherever you’ve gone…”

I’ll find you.

[woodchipp]

I think Sunny would be a better protagonist if he spoke. The only reason given for his silence is that he doesn't like to talk much, but even introverted, quiet people are not dead silent in every situation. It actively harms his character, too. There are moments where Sunny having dialogue would've done a better job of conveying what emotion the creator was trying to get across. Like when Sunny finds Basil having a mental breakdown in the bathroom and the former just leaves him there without a saying a word. During this moment, Basil says "Sunny... W-Why... Why do you look so scared?", so Omocat was trying to show that Sunny was afraid to talk to Basil.

However, Sunny's "fear" is poorly conveyed because when you click on the mirror, he still has his usual expressionless face. Instead of coming off as scared, Sunny comes off as an uncaring jerk.

no no no you see his fear is actually conveyed by his complete lack of a reaction which is a clear sign of PTSD and flat affect and you're just not mentally ill enough to grasp the game's intricate nuances anyway (/j but that, in fact, was an argument of some fans I came across and talked with. I wish I was kidding.)

I think Sunny would be a better protagonist if he spoke. The only reason given for his silence is that he doesn't like to talk much, but even introverted, quiet people are not dead silent in every situation.

Yeah. As I've said in this post, Sunny's lack of a distinctive personality makes it come across as less of an organic personality trait and more as the writer's excuse for keeping him silent until the game's very last seconds to maximize the scene's emotional impact (doesn't stop him from using his voice for pizza deliveries, though. internal consistency 👍)

IMO he could've talked akin to OFF's The Batter - generally terse and direct. It would've complimented Sunny's stoic disposition while also giving him a real way to express himself beyond the constant resting bitch face. Alternatively, he could've kept silent on his first day in the town but become more talkative as the game progressed to indicate his growth. I also thought of making his arc the opposite of Omori's - the more Sunny changes and grows, the more irascible and petulant Omori becomes to his friends.

There are moments where Sunny having dialogue would've done a better job of conveying what emotion the creator was trying to get across. Like when Sunny finds Basil having a mental breakdown in the bathroom and the former just leaves him there without a saying a word.

Basil's overworld sprite doesn't even make him look like he's having a breakdown. And you're given the option to run circles around him like it's no problem. truly peak

Seriously, though - there were so many ways to convey Sunny has no control over the situation. Make him unable to go in any direction but directly to Basil, have the latter say his "you look scared" line and give the player some ominous fake choice prompt like

Leave. Yes/Yes

And that's it! The cutscene could've been at least slightly spooky with just a little bit of thought! Which, of course, was never the priority. Feels before reals :)

[universallydestinytaco]

💖 >:3

(For the askbox game)

@sometimes-sleeby-octopus

Now I would list off my favorite episode in this particular answer BUT I wanna wait until I have seen ever S2 episode before that because I have a hunch that either one of the last three episodes to go is gonna wind up being my favorite of the entire series because this already-impressive and addictive show has vastly improved since it came back....with that said, I can list off my favorite S1 episode, or at least three contenders for the title.

While the "Whodunnit" plot is a tale as old as time and has been in numerous animated works for decades, I can safely say that "Who Violently Murdered Simon S. Salty?" might be my favorite take on this trope because not only does it avoid playing this plot straight like others, there's a couple of fun twists so the payoff/punchline to the mystery is legitimately hilarious, also I love how the episode showcases Pim and Charlie's dynamic so well here with how they approach the situation and how well they bounce off of each other with Pim being the sensitive and caring one while Charlie is the trying to present himself as the more gruff and business-like of the two while also coming across as a bit of a goofball, also that cute bit at the end satisfied this obvious Charpim shipper. But what happens when you get an episode where it's one without the other and will it work as well as the boys bouncing off of each other? Well...

"A Silly Halloween Episode" is a spooky fun romp where Pim being the wholesome and lighthearted character stars by himself in the dark side of the forest on a dark and stormy night while being targeted by a mysterious force. Why this works so well is that even though Pim is not playing off of Charlie's cynical disposition, instead he is juxtaposed to this uncanny Silent Hill/Blair Witch aesthetic and is clearly terrified while trying to keep it upbeat. I like how it feels like a Courage the Cowardly Dog episode or that Mickey Mouse short with the Mad Scientist. The beginning setting up the episode's ending is also a clever punchline. Now that we covered a SF episode with Pim as the focus and Charlie out of the picture, the last episode of S1 I will cover is the opposite.

"Charlie Dies And Doesn't Come Back" is actually the first episode of this show I watched from beginning to end. Long story short: Believe it or not, there was a time before 2022 where I hated Smiling Friends, because I tried to watch the pilot and initially wasn't impressed for reasons I'll get into when I feel like expressing in another in-depth editorial, another reason for my bias was because at that period I was just more invested in serious adult cartoons like Final Space and Primal. But then I considered giving the show another chance once I saw thumbnails on YouTube of nothing but glowing reviews for this show so I figured I'd give it a second chance in the future...coincidentally I did give it a chance when I was lucky enough to catch the [AS] 2022 April Fools Day broadcast on YouTube and I was not only impressed I was grinning like a fool the entire time and I was still chuckling about it the next day, I just had to bingewatch the rest of the show. What makes this episode work is like the last ep I covered: instead of Pim having a solo episode with a dark tone, Charlie stars in an episode bouncing off a more comedic-toned episode instead of bouncing off of Pim and the episode is even better after seeing the rest of the show because after witnessing Charlie trying to look more stoic than he really is for most of this chaotic show his pokerface is dropped once he makes it clear how freaked out by his unhinged violent environment. The climax-leading-to-the-ending is also incredibly sweet not just for Pim and Charlie's reunion but in retrospect this is because it would turn out to be one of the last voice performances of comedy legend Gilbert Gottfried before his passing in mere days after I saw the episode it made the climax when the character he voices even more of a pleasant surprise, what a way to cap off a carrier...

I know, big shocker I used to hate this show before it came out when it ended up becoming my biggest non-Anime obsession at the moment, but it's not the only shocking opinion I have regarding this show as I have two yellow hearts to answer with a bombshell to reveal for each.