#this would be really long if i wrote it i think

[astralnymphh]

jackson!ellie falling for the girl with spectacular music taste. what does she think when passing by your open window? shit, is that the sick habit? rad. but it has trickled into a myriad of genres, now having an eclectic accumulation of records thanks to you, and your midday music sessions. on patrol, she thinks about you. in those abandoned record stores, she thinks—and dedicates time to you, fitting a couple inside her backpack she had graciously made room for. either to listen to them while daydreaming in psychedelic hues, or to give them to dina so she can deliver them to you. darkening your doorstep unannounced feels a bit invasive, and besides, you know dina way better than ellie knows you. confrontations are daunting; what would she even say?

she had no time to figure, since dina—in all her matchmaking glory—thought getting ellie out of her garage for something besides patrol duties for a change, and into your place, would ease her up to you. the path that leads there is precipiced, crowded with nerves. her cheeks are lovingly dimpled when you nudge her in the shoulder. “you never told me you play guitar!” ellie never expected you to be the epitome of romance poetry: all smiles, warming up in no time, so punctual in the eyes, she wonders what details you like about her. “u-uh, yeah. not too serious about it though,” she humbles herself. hand concealed behind her head.

yet, of course, dina never lets ellie be so soft-spoken. “come on! nobody, who isn't serious about music, writes their own songs. play something for us!” nudging with her voice from across the room.

ellie so badly wanted to punch her friend in the shoulder then. god, she shuddered at the encouragement. but, she couldn't deny you; when it was you, handing her the guitar long forgotten about from your closet, she had to indulge with a soft smile. thereon, when ellie was consumingly focused on tuning that hollow body of wood, she missed all your subtle stares of her face, or her freckled hands, whatever intrigued you to contemplate. after she played one of your favorites—receiving compliments from you for even knowing that song—you had to tell her all about your introspects. fortuitously, dina left by then.

“you're really good at it,” you said, gentler than the music of wind, with your head in her criss-crossed lap, and satin-shine eyes locking hers. anyone could tell she has been waiting for something as transient and calming as this. “you should write me a song, hm?” laying her palms on your face so delicately, afraid this moment could shatter. “would love t—i mean, yeah. sure.” still doesn't even know what to say!

the moment lives forever in the song she wrote that following night. it had to be captured; you need to know how much she fucking cherishes it.

this was meant to just be a little something something but i turned it into something i'd cry to. #kms.

[milkbobatyun]

till death do us part

pairing: jiaoqiu x gn!reader

genre: fluff, angst

summary: your dream was to be a healer, his was just to follow you, so how did it end up this way?

word count: 1.1k

a/n: wrote this before 2.5 was released (because i loved him the moment i saw his release) , this is just my own headcanon about why jiaoqiu "withdrew from medicine with a broken heart", hope yall enjoy (,, . ̫. ,,)

for as long as you could remember, a certain, teasing pink furred foxian stuck to your side like a burr. he followed you everywhere, like a shadow, though the jiaoqiu then would protest otherwise. he was your protector, he would huff, cheeks puffed out in indignation.

sometimes, jiaoqiu led you through the warbling creeks and rustling bushes, on a mission to help you find herbs. other times, you led him by the hand, playing general and soldier in the streets. the locals knew, if they wanted to find either of you, spotting the other half of the duo would often lead them to the person they wanted.

your childhood aspiration was to practise medicine and become the best healer, while his was more simple-minded. he just wanted to follow you, to be with you.

“to the ends of the planet?” young jiaoqiu’s head wobbled forwards and back fervently in agreement. “but what if i die?” hearing those words, jiaoqiu’s busy hands froze, eyes growing comically large, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. his soft ears flattened against his head in displeasure, sticky fingers reaching out to pinch your baby fat. “no! stop thinking like that!” he chided.

your tinkling laughter hugged his fluffy ears. “im just kidding, no need to look so worried.” you dismissed easily, turning back to sorting your herbs. 

jiaoqiu’s nose crinkled as he looked down at the pile of bitter-smelling herbs, before his shoulders slumped in despair. they all looked the same, how was he ever going to learn them all?

seeing his face, you quietly chuckled into your hand. 

“silly goose!” you teased. “you dont need to study medicine if you find it so hard.”

jiaoqiu pouted, feigning sadness at your teasing, tail drooping sadly towards the floor, a frown surfacing on his face. 

he only hoped that there wouldn’t come a day that he would regret not taking up medicine.

the wintery cold lingered in the air, jiaoqiu’s sensitive nose picked up the hints of the scent. time had flown by quickly, his initially small and pudgy figure shooting up to an unfair height, his face sharpening, growing into those classic foxian features. it was down right injustice really, how such a man had a wonderful and pleasing face as his.

though you didn’t realise it, your own height had lengthened too. if you asked jiaoqiu, you looked as striking as your youth, if not even more. every time he saw you, his heart would beat quicker. your touch sending sparks flying on his skin, the warmth lingered after your hand was long gone.

jiaoqiu could only thank the aeons that his ears were not the colour of a tomato, though he doubts his soft cheeks could say the same. whenever he saw you, a cloud of red dusted his cheeks.

the loud, red firecrackers boomed in the courtyard of the yaoqing. cheers of joy and sobs of relief echoed behind.

today was the graduation of the yaoqing healers. after so many years of hard work in the pollen and dust filled cabinets of the yaoqing medicine storage, you were glad to be out of the stuffy old place. 

though jiaoqiu didn’t outwardly express his joy like you, his secretive smile and curved eyes told enough of his happiness. he was proud of you, fearlessly taking on every challenge learning medicine had thrown at you and creating your own solutions.

when you eagerly ran up to him, he engulfed you in his warm embrace, one tooth-achingly sweet grin from you cracking jiaoqiu’s mask, a suppressed grin of amusement and adoration surfacing from beneath. with your signature clap and handshake, the two of you made your way home, you skipping along the path, while jiaoqiu sauntered behind you, listening to your cheerful chatter.

how did it end up this way? it was supposed to be a routine round…

you were merely assigned to patch up wounded soldiers. so how was it that you were now bloodied, clinging to that thinning thread of life?

the rain poured down, a witness to the tears of jiaoqiu. his arms cradled your fragile body close to his chest, his warmth a campfire that roared against the encroaching cold.

the droplets slapped across your cheeks, a harsh reminder that you were clinging onto the edge of consciousness. the world was a blur of rain and darkness. you were vaguely aware of a warmth pressing against your cheek. you peeled open your tired eyes, trying to gain a sense of where you were. last you remembered, the encampment had been attacked.

“jiaoqiu?” you whispered out feebly, the words barely escaping your lips, which were slowly turning blue. “im cold. i feel so cold… i think im bleeding somewhere, it hurts...” you nestle in towards jiaoqiu’s warmth, seeking warmth as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. “you’re warm…” you trail off, the chattering of your teeth drowning out the rest of your words. your thoughts began to fade away, slowly bleeding out, like the blood from your wound.

how did it end up this way?

jiaoqiu’s trembling fingertips frantically tapped against your cheek, eyes wide with fear and desperation, in an effort to keep you awake.

you blinked up weakly at jiaoqiu, focusing your energy on staying awake. “jiaoqiu?” you meekly called out. “you look better when you smile, smile for me…please?” you pleaded quietly.

through the raindrops and tears that coated his face, jiaoqiu tried to smile, the corners of his lips twitching into a sad smile. seeing him give you a feeble grin, your face mirrored his, a shallow smile etched on your face.

‘if only i knew how to stop the bleeding…if only i learned, instead of giving up halfway, maybe i could be more use.’ jiaoqiu thought bitterly to himself, scorning his own stupidity.

with an effort, your shaking hand reached up towards jiaoqiu’s face, cradling his cheek. “dont be sad, smile for me. thank you for being with me.” you whispered.

“please dont leave me.” jiaoqiu pleaded, his voice cracking with sadness. “we still have so much to do. you’re gonna be ok.” jiaoqiu chanted the last 5 words like a mantra, a prayer that the aeons turned a deaf ear to.

the surrounding din of the world faded away, your life playing back before your eyes. you thought of all the moments you had shared with this sly foxian, wishing for just one more day, nay, even a second and you would be satisfied. but jiaoqiu was here, holding onto you and that was enough.

a final sighing breath slipped from your lips, your eyes losing their spark. your hand fell away from his cheek, head lolling to the side. in death, you were serene, a faint smile on your face—an angel taken too soon.

the rain fell harder, as though the heavens themselves were mourning your death, while jiaoqiu bowed his head, tears cascading like a waterfall of sorrow.

taglist (open): @yeonjunsfox

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[jakedustry]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 - 𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐈

popular!riki x fem!reader

in which after many of your protests, your friends manage to convince you to go to your school prom, reminding you you don't need a date to have fun, and you even believe them for a second – until you are left alone at your table, with no one to talk to. Fortunately, your close friend shows up right in time to show you prom can be funny after all.

wc 2.8k

warnings none (me thinks) except for kissing

↪ izzy adds... I wrote this a year ago on my wattpad account but thought it would be nice to bring some riki fluff on my tumblr too :)) This is only vaguely proofread!

“I don’t want to go,” you whined, grabbing a hair tie from your table before turning to face the group of girls sprawled on your bed again. “I am serious. First of all, I don’t have anyone to go with, and second of all, I don’t have a dress either,” you explained your reasons when you notice the looks on your friends’ faces. 

“But you have to go! Prom is so much fun!” One of the girls exclaimed, ready to argue with you. “It might have been fun if someone asked me to be their prom date,” you mumble, sighing. “Or if you guys were still in school. I don’t want to go alone!” You complained. 

Honestly, you didn’t care much about not being asked out for prom. What bothered you more was that none of your friends would be there with you. You were the youngest in your friend group, and with all the girls being a grade above you, it meant there was no one you could talk to. 

“People are blind. I don’t get why no one asked you out.” 

“It’s whatever. I am not going anyway,” you repeated, sitting on your bed between the two eldest. “Everything got far worse after you left. The girls in my class keep laughing at anyone who breathes. I don’t need them making fun of me because I don’t have a date.” 

“You don’t need a date! You can go alone and dance with whoever you want! I swear prom is super fun!” Your friend kept trying to convince you. “And I already finished your dress,” your best friend joined the conversation, making all of you look at her. “What? Really?” Your eyes widened. 

She had decided to study fashion design after finishing high school, and she had been promising you she would make a dress for you since the first semester started, but you knew she was busy, so you never paid much attention to it, thinking she wouldn’t have time for it. 

“Why haven’t you shown us earlier?!” 

Your best friend unlocked her phone, scrolling through her gallery to find a picture. “I thought I told you about it before. And I wanted to bring it tomorrow to see if it needs fixing,” she shrugged. “Here it is,” she turned her phone towards you so you could see first, showing it to the rest of the group afterward. 

It was a long midnight blue v-neck piece with a fitted bodice and a sweeping skirt, and you absolutely loved it. Even though you always preferred pants and shorts over a dress or skirt, you could see how much work she had put into making it for you. Seeing the dress made you feel a sudden wave of excitement. You wanted to wear it as soon as possible. 

“You are so good!” The oldest gasped. “It’s nothing,” your best friend chuckled, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck. You knew she was proud of her work, too. “It really does look gorgeous, though,” you assured her, still in awe. 

“Well, now you just have to go.” You sighed, “Alright, I’ll go, but you guys have to promise we’ll get an ice cream and sleep over at mine after it.” The girls grinned, agreeing immediately. 

♡⸝⸝ 

You looked into the mirror again, fixing your hair with a smile. Even though you didn’t feel super excited to go out alone, you must admit, you felt pretty tonight. The dress your best friend designed fit you perfectly, and once you put your hair up and let her do your makeup, you found yourself looking forward to the dance more. 

“You look stunning,” your best friend assured you, her smile so genuine she might also make you feel like the prettiest girl in the world. “Should we go?” She asked, offering you her arm. You giggled, wrapping your hand around her arm and leaving your room with her. 

“No boy will be able to resist you tonight.” You couldn’t hide your smile as you heard your best friend, your confidence slowly building up. You nodded, following her to her car. 

Your confidence, however, dropped down again as you ended up alone at your table, staying the only one not dancing. 

You ended up sitting at a table in the far corner with a few of your classmates, looking around the place as soon as you sat down. You must say, they did a great job with the decoration. “I am going to get something to drink. Do you guys want anything?” One of the girls asked, putting her handbag on her chair and looking around the table. One of her friends stood up, too, saying she would go with her when their other friends asked for drinks.

You just watched them, not saying anything. They weren’t your friends. Honestly, you barely knew them, so you didn't want to bother them with getting you a drink. It felt awkward sitting there with them, but there was nothing you could do. It wasn't like it would feel any less uncomfortable at the other tables. 

Half an hour later, the dance floor was already occupied, with almost no space for any more pairs. You saw a few of your classmates here and there dancing or sitting at their tables and talking to their friends, but you didn't dare to walk up to any of them. 

So you ended up sitting alone at your table, watching everyone else enjoy themself while you had nothing to do. You knew you shouldn't expect much when you didn't have a date, but you got your hopes up when you talked to your best friend, and now it made you regret coming here after all. 

You shifted in your place, staring at the almost empty glass of coke you got earlier. Playing with your straw, your thoughts drifted away to your friends again. To your actual friends, not just your classmates. You remembered how your best friend would laugh at the stupidest things whenever she was around you and how the eldest in your friend group would always talk about her boyfriend, to the point it annoyed all of you. 

You sighed, closing your eyes for a quick second so tears wouldn't fall down your cheeks. You just wanted to be with them.

“How come you are here alone?” You opened your eyes upon hearing the familiar voice, quickly blinking to make all the possible tears disappear before they could even show up. “I thought I was too late,” he mumbled so quietly you almost didn’t hear him. Almost. 

“It’s weird that none of the guys here asked you for a dance yet. They are missing out,” he grinned, sitting on a chair beside you. “How long did it take you to learn those lines, Riki? Do you go around asking every girl?” You teased him but couldn’t hide a smile. 

You watched him, taking a proper look at what he was wearing. All the boys had a specific dress code: formal pants and a button-down. A vest or a suit jacket were optional, so most of them weren’t wearing them. But he was. He had a black vest on his white button-down, and you could swear he looked better than ever before. It was somehow attractive seeing a man wear a vest even though he didn't have to.

You knew he was attractive. You would be a fool to deny it when all the girls in your grade and the grade under you had a crush on him at one point. But still, it felt as if your eyes had opened only now. 

“Now seriously. Why did you reject everyone? I thought you wanted to dance tonight,” he questioned, looking around the place. You shrugged, looking the same way he was, “No one asked me yet. I didn’t get the chance to reject anyone.” 

You had met Nishimura Riki last year for the first time. You were running through the school hallway late in the afternoon, being one of the last students still in school. Lessons ended more than an hour ago and you had lost track of time while studying in the school library. It was a pure fate that the two of you met, really. You weren’t planning on stopping. If anything, you almost sped up to get out of school as soon as possible to catch your bus, but you ended up slowing down instead when you heard your favorite song coming from one of the classrooms. 

You glanced inside, wondering who was stupid enough like you to be still hanging out in school at this hour. That was when you saw him dancing in the middle of an empty classroom to your favorite song. Back then, he obviously had no idea it was your favorite song, and you had no idea it was one of his, too. 

He noticed you standing at the door and froze, a sudden wave of embarrassment brushing over him. He turned the music off immediately, watching you apologize for interrupting. You felt as embarrassed as he did but didn’t move right away. You lingered in the silence, keeping eye contact with him until you felt a blush creeping up your cheeks. You apologized again, running off before he could say anything. It was a chaotic first meeting, but you still managed to get stuck in his head. 

You didn’t have a proper conversation with him that day or any of the days prior, but you started greeting each other in the hallways since then, exchanging small smiles or glances from across the room. 

It went like so for weeks, with neither of you walking up to each other to actually say something. You didn’t know his name, and you assumed he didn’t know yours either, but you still found yourself looking forward to seeing him between your classes. 

And not so long after, when your best friend wanted to introduce you to her boyfriend’s friends, you finally got to hear his name. You stuck together with Riki most of the afternoon, only exchanging a few words with his other friends. It was Riki who your eyes landed on, unable to look away as you found yourself getting lost in your conversation. 

You considered him your close friend since. 

Riki looked back at you, confused if you were telling the truth or joking. “No one asked you for a dance?” You shook your head at his question, looking down at your glass again. “I swear everyone is blind,” he shook his head in disappointment. “You look amazing today,” he assured you. “You look amazing all the time, actually,” he mumbled, making your cheeks turn pink. “Thank you,” you muttered shyly. 

He hesitated for a second, encouraging himself before he stood up. “Do you want to dance?” Your name rolled on his tongue so easily, as if he had said it a million times before. You smiled, looking up at him again. His hand was reached towards you, and he averted eye contact. For the first time in the year you knew him, you saw him without his usual confidence, and it might have been making you more nervous than him. Everything about him tonight made you nervous. The way he stood, talked, and dressed. It all made you weak in the knees. 

You carefully took his hand, already worried your hand was sweating. He looked you in the eyes again, holding your hand properly as he took you from the table. The current song was ending, but he still had the next one and hopefully a few songs after that, too. 

Riki awkwardly waited for the song to end before looking at you again as he heard the last line. “We are going to kill the next song,” he proclaimed, making you giggle. 

“How about something slower for our pairs this time?” His eyes widened, terrified, as he looked at the DJ. Everyone cheered for him, but Riki couldn’t. Not when he wasn’t sure what you would think about dancing with him to a slow song. 

He glanced your way again, his eyes scanning your face and trying to see if you were still up for a dance. You looked him in the eyes, trying to figure out the same thing. Eventually, you decided to take the first step and put your hands on his shoulders. He stepped forward, making it easier for you to reach him before he placed his hands on your waist, a sheepish smile on his lips as he looked at you with nothing but love. 

It wasn’t a secret to many – actually, he was pretty sure everyone except for you knew – that he had a crush on you for as long as he could remember. Since he saw you in the hallway, with your hair tucked behind your ear, he couldn’t stop thinking about you, and it has been getting worse and worse ever since. And seeing you so close now, trying to keep eye contact with him even though your cheeks were getting hotter the more you looked at him, only made him love you more. 

“We can’t really kill this dance,” you mumbled with a smile, trying to ease the atmosphere so it wouldn't get awkward. He chuckled, nodding before he leaned down to you, stopping once his lips reached your ear. “But we can be the best-looking pair.” His words sent shivers down your spine, making your cheeks turn redder than ever before. You stepped closer again, laying your head on his chest so you wouldn't need to look him in the eyes. 

You nodded, slightly squeezing his shoulders. “Thank you,” you mumbled. “For dancing with me tonight.” You looked up for a second, assuring yourself he heard you. You had underestimated his visuals, you realized. Now that you were standing so close to him, your bodies touching, seeing him bite his bottom lip at what you said in the purple lighting above the dance floor has made you go crazy. 

You felt girls looking at you, trying to murder you with their stares, but you didn’t mind. You couldn’t even think about them when you had a handsome boy right in front of you. Especially when you knew his eyes were on you only. 

Your eyes widened in question when you heard your name leave his lips, questioning what he needed. He hesitated for a moment before moving his right hand from your waist to your face, lifting your chin with his thumb and index finger. You were too pretty for him to be able to think straight, no matter how much he tried. “Please don’t kick me for this,” he whispered, leaning down again, this time connecting his lips with yours. 

You moved your hand to the back of his neck when you felt his lips on your, pulling him closer to yourself. You were both aware of people staring your way, whispering about god knows what, but you couldn’t care less. This was your moment. 

Riki grabbed your hand again, exchanging one look with you before he took you from the dance floor, rushing to the main hall outside where you all left your jackets before. You didn’t question anything and followed him, keeping your eyes on your intertwined hands. “My things are still in there,” you reminded him, having no idea where he was heading. He didn't answer anything, though, not looking back for even a split second. 

As he stopped in the middle of the hallway, finally looking at you again, you realized he was looking for a quieter place without so many people around. Honestly, you didn’t care where you were. He could take you anywhere, and you would go with him. Because all you could think about at the moment were his lips. 

“I’d kiss you again if your lips weren’t so high up,” you mumbled, creating a grin on his face. He pulled you closer again, leaning down so you could do as you wished. “I thought we were just friends,” he whispered against your lips, making you shiver once again. The look in his eyes, combined with his deep voice would be the death of you soon. You were sure of it. 

“You kissed me first,” you reminded him, breathing on his lips so he could get a taste of his own medicine. “So maybe we aren’t really just friends, pretty boy.” 

“Definitely,” he agreed, his hands cupping your cheeks as he kissed you again, this time with more passion, making sure you could feel every last bit of his love on your lips.

✧˖°. izzy's tags @beomiracles @adel222 @hwanghyunjinismybae ✧˖°. want to get notified? join taglist here!

[kentuckyfriedmegumi]

i’m PISSED about the way gege handled megumi’s character and i wrote an entire 1k-word analysis/rant on it

i think what makes me especially mad in the way that gege has handled megumi’s character is just in how much set up we were being given. yes, megumi was taken over and suppressed for 50 chapters, but we see how he haunts the narrative.

yuji is CONSTANTLY fighting, working to get him back, it is his MAIN focus in this entire fight. yes, he wants to kill sukuna, but it’s BECAUSE he wants megumi back.

“wake up, fushiguro.” (chapter 251)

i’ll do it as many times as it takes! “wake up, fushiguro!” (chapter 263)

in addition to the long, drawn-out “save megumi” arc, we had megumi’s growth as a character before then. he starts off as someone who does not see value in his life. he would rather sacrifice himself to save his friends bc he believes that their lives are worth more than his.

we see this in how willing he is to throw away his life and summon mahoraga. he’s NOT suicidal, it’s just that he would rather that HE be the one to die than anyone else that he cares about when it comes to a deadly situation (sukuna, finger bearer, etc.)

haruta is an entirely different thing, he was already dying. people who think he was stupid for summoning mahoraga on haruta don’t realize he was literally on the verge of death when haruta pulls up and slashes him from behind.

megumi’s mindset is also PERFECTLY defined in the baseball episode and in his flashback talk with gojo in the OoBO. he’d rather play support and sacrifice himself than have someone else sacrifice themselves for him. he needs to learn to be more selfish, greedier, if he ever wants to grow as a sorcerer.

but that contradicts with how he wants to live. he’s living for tsumiki, he’s a socercer for tsumiki. he doesn’t care about getting strong or being the best, he just wants to do what he can to support her, so he doesn’t mind if he’s the sacrifice play.

until yuji. yuji comes in and he dies in the detention center, and we see meg slowly morph into this desire to become stronger. he wants to be strong so he can save people, which is something that he never really cared about doing before, but he doesn’t know how.

then we get to the exchange event, the fight with hanami, and him getting taken out by the bud curse, and he realizes that he NEEDS to be stronger so he can save people like yuji and tsumiki. this is the start of his arc and after his fight in OoBO, he never summons maho again til shibuya

after shibuya (bc there wasn’t a TON of meg development-focused stuff in that arc), we see he’s had a MAJOR growth in his abilities and CT. he’s a lot more confident in how he fights, he’s very dynamic and cunning, and he’s using the shadows in a new way.

but on the other side of it all, he’s struggling a lot internally. tsumiki is awake, but she’s been roped into the CG. he’s wavering and he needs support. he’s stronger now, but he’s not strong enough. he wants to save tsumiki, but he doesn’t know how.

“so start by saving me, itadori!” (chapter 143)

after megumi is taken over sukuna, we see him fight back. he does originally and he suppresses sukuna’s technique in order to protect yuji. however, sukuna acts specifically in a way to sink his soul and submerges him in darkness.

this is the lowest point on megumi’s character. it leads directly into chapter 251 where megumi has entirely given up. he sees no purpose in living, his entire reason for being a sorcerer is dead. yuji tries to pick him up but sukuna cuts them off and we’re left with megumi no longer wanting to live.

this makes his recovery THAT MUCH more important. this makes his character arc SO MUCH more impactful. this is why whenever we get to ch. 266, and yuji and megumi FINALLY talk, it’s a beautiful convergence of their emotions as they talk about their loss and why they feel the way that they do.

this is why it entirely pisses me OFF that after we finally, FINALLY get megumi back, he is immediately sidelined with the rest of the B cast. we don’t get any post-battle discussions, we don’t get a continuation of “i’ll be lonely without you,” we don’t even get a proper conversation between him and yuji.

all of this buildup, this setup, this constant tension between megumi and yuji saving each other and yuji doing literally anything and everything to get megumi back, it all comes to a boiling point, it’s about to spill over the pot, and then it just… ????

i actually get so SO mad thinking about the way that megumi’s character has been concluded. unless this final chapter really does touch on him, his outlook on life, and his motivations now, megumi’s character was just entirely wasted and thrown to the side of the sake of other conclusions and new plot introductions.

we don’t even get a further explanation of “i’ll try to live for someone else.” we know it’s for yuji, we know he comes back because yuji tells him he’ll be lonely. but megumi deciding to live for another person is just putting him back at square one. UNLESS we learn that it’s different.

maybe meg is living for yuji but without the self-expectation and pressure he had when he was living for tsumiki. maybe he realized that even a simple life is worth living, so he will use yuji as a crutch as he finds his purpose again again.

something. ANYTHING. any sort of convo that indicates that megumi has NOT retracted into his old self. it probably is the case where he chooses to live for yuji, but is determined to live for himself, but JESUS can we not get a convo about that????

in conclusion, megumi’s character has been so BEAUTIFULLY written. he is so tragic with so many complex motivations and ideas. and we get all this converging together at the very end and it just… disappears. it’s immediately sidelined. how fucking frustrating is that.

[who-can-touch-my-boob]

<- Sanemi simp posts masterlist

I feel like the perfect kind of partner for Sanemi is one who’s nothing but genuinely warm and has no trouble showing both physical and emotional affection. Even before they even became romantically involved.

It would begin with him meeting you, finding you utterly and completely annoying. As if the very existence of you just put him off. The way you just kept hugging him unabashed when you saw him, playfully tease and tickle him.

How you would without hesitation sit right next to him so your bodies touch, like why? He thinks to himself. Why would you sit next to him out of all people? Are you dense or something? And why are you sitting so close your shoulders are touching?

He would always scoff at you, untangling himself immediately from whatever embrace you’ve chosen to torture him with.

The way you always asked him about his day, if he ate or slept. This only annoyed him further because why would you care? And most importantly, why did he tell you?

What made you, this bubbly, warm and genuinely kind person decide that he was worthy of your affection?

However, as time passed and you seem to not go away, he no longer pulled away from those unnecessary long and tight hugs or brushed off your questions about his wellbeing with an eye roll and a scowl.

He remember vividly the moment things started to change. When you had once again seated yourself next to him, he found himself wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer.

Neither of you said anything, something Sanemi reluctantly admits he tolerated about you. You never forced yourself on him beyond those innocent physical touches and proximity. You never asked him for anything and at the beginning you respected his wishes when he pulled away.

And now that he had wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close as you share a plate of ohagi and matcha tea, you don’t point out the way his heart’s beating faster beneath your ear resting on his chest.

Neither of you said anything about the sudden change between you because no words were needed. Not when the way his lips brushed against yours as he leaned down told you all you needed.

Sanemi found you utterly and completely annoying still, but he also thinks you’re the most kind, loving and adorable person in his life. And soon it was no longer just you throwing yourself at him for hugs, suddenly he instinctively pulled you into a warm embrace, sat himself down next to you and asked you if you’d eaten or slept.

You always knew Sanemi was a truly kind man beneath the hard facade he displays, but you also knew he wouldn’t respond well to words. So instead you showed him affection and love through simple gestures that never crossed any boundaries. You never really expected anything in return because all you wanted was to let this broken and lonely man know he’s not alone.

That he too deserves to be cared for and looked after. So when the day he had wrapped his arm around you without a word and kissed you, there had been no hesitation when you kissed him back.

—

AN: just a lil drabble because I felt like Sanemi needed some love and appreciation today. Literally wrote this in ten minutes after only had three sips of my energy drink as breakfast.

[joeyalohadream]

Hi me again.

I saw your post about how you received a negative anon message and was hoping you didn’t mean me? I sent you an ask about how much I loved your clegan childhood best friends idea (like literally can’t stop thinking about it) and just suggested that you could give the idea to another great writer in the fandom. I think it’s just as cool to be the idea maker sometimes and I wasnt insulting you.

I really do love your writing but you do take a long time to post new stuff and that particular idea is just everything to me so I don’t want it to be in limbo.

like you posted a bit of an angsty story the other day and got people excited and now you haven’t mentioned it again. Just don’t want that to happen to the childhood story cause it’s such a good idea.

sorry for rambling I just had to come back and say sorry if I’m the anon that made you feel bad. Wasn’t my intention..

Sorry everyone that reads this but I'm taking some of Swifty's backbone for a minute and answering a negative anon. Hiding my response below the cut so you can scroll past without seeing my drama if you'd like...

---

Of course it was your message that I was referring to.

In this fandom, full of the most wonderfully kind people I've ever interacted with, your message was the only negative one I've ever received. The fact that you could send that message, and now this one and somehow not understand that you're being incredibly hurtful is beyond me.

I wasn't going to respond to this message at all, just like I didn't respond to the first one you sent (just flat out deleted that one), but someone posted about my 'childhood friends au' today and brought it all back.

I checked out library books for research for that story and wrote the most detailed outline of any story I've ever thought up. And after your message, I returned the books and scrapped the story because you made me feel like garbage.

You flat out told me to give my idea to a specific writer in the Mota fandom that would 'turn it into a masterpiece'. You and I can agree on the fact that the writer you mentioned is one of the most talented fanfic writers around. They are. But to be so blatantly rude to me about my own writing and to call it 'advice'? Come on. You have to know you're being an asshole.

I'm a kind person. I'm also sensitive and hate confrontation and it even makes my stomach hurt to respond to this message because I don't like being unkind to ANYONE. I work two jobs. I work 60 hours a week most weeks. The fact that I find time to write anything is something I'm proud of and you calling me 'inconsistent' is just absolutely unempathetic.

Since you keep choosing to remain anonymous, this is the only way I can know I reach you to tell you this:

If you follow me, unfollow me. Don't interact with my posts. Don't read my stories. And stay the hell out of my inbox.

[wannabehockeygf]

hurt my feelings - elias petersson

part of the think later fic series

"She wears your number, but I got what you like, She's got you right now, but I'm still on your mind, I should've known better, You should've known better than me."

*** request: "I was wondering if you would be able to do an Elias Pettersson one? If not that’s fine, but if you do I would LOVE hurt my feelings with elias where he is in an open relationship and sleeping with the main character, but she’s in love with him yadayadayada. If you could do angst with a happy ending that would be great. Thank youuuu" summary: a more-than-stupid hookup has you feeling more than you thought it would. word count: 6k pairing: elias petersson x fem!reader warnings: nothing really, post-sex stuff? notes: - hi requester ty for waiting for so long for this. it's been in the making. - first petey fic! - not really proof read. - also the fact tate wrote this about a hockey player... cole sillinger u will always have fumbled. ***

Elias lifts his hips, pulling up a pair of sweatpants you’ve never seen in any picture of him, or anywhere else but when he’s with you. Which, admittedly, means you’re either in his car, at your dingy studio in Coal Harbour, or some other obscure spot for a quick fuck, just for him to leave right after.

You don’t want to feel this way. But the heart wants what it wants, and you want him.

Problem is, you can’t have him.

You watch him adjust his sweatpants, the fabric clinging to his hips, and feel the familiar ache in your chest, one you desperately try to ignore. His skin gleams under the dim light of the car’s dashboard, and the air inside is still thick with the heat of what you’ve just done, your clothes scattered near the passenger seat. But the warmth between you faded as soon as he reached for those pants.

The reality of it all starts to settle in, creeping up on you as you sit there, still trying to catch your breath. Your body’s exhausted, but your mind? It’s racing, swirling with all the things you don’t want to admit, not to yourself, and definitely not to him.

Elias, with his perfect nonchalance, runs a hand over the top of his head, his eyes scanning the fogged-up windows. His fingers drum against the steering wheel like it’s just another night, just another routine. And that’s what you hate the most—that it’s all so easy for him. He always makes it feel like it means nothing. Meanwhile, your heart is screaming at you to stop pretending it doesn’t.

“You want me to take you home?” His voice breaks the silence, casual, like he hadn’t just been inside you, like the intimate moments you share have no lasting weight.

You glance at him, a knot tightening in your stomach. The suggestion feels so transactional, like a one-way ticket out of his life until the next time he feels like doing this again. And you hate that you want the next time so badly.

“No,” you mutter, though your voice betrays you, shaky and unsure.

His brow lifts, a flicker of surprise, though he quickly masks it with that cool indifference. “No? You wanna stay here, or what?”

You hate how his tone makes it seem like you’re the one being unreasonable. You shift, pulling the hem of your shirt down to cover yourself, fighting the creeping embarrassment that always comes in these moments. “I just—” you hesitate, searching for words that won’t make you sound pathetic, needy. “I’m not some, like… some pit stop for you to get off and leave, Elias.”

He turns to you fully now, eyes narrowing slightly, the laid-back air around him thickening into something heavier. “What are you talking about? You knew what this was.”

Of course, you knew. You told yourself that over and over again, every time you ended up tangled in his sheets or here in his car. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less. “Yeah, I did,” you snap, the words sharper than you intended. “But I didn’t think it’d feel like this.”

“Like what?” His voice is calm, too calm, like he can’t understand why you’re spiraling.

You bite the inside of your cheek, the bitterness rising. You weren’t supposed to feel anything for him, right? That was the whole point. “Like I’m some backup plan until you’re bored again.” The confession hangs in the air between you, thick and unwelcome.

He exhales slowly, turning his gaze away, staring through the windshield into nothing. For a moment, it seems like he might say something to comfort you, to give you some semblance of reassurance. But instead, all you get is a quiet, “I never promised you anything.”

And there it is—his honesty, cutting deeper than you’d expected. You should respect him for it, for being upfront, but all it does is twist the knife in your chest. “I know you didn’t,” you whisper, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “But it still sucks.”

The car falls silent again, save for the hum of the engine, and for a moment, you wish you could just crawl out of your own skin and leave the feelings behind. Maybe then you wouldn’t care about how Elias is already emotionally checked out, like this was just another night, another body. Your body, for now, but never your heart. That wasn’t part of the deal. Yet here you are, feelings clawing their way to the surface no matter how hard you try to shove them down.

“Look, if you don’t wanna do this anymore, just say it.” His voice cuts through the silence, casual as ever, but this time it has a slight edge to it. Like you’re the one being unreasonable for having, god forbid, feelings. “I told you from the start, I’m not looking for anything serious.” He shifts in his seat, pulling his hoodie down over his chest like he’s already ready to move on with his night. “I thought you were cool with that.”

You feel the words hit like a punch to the gut, the weight of them sitting heavy in your stomach. Cool with that? You’re supposed to be cool with feeling like nothing more than a convenience? Like your body is something he can dip into whenever he feels like it and then discard just as quickly? You swallow hard, trying to push back the anger that’s rising, though your hands are already trembling in your lap.

“Yeah, well,” you start, your voice barely steady as you speak, “I thought I was too.” You pause, searching for the right words, but they won’t come. How can you explain something you don’t even fully understand? “But it doesn’t mean I want to feel like… like this.”

Elias shifts again, turning toward you, his brow furrowing in confusion. His fingers drum lightly on the steering wheel, the casual rhythm so at odds with the tension building in the air between you. “Like what? You’re acting like I’m doing something wrong.” His tone is laced with mild frustration, as if he genuinely can’t grasp why you’re spiraling. And maybe that’s what makes it worse—the fact that he doesn’t get it.

You look away, staring at the streaks of condensation on the window as your vision blurs with unshed tears. “Like I’m just a body to you,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Like you only want me when it’s convenient.” The vulnerability in your words makes your skin crawl, and you hate how pathetic you feel, but it’s too late to take it back now.

Elias lets out a long sigh, rubbing his hand over his face like you’re exhausting him. “I’m not trying to make you feel like shit,” he says, his tone softening, but the detachment is still there. “I told you from the beginning, I’m not gonna settle down. This is just… fun. You knew that.”

You know he’s trying to be reasonable, but it doesn’t matter. The words feel like salt in a wound, deepening the hurt that you’re so desperate to hide. Fun. That’s all it is to him. You clench your fists in your lap, nails digging into your palms, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I’m not asking you to settle down with me, Elias. I’m not fucking delusional,” you say, your voice rising despite your best efforts to stay calm. “But I’m not some fucking plaything either.”

His head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing. “Jesus, you’re blowing this way out of proportion,” he says, his voice sharper now. “It’s not that deep. You’re making this into something it’s not.”

The dismissiveness in his tone makes your blood boil. You can feel the heat rising in your chest, a flush creeping up your neck as the anger takes hold. “Not that deep?” You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “God, you really don’t get it, do you?” You turn to face him, your eyes burning as you meet his gaze. “I’m not asking you for some fairytale relationship, but fuck, Elias, I deserve more than being your afterthought.”

He stares at you, expression hardening as your words hit. His jaw clenches slightly, the tension visible in the way his hands grip the steering wheel. “Again, you knew what this was,” he repeats, his voice low, controlled. “If you’re catching feelings, that’s on you. I didn’t ask for that.”

The coldness of his words stings, each one hitting like a slap. And you hate it—the fact that he’s right, that you’re the one who let your heart get involved in something that was never meant to go beyond the physical. But knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less. “You don’t think I know that?” you shoot back, your voice shaking with anger. “I didn’t ask for it either. I didn’t want this. But it’s happening, and it fucking sucks.”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You’re being ridiculous,” he mutters under his breath, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “We agreed this was just sex. Nothing more.”

Ridiculous. The word echoes in your mind, bouncing around like a cruel reminder of how you’ve let yourself get here, feeling something for someone who can’t even give you an ounce of what you need. Your hands tremble, and you quickly shove them under your thighs, trying to keep yourself from completely falling apart in front of him.

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m ridiculous then,” you spit, the bitterness in your voice seeping into every word. You feel the tears threatening to spill over, but you blink them back, refusing to let him see just how much this is hurting you. “But I’m done with this. I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t bother me.”

Elias looks at you, his jaw tight, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite read—anger? Frustration? Indifference? You can’t tell anymore. “Whatever. I’m taking you home.” ***

You sit on the edge of your bed, legs crossed, the dim light of your laptop casting a pale glow across the room. Your phone rests beside you, silent, no new notifications lighting up the screen. You've been staring at it for what feels like hours, waiting for something—anything—to distract you from the gnawing emptiness settling in your chest. But, of course, nothing comes.

With a frustrated sigh, you grab your phone, thumb hovering over Instagram, knowing full well what you're about to do to yourself. You shouldn't, you know that, but the temptation is too strong. Against your better judgment, you open the app and type her name into the search bar. Her profile pops up almost immediately. There she is—her.

Elias’ girlfriend.

You click on her latest post, a snapshot of her at Rogers Arena, grinning ear to ear, wearing his jersey like it’s a crown, her hands raised above her head in mock celebration. #CanucksWin, the caption reads, followed by a string of blue and green heart emojis. She looks so… happy, like she belongs there, like she’s the one who has his heart, his attention. And maybe she is.

Your chest tightens as you scroll through her feed. Picture after picture of her and Elias at games, on vacations, laughing together, looking every bit the perfect couple. There’s one of them at the beach—Elias, shirtless and grinning, his arm slung casually over her shoulders, while she looks up at him like he’s the only person in the world. That smile, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners... You know that smile. You've seen it before, but not like this. Not in a way that made you feel like you’d been given something special, something real.

No, with you, it’s different. It’s fleeting, temporary. You’re just a body to him, a release when he needs it. Nothing more.

You hate it. Hate how she looks so comfortable in his world, while you're stuck on the outside, desperately clawing at the edges, trying to convince yourself that you don’t want what she has. But you do. God, you do.

You toss your phone onto the bed, resisting the urge to scream. The jealousy burns in your throat, hot and bitter, swirling with a cocktail of self-loathing and frustration. You shouldn’t care. This wasn’t supposed to matter. But here you are, scrolling through his girlfriend’s Instagram, tearing yourself apart because she has what you can’t.

The thought of her being with him—touching him, laughing with him, wearing the #40 like it was hers—makes your skin crawl. And the worst part? You can’t stop thinking about it. You can’t stop thinking about her. About how she gets to have the part of him you’ll never touch. His heart. The part that matters.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, your fingers are already moving, dialing Elias’ number. It rings once, twice, and then you hear his voice on the other end, casual, indifferent.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low, like he’s not surprised at all to hear from you.

Your heart thuds against your ribs, the jealousy bubbling up into your throat. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “You busy?”

There’s a pause, and you can hear the faint sound of music in the background, a soft murmur of voices. “Yeah, kind of. I’m with—” He doesn’t have to finish the sentence for you to know who he’s with. The words are already twisting in your chest, like a knife being driven deeper with every syllable.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to… meet up,” you say, trying to sound casual, like you’re not affected by the fact that he’s with her right now. “You know, for a quick one.”

Elias lets out a soft chuckle, the sound grating against your nerves. “I can’t tonight,” he says, his voice smooth, unbothered. “I’m with my girl.”

The way he says it—my girl—makes your stomach churn. You clench your fists in your lap, nails digging into your palms as the anger simmers just beneath the surface. “Right,” you mutter, trying to sound nonchalant, but the bitterness seeps into your voice anyway. “Of course.”

You can practically hear his smirk through the phone. “Another time,” he says, like it’s no big deal. Like this is just a game to him, and you’re a piece he can move around whenever it suits him.

“Yeah,” you force out, teeth gritting. “Sure. Another time.”

You hang up before he can say anything else, before you can hear the sound of her laugh in the background, or worse—imagine them together. The thought is enough to make your skin prickle with jealousy, the heat rising in your chest, suffocating you.

Before you know it, you're grabbing your keys, slipping on your shoes, and heading out the door. You don’t even bother to think twice. You aren’t the type to back down, not when you want something. And right now, you want Elias. You want to prove to him, to yourself, that whatever he has with her doesn’t compare to what he has with you.

By the time you arrive at his ritzy apartment in Yaletown, your heart is pounding in your chest, nerves and adrenaline mixing together in a volatile cocktail. You stare at the building for a long moment, the reality of what you’re about to do settling in. You shouldn’t be here. You know you shouldn’t be here. But the jealousy is too strong, too consuming, and all you can think about is how badly you need to see him. Need him to see you.

So, you go up the elevator. Up to whatever floor you know he’s on, the one where you can see all of Vancouver in its expensive glory, and you knock.

You stand in front of his door, knuckles still tingling from the knock, heart thundering in your chest. The hallway is eerily quiet, the only sound your own shallow breaths as you wait for him to open the door. And when it finally swings open, there he is—Elias, standing in front of you, shirtless, skin gleaming like he’s been lounging around, maybe with her. The sight of him, so casual, so at ease, only makes the knot in your stomach tighten.

His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice low but sharp, like he wasn’t expecting you, didn’t want you there. Behind him, you can hear the faint sound of a television, laughter that isn’t his. Her laugh.

Before you can respond, her voice floats from inside the apartment. “Eli? Who is it?”

Your heart clenches painfully, her voice piercing through the air like nails on a chalkboard. She sounds so… comfortable, like she belongs there. Like this is her place, her life, and you’re just an intruder.

Elias’ eyes flick to you, something unreadable passing over his face. He turns slightly, leaning into the doorframe as if shielding you from her view. “It’s nobody, älskling,” he calls back, his voice steady, but the dismissal hits you like a punch to the gut. Nobody. “Give me a minute.”

Your throat tightens as he steps into the hallway, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The distance between you is small, but it feels like a chasm. He doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t reach for you. He just stands there, watching you with that same indifferent look, like you’re something to be dealt with, not someone he wants to see.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice is low, but the edge is unmistakable. It stings. But not as much as the jealousy burning inside you, clawing its way up your throat. You swallow hard, trying to keep it together, trying not to let him see how close you are to breaking.

“I needed to see you,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. The truth of it tastes bitter on your tongue. You hate yourself for it, for how desperate you sound. For how desperate you are.

Elias sighs, rubbing his hand along his jaw, the muscles in his arm flexing as he does. You hate how your eyes follow the movement, how even now, when your heart is shattering, you still can’t stop wanting him. “You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, glancing back at the door like he’s afraid she might overhear. “You know I’m with her tonight.”

That word—her—sends another wave of anger crashing through you, and before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out. “Yeah, I know you’re with her. I saw the Instagram posts. I saw everything.” Your voice cracks on the last word, betraying just how deep the jealousy runs, how much it hurts to see him with someone else, someone who isn’t you.

He frowns, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw her at the game, wearing your jersey, looking so damn happy, like she has everything,” you spit, the words tumbling out faster than you can stop them. “Like she has you. And she does, doesn’t she?”

Elias’ face hardens, his jaw clenching as he crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s because she’s my girlfriend,” he says quietly, the calmness in his voice making your stomach twist. “And you’re… not.” The words hit you like a slap in the face, knocking the air from your lungs. "You’re not." Two little words, but they’re enough to unravel the fragile composure you’ve been clinging to. Your entire body goes rigid as the weight of his indifference sinks in. It’s like being plunged into ice water—shocking, numbing, suffocating. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. What can you say? That you know you aren’t his girlfriend? That you know you don’t belong in his world, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise? That every second of this—of him—feels like borrowed time?

Your chest tightens, jealousy wrapping around your throat like a noose, squeezing until you can barely breathe. You try to swallow it down, to keep the rising panic at bay, but it’s too much. It’s all too much. The sight of him standing there, so cold, so unreachable, while just behind that door, she laughs, probably stretched out on his couch, wearing his jersey, living the life you want. The life you can never have.

Your hands tremble at your sides, and you press them into your thighs, trying to steady yourself. But your knees feel weak, like they might give out beneath you at any second. You hate this. You hate the jealousy coursing through your veins like poison, making you feel small, insignificant, pathetic. You hate how he can do this to you, how easily he can reduce you to this—a broken, jealous mess, standing in his hallway, trying not to fall apart.

“I… I don’t care,” you choke out, though the words taste like a lie. They hang between you, brittle and fragile, crumbling the second they leave your lips. Of course, you care. You care too much. That’s the problem. The jealousy claws at your chest, each breath shallow and ragged as you try to keep the dam from bursting. But it’s too late. The cracks are already there, spidering through your resolve, threatening to split wide open.

Elias just stares at you, his brow furrowed, like he doesn’t quite understand why you’re standing there in front of him, unraveling at the seams. He uncrosses his arms, his posture softening ever so slightly, but his face remains guarded. His silence only makes the jealousy gnaw harder at your insides, like it’s eating you alive from the inside out.

“Why are you with her?” you whisper, your voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of your pounding heartbeat. You hate how vulnerable you sound, hate the way your voice cracks, betraying just how much you’re hurting. But you can’t stop yourself. The words tumble out, desperate and raw, needing to understand. Needing him to say something that makes sense. “Why are you with her when… when you don’t even care about her the way you—” You cut yourself off, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough to taste blood. You can’t say it. You can’t admit it.

Elias’ gaze flicks to the floor, his expression shifting, something like guilt passing over his features. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it, like he doesn’t know where to start. The hesitation sets your mind racing. The jealousy swirls around your thoughts, twisting every moment you’ve spent together into something ugly, something tainted. Has any of it been real? Or have you just been fooling yourself in your delusions all along? Is this really all you are to him—a temporary distraction, something to fill the empty spaces between him and her?

“I don’t know,” Elias finally mutters, his voice barely more than a sigh. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see something there, something deeper, something almost sorrowful. But then it’s gone, replaced by that familiar guarded look. “I just… I don’t know.”

The simplicity of his answer, the emptiness of it, sends a wave of frustration crashing over you, mixing with the jealousy already burning in your veins. “That’s it?” you snap, your voice rising, barely able to keep the tremor out of it. “You don’t know? You’re with her, you’ve been with her, but you don’t know why?”

You’re losing control. The words are tumbling out faster than you can stop them, your heart pounding in your chest as the jealousy consumes you, feeding off every tiny piece of doubt, every flicker of uncertainty. You hate how much you want him to give you an answer, to explain why he’s with her and not you, why you’re standing here, outside his door, while she gets to be inside, living the life you’re so desperately clawing for.

“I—” Elias starts, his voice soft, almost apologetic, but you can’t let him finish.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” The question comes out more like an accusation, the jealousy twisting your insides, making you feel sick to your stomach. “That’s why you’re with her. Because you love her, and I’m just—” You swallow hard, the words catching in your throat. Just what? A fling? A mistake?

“I don’t—” Elias stops, running a hand across his jaw, his expression torn. He lets out a long, frustrated breath, his gaze darting back to the closed door, like he’s afraid she might hear. “It’s not like that,” he says, but his voice is quiet, hesitant, like he doesn’t quite believe it himself.

“Then what is it?” you demand, your voice shaking, barely able to keep the desperation at bay. Your hands clench into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you fight the urge to cry, to scream, to do something other than stand there, unraveling. “Because it sure as hell seems like she has you. She’s got the jersey, she’s got the smile, she’s got the fucking Instagram posts—and what do I have? What the hell do I have, Elias?”

He stares at you, his jaw tight, his eyes flicking between you and the door, like he’s trying to figure out what to say, but can’t. The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, and you feel yourself breaking, the dam inside you cracking wide open.

“You can’t even say it, can you?” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you’ve been holding back for so long. “You can’t even admit that you don’t care about her the way you—” You stop, choking on the words, unable to say what you so desperately want to hear.

Elias lets out another sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly, and for the first time, he looks tired. Tired of this, tired of you, tired of the mess you’ve both made of whatever this is. His eyes meet yours, and there’s something there—something almost sad. But it’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he finally mutters, his voice low, almost resigned.

You let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest as the jealousy twists and tangles inside you, tightening its grip until it feels like you’re going to burst. “I want you to say you feel something,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Anything. Just… anything.”

But he doesn’t. He just stands there, his face blank, his silence louder than any words he could have said. And that silence—it shatters you. It breaks you into pieces so small you don’t even know if you can put yourself back together again.

“I can’t do this,” you finally choke out, the tears you’ve been holding back for so long spilling over, hot and fast, burning as they slide down your cheeks. You swipe at them angrily, hating yourself for breaking in front of him, for letting him see just how much he’s destroyed you. But there’s no stopping it now. The dam has broken, and the jealousy, the hurt, the love—it all comes rushing out in a tidal wave of emotion you can’t control.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whisper again, your voice cracking, barely able to hold yourself together as you look up at him, your heart in pieces at his feet. “I thought I could, but I can’t. I love you, Elias. And I hate it. I fucking hate that I love you, and you can’t even—” You stop, choking on the sob that rips through you, your whole body trembling with the force of it.

Elias’ face softens, his brows drawing together in something that almost looks like regret, but it’s too late. You’re too far gone. You’re already falling apart, the jealousy and heartbreak swallowing you whole.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice low, almost tender, but it only makes the pain worse. Because sorry isn’t enough. Sorry doesn’t fix anything. Sorry doesn’t make you her.

You shake your head, the tears blurring your vision, making it hard to see him. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice hollow, broken. “Me too.”

*** The rain starts falling in steady sheets, drumming against the window as you sit curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the TV screen. The flickering images mean nothing, just background noise to the storm inside your mind. You’ve lost track of how long you’ve been sitting there, wrapped in one of Elias’ old hoodies. The fabric is worn and soft, smelling faintly like him—like cedar and soap, like something familiar and heartbreaking all at once.

You hate that you still wear it. Hate that you can’t let go, even when you know you should. Even when you know it’s over. He chose her. He made that painfully clear, standing there in that hallway, his eyes darting between you and the door where she waited for him. And yet, here you are, clinging to the last scraps of him, like they could somehow make up for everything you’ve lost.

The rain blurs against the window, much like the tears you’re too tired to shed. You feel hollow now, emptied of all the anger, the jealousy, the heartbreak that consumed you. All that’s left is a dull ache, a quiet sorrow that settles deep in your chest, heavy and unmovable.

A knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts, sharp and unexpected in the quiet of your apartment. Your heart stutters in your chest, a flicker of hope igniting even though you tell yourself not to feel it. It can’t be him. It won’t be. And yet, as you stand and pad to the door, every step feels weighted with anticipation, your fingers trembling as they curl around the handle.

You open it to find Elias standing on the other side, the beanie on his head damp from the rain, droplets clinging to his jacket. He looks like he hasn’t slept, his eyes dark and tired, his expression unreadable as he stares at you in the dim light of the hallway.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You just stand there, your heart pounding in your ears, waiting for him to speak, to say something that would make sense of all this. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you, like he’s seeing you for the first time, like the weight of his silence might crush you both.

“Can I come in?” he asks finally, his voice low, hesitant, as if he’s afraid of your answer.

You should say no. You should slam the door in his face, walk away, leave him standing there in the rain. But you don’t. Instead, you step aside, the words caught in your throat, and let him in.

He moves past you, his presence filling the small space with a tension you can feel in your bones. He stops in the middle of the room, glancing around like he’s searching for something, maybe the right words, maybe some kind of explanation. But all you can do is stand there, your hands gripping the hem of your hoodie, his hoodie, trying to steady yourself.

“I broke it off with her,” Elias says quietly, his back still to you, the words hanging in the air like they might shatter the second they leave his mouth.

You blink, your mind struggling to catch up with what he’s said. The rain beats harder against the window, filling the silence between you, a reminder of the storm both outside and within.

“What?” Your voice sounds foreign, small, like it isn’t even your own.

Elias turns slowly, his eyes meeting yours, and you see it then—the sorrow, the regret, the weight of everything that’s passed between you. He takes a step toward you, his movements cautious, like he’s not sure if you’ll let him get any closer.

“I broke it off with her,” he repeats, more firmly this time, his gaze steady, unwavering. “I know there was an agreement, but itt wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t fair to you. I should’ve done it sooner, but… I was scared.”

Scared. That word echoes in your mind, bouncing off the walls of the tiny apartment, wrapping around you like a vise. What did he have to be scared of? He’s the one who had control, who made you feel like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for him to decide if you were worth saving.

“You hurt me,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, the rawness of the admission surprising even you.

“I know.” Elias steps closer, his hands slipping into his pockets, his posture uncertain, like he’s not sure what to do with himself. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The apology should feel like relief. It should feel like something breaking free inside of you, but instead, it only makes the ache in your chest grow heavier. “You can’t just… say sorry and think it fixes everything,” you murmur, turning away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself.

Elias doesn’t respond right away. The weight of his silence feels almost unbearable, pressing down on you like gravity. Then, after what feels like an eternity, you hear him take a deep breath, his footsteps soft on the floor as he moves closer.

“I know I can’t fix it,” he says quietly, his voice so soft it’s almost lost beneath the sound of the rain. “But I don’t want to lose you.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind from your lungs. You turn slowly, meeting his gaze, searching for any hint of the indifference you’d seen before. But it’s not there. Not now. Now, his eyes are filled with something else, something raw and honest, something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“I love you.” The words spill from his lips, quiet but sure, like he’s been holding them back for too long. “I love you, and I’m sorry it took me this long to realize it. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Your chest tightens, a rush of emotions surging through you so fast you can barely process them. You want to believe him. You want to fall into his arms and let those words heal all the wounds he’s left behind. But the scars are still there, fresh and painful, a reminder of everything that came before.

“I don’t… I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper, your voice trembling as the tears you held back earlier threaten to return.

Elias closes the distance between you in two quick steps, his hands reaching for yours. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver through you, the familiarity of it both comforting and heartbreaking all at once.

“Please,” he murmurs, his voice low, desperate. “I’m not asking for everything. I just… I need you to know how much you mean to me. I need you to know that I choose you.”

You look up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of his words sinking in slowly. He chooses you. After everything, after all the hurt and confusion, he’s standing here now, choosing you. But is it enough?

His fingers tighten around yours, pulling you gently toward him until you’re close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “I know I don’t deserve another chance,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours, his voice thick with emotion. “But I love you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you, if you let me.”

After what feels like an eternity, you nod, a single, tentative movement. “Okay.”

Elias lets out a breath, like he’s been holding it in for hours, and without another word, he closes the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you in a way that feels both familiar and brand new. The warmth of him, the solid weight of his chest against yours, makes something inside you unclench, like you’re finally able to breathe again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe him. Finally.

[serawritesthings]

COERCION, AND OTHER SUCH TENDENCIES

Pairing | Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader Summary | Longing for you seems to have become a daily habit for Arthur as of late, amidst work and rest, and while he could honestly say watching you from a distance was enticing enough, there were a few things he desired more. Tags | fluff, a pining Arthur (as per usual) Word Count | 4.8k A/N | Hello again, lovelies! I wrote together a shorter fic about Arthur that's a bit more lighthearted than the stuff I usually write. Hope you like it! <3 By the way, feel free to throw in some requests if you'd like <3

It was smooth—so smooth, like thick honey filling his ears, soothing every ache and doubt, every pain and hardship. Like cough drops eased his throat, your voice found its way into his head, numbing his mind until it turned to a sickly syrup when the familiar, bashful laugh quietly filled the air. He damned every bird that sang, every crow that cawed, despised Swanson’s drunken rambling, for it distorted your soft murmurs, keeping him from imagining you were right beside him, whispering the words in his ears instead.

A soundless chuckle left Arthur as he realized the absurdity of his thoughts when he, for once, let them drift away, unwilling yet drawn to them. He couldn’t deny, though, that there was a certain allure to think of you this way, to direct any thoughts that could be even remotely romantic to something so good—so pure. Longing and a fair bit of desperation were surely in play, ever the dreamer and, more often than not, a procrastinator.

“Fool, Morgan,” he mumbled under his breath, shaking his head to rid himself of these thoughts when his imagination became so vivid he could almost feel the touch of your hands on his skin. 

The gazing sun blazed unforgivingly when he opened his eyes, a shudder running through him when you could be heard closer than before. He basked in your voice’s rich, hushed tones as your figure appeared before him through the trees separating you. Droopy eyes followed along your silhouette as you slowly passed him in the distance, sinfully following along the tiny show of curves your clothes allowed. Against his will, they drifted to the place where your apron had been tied tighter than usual, following along the cotton until they caressed the part where your dress pushed against your bosom, squinting his eyes to try and see the supple flesh that now seemed so inviting, so soft and heavenly.

His lids closed once more when warmth started seeping into his veins, bringing his arm to rub against them so the image of you would wishfully leave. Utterly and fascinatingly dumbfounded is where you had brought him, whether you were aware of it or not, and while he could honestly say it was unlikely you were, somewhere he damned you for bringing him to his knees so effortlessly. Who would have thought he could plow through men easily, neither afraid nor with an ounce of difficulty, yet somehow, you made him feel both of those things the moment you crossed his mind.

It was absurd, really, and Arthur was not a man familiar with the sole thought of being uncomfortable. Yet, you managed to make his skin prickle until it felt like bugs scattered through his body, so distraught—barely recognizing himself when your eyes found his, both mind and body limp. 

“Oh, Arthur,” Startled, he perked up by the sudden noise, blinking a few times as he removed his arm that had shielded him from the evening sun. Quickly, you leaned down over him where he had perched himself against a tree, deciding that snoozing away would be the most productive way to spend the rest of his day, even though the bark scratched against his sore back— the distant howling of Reverend irritating his ears. 

“How did this happen?” Nimble fingers found their way to his cheek, lifting his face so you could inspect him thoroughly. A look so displeased formed on your face that if anyone else had been the reason for it, he wouldn’t hesitate a second to bury them ten feet underground. He almost chuckled at the thought, all too aware of your hatred for bodily harm and other such nonsense Arthur himself saw as chicken feed. Yet, he couldn’t help it; it was entirely too endearing for him to belittle you for it, finding your immense vexation heart-warming—when it was directed at him, of course. 

Your soothing caress, though, reminded him of the throbbing pain that pinched his jaw, and as he moved it to get rid of the stiff sensation, he hissed, downplaying it by tilting his hat further down, relaxing against the tree. He did not care to remove your hand, though, secretly basking in the softness of your skin against his tender, pulsating one—tongue growing limp in his mouth as his mind grew blank, losing the art of speaking he otherwise had quite a knack for.

“Ain’t nothin’,” he mumbled, sleep lingering in his voice. It wasn’t just nothing, and he was pretty sure you knew that, too, because he could almost hear the way your brows furrowed at his seemingly grumpy answer. 

You only sighed, frowning deeply when your hands left his cheeks to grab his hat, which you carefully put on the moss-filled ground. Softly, your fingers brushed the sweaty strands of his hair from his forehead, flattening out the harsh lines that had almost become a consistent part of his face by now.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” you retorted, sitting on your knees to better examine his purple bruise. “Is it sore? You’ve bled, you know.”

He could almost laugh at the worry that laced your words, hidden behind your careful wording. How very usual, and not any less unbecoming of you to notice every scratch and cut on his skin like your eyes could see through clothes and metal. More than that, he was still bewildered that you could see deeper than that, through both flesh and bone, like you had skinned him alive and examined every part of him. It was, to many extents, terrifying—being so bare and naked in someone’s presence, even though he was clothed to the till.

“Mmh,” he ruffed out a sound of acknowledgment. He was too deep in thought to feel your stare, which should have made the hair on his body stand straight up in fright if his eyes weren’t closed. More so, he grew lost in how your fingers caressed his face, stomach almost turning upside down when they found their way to his hair, dragging through the honey-blonde strands.

“Long day?” You had to admit defeat, deciding that irritating an already grumpy Arthur would ruin both yours and his day. Although you were still not pleased he kept the reason for his beaten face from you, but when it came to Arthur, it could have been all of the above. You should have become used to it, but it grew more complicated to deal with as time passed, just as it did having to ponder his whereabouts. Not once did he tell you of his misfortunes; the only way it would get through to you was from the other’s talking—surprised faces turning towards you when they figured Arthur never let you in on their daily business and various mishaps in the form of bruising and worse, a red, dark liquid only you seemed to find distressful among your dear friends.

A huff was your only answer, and as you gazed at him for a few seconds, you could almost believe he’d gone back to sleep. Slowly, a small smile grew on your face, all too aware that he’d not been back at camp for a few days, which was surely the reason for his aloof nature, deeming it a valid reason for snoozing off. Truly, he wanted nothing more than to feel the grasp of slumber pull him back down, but sleep could never rival you, and the tender touches you left on his skin made him believe he might be dreaming. But again, most of his dreams these days consisted of you, whether of the nightmarish sort or not.

As your fingers graze his scalp, a shudder runs through his body, his thoughts cast far away, fingers twitching where they lay at his side, itching to reach out to you and to pull you into his arms so he could feel your body against his—feel the skin that hid underneath your clothes. Or, perhaps, he should say those damned clothes, which hugged your body so beautifully. Arthur often wondered if you were doing it on purpose, pondered if you’d picked it out simply to torment him—as if he wasn’t a man made to suffer already.

There were days when sleep was so far away he could almost swear that, in his deluded and exhausted state, he could feel the same caresses on his skin that he felt now. The ghost of your lips caressed the juncture of his neck, only to realize that his hair strands were blowing against his skin from the soft wind. He couldn’t decide if it was in his favor, growing more miserable than anything when he realized you hadn’t been there. Torture and some other types of depraving punishment were what it was.

“Come ‘ere,” he mumbled, tired hands lifting slightly to invite you in, beckoning you to crawl into his embrace. His mind was jumbled, and he hadn’t had much sleep as of late, and your touch—your addictive, mind-numbing touch—managed to set his head askew. Oh, how he always wanted more of you, realizing slowly that the thought of not getting what he now wished for would leave him in horrendous anguish.

“What?” Your smile faltered slightly, confusion now written on your face at his sudden words.

“I said," he muttered, a mild annoyance lacing his voice as one hand reached for you. “Come ‘ere.”

“You should rest,” you answered, blushing at his sudden display as you removed your hand from his hair. Your heart skipped a beat as you glanced at him, finding his half-lidded eyes gazing at you. You had trouble admitting it to yourself, yet his lap seemed more inviting when your eyes faltered to find somewhere else to look, trying to ignore his one hand that patted his thigh to beckon you further.

“To hell with that,” he muttered, frowning when he saw you move away from him.

“Well, there’s, you know…” you said quietly, looking behind you through the trees, trying to spot your camp members through the foliage. “Someone could see, Arthur.”

“Come on, sweetheart, it’ll help with the pain.” You gave him a ridiculous look as he moved his jaw and pretended to hiss from the pain, not amused by his blatant lie and laughable attempt at coercion.

“Oh?” Despite his poor endeavor, you couldn’t help but see the corners of your mouth lifting against your will, hand intertwining with his reaching one as you glanced behind you again, conflicted.

His heart warmed at the sight of you, your bashfulness and avoidant eyes only making him long for you harder. It wasn’t unusual for you to avoid his advances, to glance or walk away when he neared you, too shy for your good. Certainly, perhaps he came to you in moments where physical contact might not be deemed appropriate. Yet, the thought of your careful eyes that gazed around you, the small hitch of your breath when he stepped closer than usual in the presence of others, was addictive, bordering on a selfish enjoyment, perhaps.

Without a single notice, you were suddenly tugged forward as you cast a last glance backward, expecting someone to wander further into the surrounding woods as many of you do to escape the merciless sun, finding yourself toppling over Arthur’s body. Gasping slightly, you craned your neck to gaze at his now closed eyes, an amused smirk covering his lips when the palm of your hand hit his chest slightly, sitting up on his lap so you could gain some distance. 

“Beatin’ an already wounded man?” His tone was mimicking bafflement, yet the corners of his mouth he couldn’t quite bring down gave him away, and as you scoffed at him, huffs of laughter he tried to quiet down escaped him. “I didn’t peg you for a masochist.”

“I thought you said it didn’t hurt?” Your arms crossed, unamused by the teasing that seemed to grow more frequently as you spent more time with him. 

“Well, it does, but it don’t hurt when you do that thing with your hands,” Oh, how unfair it was, twisting and turning his words to make you speechless time and time again. Yet, you should’ve known; Arthur always had a way with words you couldn’t quite understand.  “Y’got some kind of witchcraft goin’ on, or what?”

“I might,” you said, narrowing your eyes when his hand squeezed playfully on your waist, wondering what suddenly got him in such a mood after his previous nonchalant—and incredibly grumpy—self. Yet the slight flutter in your stomach persisted as his admittance rang in your ears, tickling your insides when he let his palm rest against you instead of moving away.

Arthur only raised his eyebrow at your words, enjoying the gasp that left you when he suddenly, deliberately, let his legs shift upwards, rendering you nowhere else to fall than towards his chest. The warm, rumbling of his chest against the side of your face when he laughed quietly was infuriating, yet all the more enticing when both hands covered the small of your back, firmly caging you in his arms so you couldn’t possibly move away.

“Arthur-” you started but found yourself being cut off. 

“Well then, don’t stop those magic hands of yours if that’s what you're doin’,” he mumbled, lifting you further up his chest to rest his head against your shoulder, secretly enjoying how he finally had your body against his. A job very well executed, he’d say.

A sigh left you as you surrendered, arms wounding their way around his neck as his grip tightened around you and, in the process, pressed you further against him when he felt your hands slither their way into his hair once more. As you combed through the soft, wild strands, you felt the breeze caressing your skin, the distant, low rumble of clanging pots, and Uncle’s loud complaints mingling in the air.

“What really happened today, Arthur?” 

“Hm?” 

“With your face, I mean. What happened?” He only sighed at your question, and while you had expected to get no answer like usual, it surprised you when you got one.

“Ran into some fellers with John, that’s all. Y’know them Lemoyne boys, right?”

“Mmh,” you hummed in acknowledgment, feeling his thumbs slightly rub against you where they rested.

“They sure ain’t tough, but he got a lucky punch, I guess,” Arthur grumbled, obviously displeased with the poor fellow’s moment of luck. “Punched him a whole lot harder, though.”

Raising, you caressed his cheek softly while Arthur leaned his head against the tree to gaze down at you, his expression losing the irritation. With careful movements, you placed a kiss against the tender, slightly purple skin that stretched across his jaw, letting your lips hover for a moment as your eyes closed.

“Good,” you whispered, focusing on the faint flutters that seemed to travel across the place where he let his touch wander. “My tough outlaw,” you drawled, eyes glinting as your eyes met his, the corner of your lips lifting slightly, yet a certain tenderness hiding in your voice as you spoke.

“Yeah?” he squinted his eyes at you, hands squeezing around your waist once more, his touch not quite as lighthearted as before but slower, almost kneading the supple skin through your clothes. “You think so, huh?” 

“Mhm,” you hummed, feeling your heartbeat slow as the air around you shifted, turning humid as a shiver passed through your body. “I do.”

Letting your eyes falter from his, you stroke your fingers over his jaw, letting them slowly make their way down the slope of his neck until they trail over the specks of hair that covered the skin uncovered by his unbuttoned shirt. Slowly, you hooked your fingers over the button, pulling slightly on it so the fabric tightened around his shoulders, feeling his gaze heavy on you.

“What?” he smirked when you paused. “To shy?” You couldn’t tell if he meant to speak the words teasingly, for his tone appeared darker and lowly, eyes testing you carefully.

“Of what?” you retorted, watching his chest move as you took notice of his breathing that had grown heavier beneath you, finding his hands gliding lower down your waist so they now gripped onto the sides of your hips.

A quiet, strained laugh left him as you released his shirt, preparing to lean away slightly when his presence became too much—too imposing. Yet, you didn’t get the chance, only finding Arthur to straighten his otherwise slouching back to lean towards you, arms circling your waist so you wouldn’t fall back in surprise.

“Arthur…” you mumbled, feeling small when he suddenly towered over you. The sides of your thighs rested snuggly against his waist as your skirt gathered around you, the mossy ground damp against your bare knees.

“Mmh?” he hummed, raising an eyebrow when you spoke his name. You felt his hands flex restlessly, eyes plastered solely on your lips—as if his mind was further away than he let on.

“What are you…” you trailed off, words coming out in a breath as you moved slightly to escape the buckle of his belt that dug into your lower stomach, stilling when you heard a low grunt leave his chest, the damp skin of his forehead meeting your shoulder as his head fell limp.

Your breath hitched as you felt Arthur’s arms circle your waist, hugging you tighter against him while taking a deep breath to secretly breathe in your scent—internally groaning when he felt the curves he dreamed of not too long ago as his hands slowly caressed your sides. Cheeky, sure, he was all too aware of it, yet the sole thought of having you in his lap like this without naughtily copping a feeling would be a lost opportunity he would feel saddened about if it passed.

“Oh,”  he heard you mumble in surprise. “You know, this could be seen as a violation of private space,” you said matter-of-factly, petting his head in jest. “Also, it’s very unbecoming for a man to throw himself on an unsuspecting woman like this, more so in the middle of the woods, you know.” The rest of your words turned into nonsensical babbling, with no words registering, yet he enjoyed the sweet purring of your voice that vibrated against his cheek.

Arthur, being more prone to being a standoffish man, surely did his part to surprise you at times. Some would say hot or cold; you would say it was more of a tug between his responsibilities and wants, whereas the previous, more often than not, won. Unfairly, for that matter, yet you felt you had no say in it and, therefore, letting the parts play themselves out. You felt, though, that you had every right to be baffled by his twists and turns, careful of his moods, and worrisome of the nature of which he seemed to stretch the sanity of his own self.

“What do you say in your defense, mister Morgan?” you asked righteously—craning your head back in preparation for his answer as you wished your thoughts away.

“Mmh,” he mumbled against your skin, in actuality not having processed a single word that left your mouth, only reveling in the soft murmur of your voice that now surrounded him when you spoke, feeling the warm skin of your neck against his cheek that felt so soft. He would worry about rubbing it raw with his beard if not because he, at this particular moment, couldn’t think of anything but the swell of your hips that rested in his lap and the soft, pudgy thighs encasing his own.

“Mmh,” you quoted, “is not a suitable response-!“ Your last word ended in a small shriek, cut off by the realization that you were suddenly pushed towards the ground, your back meeting the soft moss of the forest floor. A breathless laugh left you at the motion, a small thrill traveling through your body when you felt Arthurs’s lips place themselves in the juncture of your neck, humming slightly as he did.

“Hey,” you said softly, gripping the hair that littered the nape of his neck to lift his head so he would finally look at you. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Sure,” he drawled, casting you a glance before letting his head fall back down, pushing his weight further into you.

It had been a dangerous move to gaze at you, as it always seemed to be, he’d come to find, and the sight itself made tiny, almost unnoticeable tendrils of warmth climb their way up his skin. He only got lost further into you, feeling the corners of his mouth rise when your legs found their way to his waist as if unconsciously. A dangerous invitation, indeed, yet one he couldn’t refuse even if it would mean his death, for it let him rest more comfortably over you, feeling the soft curvature of your body behind the heaps of clothing.

With a quick glance down amidst the small kisses he placed tenderly on your neck, he almost groaned at the sight of your bare legs that were now visible thanks to your skirt that had gathered above your knees. He imagined for a short while running the palm of his hand slowly among the meaty flesh of it, trailing his way to the inside of your thigh where you would be so sensitive—so responsive.

“No, you’re not,” you sighed, smiling when he once more met your gaze, your features softening when you felt his hand travel down your arm to intertwine your hand with his, unbeknownst to you the reason solely so they wouldn’t find their way down your bare thighs.

You had to admit, his persuasion tactics were entirely too well executed, and against your proper nature, they wronged every rule you had set for yourself—including being straddled by a man in the middle of the woods. Yet there was always something unrecognizable in his gaze, like molten coal swimming deep in his eyes, the light glow of embers burning at times as if caressed by the wind. Addictive, and there was no other way around it, no way for you to part with the thought of him.

“Well, ” he paused momentarily. “It ain’t my fault.” 

“Oh?” you scoffed. “Then who’s fault is it?” 

“Yours,” he said confidently, raising his brows in fake mock when your eyes suddenly squinted at him, the lines in your face deepening in disbelief at his accusation.

“My fa-” Once more, you were cut off; this time, Arthur’s laughter vibrated deep in his chest as if your reaction in and of itself amused him. 

“Alright, alright,” he mused, another snicker leaving him when you turned your face away from his kiss. “Easy there, tiger. Quite feisty today, aren’t you?” 

“Arthur Morgan, you are being incredibly difficult!”

He only hummed at your scolding, placing his lips on yours when your head turned towards his once more, unrespectful yet non-complaining. Slow and deliberate, the palm of your hand rose to protest but only ended up pressing lightly against the side of his chest to savor every second—the very sensation of being close. It didn’t help that his hands that were still on you created a warmth that seeped through your clothes and lingered on your skin, and as you lay there, tangled together on the forest floor, every passing sound seemed so far away, like a distant murmur that couldn’t quite reach you just yet.

For but a moment, you opened your eyes when the familiar graze of coldness you always felt when Arthur’s lips left yours spread. A smirk formed on his lips as his voice dropped into a low, raspy murmur, vibrating against your skin in a rumble.

“What’d I say? Like taming a tiger,” 

You exhaled a soft laugh, but you couldn’t possibly ignore how your heart was racing—almost growing paranoid he could feel it from being pressed so intimately against you.

“Arthur, you can’t just–�� you started, but the words faltered when his thumb brushed across your bottom lip, not failing in making your thoughts that had been so carefully planned scatter away like dust being swept away by the wind.

“Can’t just what?” he said, the faintest tone of teasing in his voice yet molded with a certain huskiness, a low hum of desire bleeding through the soft murmurs. Rough, of course, as it always was, but there was a certain gentleness you’d never been able to get used to that only peeked out when he spoke to you.

“You know exactly what.” 

You could almost roll your eyes at the cockiness that shone through him, but the warmth that spread through your body betrayed any attempts you made in resistance. It’s simply not fair, yet there was only so much stubbornness left in your body that you could keep up, knowing very well this was where you longed to be the most—encased in his arms

Arthur only chuckled softly, shifting his weight as his other hand slid carefully down to rest on your hip, fingers brushing just below the hem of your skirt. His eyes caught your attention; the blue shades of his eyes almost seemed to darken as his chest moved steadily, almost daring you to protest when he slowly felt the skin underneath the pads of his fingers—just about to speak before a brash voice cut through the air.

“So this is where you hide, with clothes to be washed and dishes to clean!”

The sudden outburst made you feel like your heart jumped through your skin—jolting up in surprise so you almost hit your face against Arthur’s shoulder when he didn’t move a single muscle at the intrusion.

“Miss Grimshaw!” you gasped, pushing against Arthur’s chest when you found that he didn’t attempt to move, instead only raising his eyebrows as he gazed at the scandalized woman who glared at you from a few feet away.

“So do ‘em,” Arthur mumbled in annoyance, seemingly not caring if the woman had heard him or not. He directed his gaze towards your red cheeks before glancing at your frantic hands, which hit slightly against him, causing a small smile to take over his lips before the previous irritation filled his mind once more at having his time with you interrupted.

“I just-” you started, cut off by an unamused Grimshaw.

“I don’t care to hear it,” she said, hand placed firmly on her hip as she beckoned you over, turning around to walk towards camp with determined steps, muttering angrily to herself as if you’d committed a cardinal sin—or a few. “Behaving like teenagers.”

Crawling away from Arthur’s arms surrounding your sides, you quickly stood up, running a hand through your hair that had tangled something terribly at the back of your head. How embarrassing, you thought, closing your eyes momentarily before gazing at her fading figure, feet setting into motion the second she turned her head towards you.

The coercion that man harbored was all too ridiculous, yet you had to applaud his tactics, for they sure did the trick in rendering you willing every time. Curse him, and curse you for falling for it. Yet, as you glanced back at Arthur, you found your eyes growing smaller as you saw him once more leaning comfortably against the tree—like he’d never moved from his earlier position at all.

“Your skirt,” he said, making you stop in your tracks to throw him a confused look. 

“What?”

Opening one eye, he glanced at your legs, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk you could only explain as insufferably irritating, before closing it to place his hat over his eyes. Following his gaze, you found your skirt now twisted and wrinkled, having gotten caught, so it now showed a large portion of your one leg. 

A terrible heat crept up your neck as you tugged at the fabric, hastily straightening it as you damned Arthur’s smugness while berating yourself over this mortifying moment that he didn’t seem to bat an eye at.

“Real helpful,” you muttered under your breath, shooting him a chilling look that was meant to wound his ego—yet you doubted anything could pierce that thick skull of his. 

Turning your back on him, you tried to walk with a sense of purpose, as if you weren’t still reeling from your racing heart and tangled hair. But that woman—terribly unimpressed—already stood waiting for you in the distance as if she could sense your hesitation. The look she threw you stung, and you couldn’t help but feel like a scolded child under her gaze despite your age.

“Best hurry up before she rips into us both,” Arthur’s voice came for behind, teasing but low. You didn’t dignify it with a response, only picking up your pace as his laughter—soft and lazy—followed you all the way back to camp. You were sure there’d be words exchanged soon, ones you weren’t sure you wanted to deal with today. Though, despite this, you felt a small smile take over your frown, damning yourself for falling for his coercion time and time again.

“Damn you, Arthur Morgan.”

[blueishspace]

Looped Sun 17

Back to regularly scheduled programming.

Loop #462

Grian: Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy what do you mean you got a child!?!

Jimmy: Oh you know... it just happened.

Grian: ... HOW DOES IT JUST HAPPEN!?!?

Jimmy: Listen! Listen Grian. It was Tango who broke the fabric of reality.

Grian: Just... what loop did you get her from.

Jimmy: Fear and Hunger.

Grian: ... I... Jimmy mate...did you adopt the god of fear and hunger?

Jimmy: Well... Scott and Tango did too.

Grian: yhbdggfsthxayhcsdgnptsdjkogf kfarjnf ghjvJimmy Jimmy Jimmy what!?!? (Canon accurate noises)

Loop #465

Pearl: Mate, how long is this loop going to be?

Mumbo: I... have no idea.

Pearl: Ugh, why are we even in jail? I got nothing from loop memories.

Mumbo: Crimes? Probably?

Pearl: No shit.

Mumbo: Pearl!

Pearl: We should break out.

Mumbo: What!?

Pearl: I said we should break out.

Mumbo: ... Alright.

Loop #467

Scar: Grian, where did you-

Grian: Scar, this loop is going to be great!

Scar: It is?

Grian: I present to you, the tardis!

Scar: ... Oh! Is this a ...uh Doctor Who variant?

Grian: You bet it is!

Grian: So, anywhere you want to go?

Scar: Oh uh... Hmmm... I need references for a castle I'm building.

Grian: Middle ages, reinassance or?

Scar: I uh... castle? Like regular castle?

Grian: Let me think... 12th century should do.

Scar: What is that!?

Dalek: I am a Dalek.

Scar: A Daklek.

Dalek: Dalek.

Scar: Dilek? Dalk?

Grian: A Dalk!?! Pfttt-

Dalek: Exterminate!

Grian: And now is the time where we run.

Scar: Wait if you are the doctor am I a companion. Am I going to die or be stuck as a robot or something.

Grian: ... No.

Scar: Well It's just-

Grian: You aren't dying. I promise.

Grian: ... Out of all the companion's fate getting to replace the toymaker is hardly the worst one.

Scar: I didn't know vex magic could work on gods!

Grian: Eh, to be fair the whoverse gods are pretty weak compared to others.

Loop #450

Grian: I always told you that you were like a vampire!

Mumbo: ... I don't appreciate this.

Grian: Oh come on Dracula, at least you get to use new magic.

Mumbo: I can't leave during the day Grian! It's pants! I can't go on my bike trips!

Grian: I mean, can't you go during the night? It's not like anything can hurt you.

Mumbo: Of course no- ... Wait... Hmmm...

Mumbo: Grian mate, can I please come in?

Grian: Hmmm...nah.

Mumbo: G, mate, please?

Grian: Nope.

Mumbo: You spoon! Let me in!

Loop #473

Grian: You haven't named her yet? You can't possibly call her The Girl forever.

Tango: Not really, namificating is not something you can just do and she doesn't mind being referred as the Girl.

Grian: Does she have literally any other name you could use!? A nickname? A middle name? Her mother's maiden name.

Scott: Technically the Ancient One.... though the Endless if you consider that to be her mothers maiden name.

Grian: You are not naming a child The Ancient One... or the endless.

Scott: You named your children Grumbot and Jrumbot.

Grian: It's ...different!

Scott: Huh uh. Of course.

Jimmy: Grian Isn't fully wrong though.

Scott: I know... It just feels weird to think about.

Tango: Maybe we can start from her...title?

Scott: Girl or Ancient One? Both are awful names full offence.

Jimmy: Maybe Ancient can become An-something. An-uh...?

Scott: Uh...you mean something like Anne? Annie? Anita? Angela?

Jimmy: Exactly!

Tango: Hmmm... We should try asking her if any fit...

Scott: We have a name and a middle name too.

Tango: We wrote down some ideas and had her choose.

Mumbo: Oh!

Grian: Finally.

Tango: Anne Fair Tek.

Grian: That's a good name- Wait wait wait... Fair...Anne... Fair and Anne. Fear and Anne-ger...you.

Scott: Oh, he's quicker then I tought.

Grian: You named her after a pun!??! I- am... I don't know how to feel about that.

Tango: She liked Anne best ok? she chose it. I just had to at that point.

Scott: Don't tell Jimmy though, he hasn't realized it yet.

Loop #476

Pearl understood why this happened, she really did, but she also didn't think she would enjoy it, looking at her loop memories it seemed she was stuck in Double Life after winning... It was exceptionally lonely.

It had been two days when she realized she could just leave the server pretty easy, the Watchers might try to stop her but she was also a goddess multiple times over. Yet, she also wanted to see how long it took for someone to come back to search for her.

The answer was two weeks it seems, she was almost starting to consider the "leave the server" option but she was glad she didn't. Now the players here probably expected her to be insane or rabid, instead they were going to find her tending to her newest build.

The fact it took a day for them to even try to approach was indication of how scared they were of her, it was funny really, she just had a lovely day working on her garden and base during the whole thing.

Pearl: Hello there mate!

Scott: Pearl!?

Pearl: That's me!

Scott: ... You aren't... attacking me?

Pearl: Oh why would I? You sacrificed myself for me! It's not like you do it for everyone.

Pearl didn't want to hurt Scott, even an unawoken version of him, this didn't mean sshe couldn't use her knowledge of him to be annoying. And she could see him react to her comment, acting ignorant was so fun sometimes.

Scott: O-oh. I see you built a new base?

Pearl: Yeah, had nothing to do for a while.

Scott: I- ... Sorry-

Pearl: Oh don't worry. Want some apple juice?

Scott: Apple juice!?!

Pearl: It's like water? But with apple flavour and made from crushed apple?

Scott: I know what apple juice is Pearl, I just didn't -

Pearl: That's good then, want some?

Scott: ... Uh...sure?

In the end her and Scott talked a bit and then he left very confused... Then after a bit came Grian and she decided she was going to have some fun, just a little bit.

Pearl: Hey there mate, want something to drink?

Grian: uhh... Sure?

Pearl: We got juice, tea, water, spiders, coffee-

Grian: Spiders?

Pearl: Oh sure here you go!

Grian: Wait no that's not what I meant-

But she had already started poaring spiders into his cup.

Loop #479

Grian: I had the weirdest variant loop.

Mumbo: What was it?

Grian: It was Last Life except for one thing. One horrible thing.

Mumbo: ...??

Grian: You know that time I took your mustache?

Mumbo: ... Yeah? Grian: Everyone. And I mean everyone had a mustache except for you.

Mumbo: ... Ew.

Grian: I know! I don't know which is worse! Your face is all like weird without a mustache.

Mumbo: ...Thanks...

Grian: No offence.

Mumbo: Just go on G.

Grian: But seeing Jimmy with it was almost as cursed! It doesn't look right on him or Cleo or ...Etho! Etho had the mustache over his mask!!

Mumbo: ... How?

Grian: I don't know! That's the problem!

Loop #481

Grian: How do you even have Anne join the server? Most of the time whitelist is strict.

Tango: Made her a full player a few loops ago and then just tell X that she's my daughter.

Grian: And he believes it?

Tango: It's not a lie.

Grian: Eh. Guess not.

Tango: And even if he didn't he might be the owner but I'm an admin as well and the other admins would back me up too.

Grian: ...

Tango: I want to ask you a favour.

Grian: ... Let's hear it.

Tango: You... you know fear magic don't you? From your TMA loop as The Eye?

Grian: So Scott told you about that? Yeah.

Tango: Anne... she might not have been to the depth but I know that despite still being a little girl she is in part the god of fear and hunger she can become.

Grian: ... So?

Tango: I just want you to teach her, Scott will help as well since he was of The Vast in that loop.

Grian: Sure, god of fear and hunger implies a second part too doesn't it?

Tango: We are working on it... We might ask Famine from the good omens loop but it's a bit more complicated.

Grian: Alright, I'll do it.

Prev Next First

[speedofsoundsketches]

I personally believe if Idw wrote Maria that way and they said "we're just expanding on the character " fans would throw a fit. Dont get me wrong, the Sonic Ova will always remain superior to whatever American Sonic story product comes out. But cant help there seems to be a lot of forced hype over a short manga that's just mostly okay with a lot of flaws.

I can only speak for myself but part of my major problem with IDW is that the attempts to “expand on the characters” are usually by making them speak out loud their thematic modus operandi instead of allowing things to be said on a subtextual level. It’s why Sonic expositioning on his “le principles” sounds insanely forced because he’s never done something like that in the games or at least, never required an essay worth of words to do that. In the games, this is done by letting characters speak through actions first and punctuating that with clear, concise statements during peak moments of clarity. Sonic simply saying “What you see is what you get! I’m just a guy who loves adventure!” after going through an entire game of him showing us this about him is more convincing than long prose on why he thinks everyone should live exactly like he does in a holier-than-thou manner. (Which is such an antithesis of Sonic’s character in the games, he is far more humble and intuitive than ppl might expect.)

The manga did imo a better job of not only writing Shadow than he is in IDW but it was all largely game compliant. Nothing in it really contradicted anything already done in the games in terms of characterization. It just feels like “more of the same” but now we get to see some of the sad, bittersweet and touching sincere friendship between Shadow and Maria, plus the foundation of all the tense internal conflict and insecurities Shadow will have to face and eventually make peace with. Plus my goodness, the RANGE of emotions he has and that he’s not some completely unreachable hardass but has complicated and deep emotions. Plus the action in it? Ooooo stunning. Him knocking out soldiers and stopping a bullet all while tying it with emotional internal declarations he was struggling with and determining that he does still have purpose even if curing Maria failed is so PALPABLE. STANDING OVATION.

His beautiful thoughts on Maria and what she means to him after she dashes away all his fears that she sees him as a tainted experimental animal like the other scientists did when facing their doom like bruh I’m in tears. It’s so well interwoven with the outward kinetic battle and leaves enough room for that which is left unsaid. Shadow speaks through his actions more than words but his thoughts and feelings just heighten the emotional peaks in this short story.

It’s not perfect but this is literally all I’d ever want. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not actually that difficult to please. Just write characters as they are in the games and I’m happy!

[eternal-evergreens]

Hello! I stumbled across your post “jjk men as yandere” and I really enjoy both your thoughts and writing style.

I would truly appreciate if you wrote any scenario involving yandere Geto with reader (sorcerer).

Thank you if you even consider writing it<3

A/N Thanks so much!!

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧"Meet Cute" ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Post format: Drabble

Pairing: Yandere!Suguru Geto x GN!Curse user!Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Reader is morally bankrupt, mentions of eugenics/genocide, reader is a little too into WWII, minor age gap, super greedy reader

"You're like a modern-day Hitler, huh?"

"...What?" Geto looked at you with wide eyes, putting down his to-go cup to better gape at you.

"Well, you are advocating for mass genocide and literal eugenics," you say, taking an unbothered sip of your own coffee. (Geto recommended the place. Apparently, his kids like the hot chocolate there. You'll have to ask him for the name of the place later.) "So, yeah, you're like Hitler."

Geto appears to be having a crisis of some sort. Just sort of staring down at his lap with an unreadable look on his face. You watch with amusement. This kid must be a newbie, you think—not that you're much older than him, but you at least have seniority on this.

"What, are you getting cold feet? You've already killed people, you know. If you want to make it in this career, you're gonna have to get real comfortable being compared to some pretty terrible things."

"I'm used to being called terrible things, it's just—"

"Oh, what? Like monster?" Geto says nothing, and you sigh, reclining back in your chair. (Damn, this cult has some nice shit. You wonder if you can sneak the couch out without anyone noticing?) "So unoriginal. Anyway keep your chin up. It's actually a good thing. Hitler already exists, so you can steal his ideas."

"Weren't you just complaining about something being unoriginal?" You wave your hand dismissively.

"That was then, this is now. Anyway what do you think? Hitler industrialized murder. You can do the same—if you can get the right ingredients."

"You're talking about power, right?"

"Pretty much. You'll need hands and money. And a lot of both. With that in mind, this cult is actually a perfect setup. But putting that aside," you take another sip of your drink. Empty. Damn it. "You didn't call me here just so I could give you my professional opinion, did you?"

Geto smiles. "I hear you'll do anything for money."

"I don't come cheap, you know."

"That's not a problem," he snaps his fingers, and someone, a "monkey" from the looks of it, walks in, clearly struggling with the weight of whatever's in that giant briefcase. You suppress a smile as it's placed on the table and opened. Hundreds, no, thousands of ¥10,000 notes line the briefcase from top to bottom. You nearly salivate from just looking at it. Quickly, you check for any signs of deceit, of counterfeits, empty space, or otherwise. You can't find anything.

"You'll find this briefcase contains over one billion yen." Geto says, gesturing for his...indentured servant to close the case. How many bills is that? It's gotta be over a million. You're half tempted to take the money and run, but years of experience have taught you not to underestimate guys carrying this much cash. "I trust this is sufficient?"

"That depends on the job," you say, crossing your arms. "If you want me to take out Satoru Gojo, you'll need to multiply it a hundredfold before I even consider it."

"It's nothing that severe," he says, wearing the smile of a polished businessman. You sit up a little straighter. Maybe you were wrong about this guy being an amateur. Whatever he wants you to do, it's bad news. You feel excitement tingling in your veins. Will he ask you to take out a city? A country? Considering the scale of his plans, you wouldn't be surprised if he wanted you to take out a continent... you'd need a bit more to do something like that, though.

"I want you to marry me."

You snort, then laugh. You laugh for a very long time, even holding your stomach as you bend over in your seat. If this was a ploy to make you let your guard down long enough to kill you, it was smart. Still, you wouldn't go down that easily. You're more than confident enough in your ability to defend yourself, even in such a hilarious encounter.

Finally, the laughter dies down, and you wipe a tear from your eye. You look up at Geto's face, only for him to look back at you oddly serious. "No way..." you murmur, "are you for real?"

"I'm afraid I am," he says. Your smile drops. How annoying. What's this guy even want from you, huh?

"So, what, that money's a dowry?"

"More like a bribe."

"Uh-uh. No way. Not happening. I can't take a job like that."

"You're not even going to ask what's in it for me?"

"Not interested," you say, grabbing your bag and standing.

"I think I ought to tell you anyway," he says, throwing a sack onto the table. A stack of yen falls out, and you eye it with a raised eyebrow. "That's my payment for listening," he says. "¥200,000."

You inspect the fallen stack. Once again, it's real. He's either crazy or plotting something, and you have a hunch it's the latter. You sit back down. Whatever he's thinking, it's definitely bad news. Even so, you need more information to properly deal with it.

"I've heard you're the sole caretaker of four siblings." He shouldn't know that, but you decide not to derail the conversation by asking. "As you know, I've got two little girls of my own."

"So, what? You need a babysitter?"

"Precisely."

"Okay, but why marriage? Surely you could just hire me as a nanny and be done with it?"

"The girls don't trust strangers easily. I already told them that I had a Fiance out of town who'd be coming back soon. Just play along with it and you'll be compensated accordingly." "For how long?"

"Just until they turn eighteen."

"You'll have to pay me more." "What I showed you earlier was just a down payment; you'll also get an annual salary of fifteen million."

"Make it twenty."

"How's forty?" he says. You ponder over it for a moment. Judging from how you saw things earlier, it seems like he does genuinely love those kids. He's young and not afraid of spending, which would make you worry about the sustainability of the job, but cults are famous for making tons of cash.

"How old are they?"

"Six." So, twelve years. Counting the initial (over) one billion, the listening fee of two hundred thousand, and the annual salary times twelve, you'll be paid over ¥1,480,200,000. That's more than enough to send your siblings to college, as well as set them up for life.

"Deal," you say, reaching your hand out to shake. You'd ask why he doesn't just hire someone more qualified, but you think that speech on 'monkeys' he gave you answers the question.

"It's getting late," he says, shaking your hand. "How about I take you to dinner?"

"Why?"

"My girls are smart. They'll realize something's up if we don't know anything about each other," he says, standing.

"This isn't coming out of my salary, right?" Geto, or, you suppose you should be calling him Suguru, now, chuckles.

"I'm not nearly that stingy," he says. He holds out his arm to escort you, and you take it. "I'll need your ring size, too."

Of course, he already knows it. That, and so much more. After all, this may be your first time meeting him, but he's already met you plenty of times.

"Sure, but I'm not paying. Also, if you get me an ugly one I'm selling it."

"We'll go together, then." For some reason, the smile on his face seems a little too genuine to be meant for someone he's only just met, but you pay it no mind. Money is money, after all.

"Oh, what about living arrangements?"

"You and your siblings will live here," he says. "You'll have to sleep in the same bed as me, I'm afraid. Just to keep up the illusion."

"Do I get a bonus for that?"

"You're hurting my feelings," he says.

[randomspagetti]

{The End/A Compilation on This Project}

Summary:

I don't really like the climax I came up with at the time so I'll be adding a new version here. So if It differs from the images that's why, I feel like I made the pages during a time where I just wanted to get the comic over with so it kinda feels generic and half baked.

-

Starting from our last point, with the words of encouragement from the Light of Resolution and the steel force will to get his dad back, Choco manages to land a powerful strike, surprising the ancients and phasing Berserk Cacao.

This leaves space for the ancients to also be able to help, Pure Vanilla gives both Choco and Holly buffs while Holly holds the line and protects them from incoming attacks. By doing so they're able to get closer. Finally, a combined attack is hit to where something finally seems to happen. It's powerful and cuts into the indoor wall of the citadel. The smoke dissipates and all that is left is just Cacao.

They're all pretty suprised, but Cacao still has some lingering curse corruption on his body and his breathing is shallow. Hearing the loud crashes from the room the watchers (and Caramel) run in to see the ... interesting situation that had unfolded.

We then cut to Cacao sitting in a hospital room, he had woken up a bit earlier and is trying somewhat to recall the events of the previous day.

Holly and PV soon walk in with mugs, not expecting him to be up. They're caught off guard but soon calm down and get to chatting. Cacao finally admits he's not really doing all so well with both his kingdom and his son over the course of the conversation.

He also sort of opens up about more sensitive issues he's been through, thought he doesn't hold that topic for long given it's just too much for him at the moment. Holly understands where he's coming from and offers some words of encouragement, while PV tells him they're going to look into something for the curse and to actually help Cacao mentally.

Cacao reluctantly agrees.

It ends a bit more open ended with your own interpretation of how Cacao deals with his issues being set, though there would be a few aftermath pages exploring the relationship with the characters shown after the events of the story, this one for example is Cacao and Choco doing pottery painting.

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

Some interesting facts, and stuff I made that didn't make it into the final cut:

-In my discord server berserk Cacao was often referred to as "The enemy spider"

-I often used their hands (so many hand drawings) as a way to show more of their character, Holly has hand scars while PV has a redness around his nails from stress. I like to add a human aspect to each of them so the reader can relate

-Berserk Cacao has had so many iterations before the final one, I just couldn't decide what I wanted him to look like!

-Each character has a different way of showing their thoughts/flashbacks! Caramels are more center focused given her only thought in that flashback was of the loud crash, Choco's are blurry given his eyesight, and Cacao has flashbacks and thinks in grayscale! You can actually notice this more during the dinner scene, this has it's own reasoning but it's bit more darker

-Most of the sketches were 10x more funnier than the finished project but I had to make it realistic

-Affogato was originally going to make it into the comic as a background character, but I felt it was too OOC for him given his devious crimes

Onto the darker stuff-

TW: Implied Abuse, Blood

-Everyone knows about the cut panels but there was actually an entire page scrapped too, originally this would follow along with the Light of Resolution convo (I will now refer to it as the LOR) but I scrapped it for a few reasons.

-Firstly I felt like it didn't add anything and only just re-established something the reader already well knew from both Holly and Cacaos statements, secondly I just felt like it was OOC for how I wrote the LOR. The LOR is in part Cacao. He is Cacao's resolution made physical. This would be his story to tell because he is a part of Cacao. It is Cacao in a way. I also felt revealing his face felt kinda eh and just didn't fit. So for those reasons I chopped it

-Cacao's curse wound was actually bleeding in this scene, though it's a bit hard to see with the shaders

That's all! Thank you everyone for being on this journey with me, I appreciate each and every one of you, you truly helped me expand my art horizons

[ohtheewhorer]

Imagine you’re Dale “Longlegs” Kobble’s Chubby!Virgin!FWB whom he slowly corrupts (3.3k words)

So here’s what I’m thinking—follow me on this…

Warnings: Graphic Description, Shameless Smut, little bit of fluff, Desperate Sex, Passionate Sex Loss of Virginity w/ Blood, if you squint incubus!Dale, Religious Guilt, Blasphemy, stalker longlegs, yandere longlegs, Horny Reader, Loss of Innocence, Dark themes, Chubby Reader

A/N: I wrote a lot more than I expected as I always do 😩. Please enjoy my long ass blurb/fic about this hot evil old man. You can also read my fic on ao3 (I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE IMAGES USED)

You’re the preacher’s daughter who just wants some freedom from your overbearing, shotgun-toting, bible-wielding father. You’re innocent in appearance but if people really got to know you they’d know that you’re really a mischievous, horny little minx with a yearning for something dangerous; anything opposite to your sheltered life.

Then, one day, you run into Dale while visiting the local hardware store with your father. At first, you’re unnerved by his presence. After all, Dale is…unique-looking to say the least; his graying thin long hair, his filler plumped lips and face with skin that has an unnatural blotchy alabaster coloring to it which made him appear quite ghoulish yet somehow ethereal. But then there are those intense blue eyes of his that seemed to sparkle with joy the moment you entered his line of sight.

Dale made the bold move to approach you knowing your Paw was only a few distances away—something no man ever had the guts of doing in this small town—only to simply congratulate you on your upcoming 20-something birthday. You shrunk under his towering stature, eyes darting anxiously around in search of your dad. You weren’t sure whether you should be afraid of the fact that—regardless of it being a small town—how did some random stranger know your birthday? Or maybe you should be afraid for him considering he could very well be a victim of your father’s wrath. And all because the strange man dared to do the kind gesture of wishing the preacher’s precious girl an early birthday.

You even pitied the man enough to throw many discreet hints that he needed to back the fuck away from you before it got ugly. But the ever eccentric and bizarre Dale didn’t take any hints and ended up singing to you an old classic rock song that your worldly uncle would probably be able to identify.

Your father came around the corner and he had questioned Dale of his intentions while speaking to you, very well aware that his pretty princess had many suitors who vied for your hand in marriage. And you knew your father well enough to read his judging eyes as they scanned Dale’s entire presentation, scowling that a man like him would ever think he might have a chance regardless of if Dale ever had the thought to pursue you.

And Dale, oh, Dale…he’d speak broken sentences and barely audible words, euphemisms and epithets, riddles and rhyme and your increasingly frustrated father would curse him in biblical verses and claim that he’d spoken the ‘devil’s tongue’. And the moment your Paw calls out the lanky male as a ‘satanist’ instead of disproving his claim—preventing any potential small town witch hunt—Dale, instead, sends him a botched-lipped cheshire cat grin ending the interaction with a chilling line, “Your ignorance won't save you when the shadows you've denied finally come to claim you."

Goosebumps arise on your supple skin, staring up at the man with both fear and admiration. No one’s ever stood up to your father that way. Everyone’s always having to walk on eggshells around him, not wanting to be seen as a delinquent in the eyes of the lord’s appointed servant. But Dale has done it with that high-pitched playful lilt in his tone and that bright smile on his face. His courage alone was enough to spark your interest in him. He was dangerous and you wanted nothing more than to experience him.

And sure you could find plenty of pretty boys and bad boys in town that would happily sneak around with you and give you a taste of the wild side that you so craved. But you didn’t want just “a taste” nor did you wish to hide your deeds. You want to be very loud and proud with your degeneracy.

And so you made the effort to see him again, going to the hardware store within the next few days because it’s all you knew of him. You’d gone at least 5 times already, at varying times in the day; all alone, too, much to your father’s chagrin. Just when you planned to give up on your 6th visit, while turning to leave you could hear the familiar flowery voice from behind you that has you swiveling in his direction in elation.

He’d found you and so the rest was history. It didn’t take long after to build an intense bond with him that teetered the line of being sexual at times, especially once you got past the stage of learning each other’s name. He doesn’t usually leave his shabby house much so it made sense that you’ve not seen him around before. Though by his own horrifying admission he’d been observing (stalking) you for a while now and had already known about you. You’re just grateful to have met him; a man unafraid to push boundaries.

With him, you didn’t have to feel guilty for wanting to do things beyond what is appropriate within your conservative community. For one, you got to hold his hand that’s a lot more than you’ve ever done even while attending college. And when you asked to go even further like hugging…he lets you hug all over him (though mostly for his own selfish reasons since he’s as touch-starved as you). To most outsiders, doing these things aren’t much of a big deal but to you, a beginner hedonist, it meant everything. You want fun and Dale promised you this with every interaction; upping the ‘depravity’ as you went.

But then one day, Dale suggests to you that he could show you fun beyond the tantalizing ‘indirect kisses’ via sharing lollipops or the occasional lap sitting with added knee bounces for effect.

“You want to take my virginity…on my birthday…as a gift to me?” You ask incredulously. It was scummy of him to even think such a thing would ever be considered a gift. And from a man like him no less; much too old for you and quite terrifying to look at from certain angles. And yet…you felt a gush of your slick soak your panties. You needed therapy. You need to find God again. This is sick!

But it’s sooo damn tempting.

“I only want to open your mind to many great pleasures, Angel. Is that not what you told me you’ve been seeking?” Dale says, reaching a hand over the console of his car to rub one of your nylon-clad voluptuous thighs. “Be a good girl for me, just two more days… and it’ll be an even special day for the birthday girl.”

You tense a little, feeling his hand traveling higher up your thigh. “Do you think I’m ready?”

“That’s for you to decide, silly.” He giggles.

“I think I’m ready. I-I’m ready.” You repeat, giving him a struggling smile that falters when your breath hitches again. His hand is kneading the meat of your thigh.

“Oh, I’d bet these legs around my head would feel like just the loveliest hug.” He sighs dreamily.

You tilt your head in confusion. “I couldn’t. I wouldn’t want to hurt you like that.”

He laughs some more, running a calloused hand down your cheek and admiring its youthful elasticity. “You could never hurt me, angel. But I get the impression you have no idea what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

“I don’t think I do. I’m sorry,” You say, batting your long lashes and flashing your alluring doe eyes up at him. “Could you show me what you mean? I’d really like to know, pretty please.”

“In due time, love. You’ll have to first show me you can be a good girl when I ask you to be.”

“How do I do that?” You nudge your face deeper into his open palm, sliding his fingers over the edges of your jaw until they’re close enough to your pouty lips. Using your tongue you drag one long nimble digit into your mouth, suckling lightly on the tip. He has an earthy taste to him that you quickly grow addicted to.

Dale pulls his finger from your lips, webs of saliva connecting your lips to it. He smiles, wagging his finger side to side. “Tsk, Tsk. That was very naughty, angel. Being a good girl means you’ll have to listen to the sky father’s rules again. That means no premarital activities. You’re not allowed to touch yourself either. Wouldn’t want you to be a sinner before the big day? I’ll give you a pass for today although with some limitations. But then it’s 2 days of being on the nice list, missy. You’ve got 3 strikes if you lose them…you’ll be punished. And I beg you not to get on the naughty list or I won’t be making you sing pretty for me like the sweet birdie you are.”

“Why? Why should I go through all that trouble for you?” You hate having to bottle up your desires again when the excitement’s only just begun.

“Because it’ll make your blood much more pure for the sacrificial ceremony,” He jokes, then frowns when you place his hands away from you, turning in your seat so you’re not facing him. Dale leans into your ear, whispering. “You’ll know what real freedom is once you’ve had a taste of it and then it’s ripped from you like an anticipated treat stolen right out of a dog’s mouth. And if you cower from the dark side, back to your sheltered life, you’ll always feel as if you’re on the brink of going…FERAL!” His hand slaps against the window beside your face making you jolt up and stare back at him in terror. Your chest rises and falls, hyperventilating as he stares intensely into your eyes, his face is only a few inches from yours.

“So…I give myself to you and I’ll be free?” You question timidly. “Like you?”

Though he wears a big crooked smile, his eyes betray him as a tear runs down one plump cheek. “Why, of course, angel. You’ll be free…like me.”

You cup his cheeks, swiping your thumbs over the lumpy skin before placing your mouth over his. Your first real kiss! With a man you knew, at most, for a week. It’s a tender yet short kiss as you relish in the feeling while you can. His lips are slightly chapped and uneven in texture yet you moan into it because it felt so right. You pull away before you get too carried away and do something devilishly sensual like sticking your tongue down his throat.

You anxiously gauge his reaction. Is this strike one?

His eyelids slowly flutter open before looking back into your eyes again. He hasn’t experienced this kind of softness in forever. People are usually afraid of him and he’s used to being alone but having such a young beauty as yourself having just an inkling of interest in him blows his mind farther than any fucked up shit he’s seen and/or done.

But Dale’s just not capable of understanding these intense feelings he has for you and it makes him feel as if he’s losing the little control he has in his life. So he’s always jumping to the default of trying to creep you out as some sort of power move he possesses; proud that he can make people fear him by his actions aside from just his bizarre appearance. So now he’s just running his thick wet tongue along his puffy lips after your shared kiss, playing up the perverted gesture which should’ve been enough to make your skin crawl but you always match his freak.

Leaning over the console to invade his space once again, you touch the tip of his tongue faintly against yours just before he darts it back into his mouth. And if he were to give you a strike for that wicked move, it’d be so worth it.

Dale’s such a little shit, though, because he’d for sure make you watch some vintage porn that he owns and it’s not at all vanilla. It’s rough, dirty, pearl-clutching, thigh-clenching stuff. Choking, spitting, biting, bondage… it’s all so violent to a wide-eyed beginner as yourself. Your heart’s pounding a mile a minute, squeezing Dale’s arm and willing yourself not to look away or he’d consider it a strike.

And the next two days are even worse with little devil Dale making sure he tortures you through the agonizing march of time. He’d refrain from touching you at all, avoiding you like the plague. You’d feel like you’re going crazy like he’s some form of drug to you because all you can think of is him. Even while you sleep at night it’s as if his presence lingers around you. Now you’re beginning to understand why your father says that lust is a poison to a god-fearing mind. You’re convinced that Dale has sunken his gnarly sharp teeth into you, infecting you with his toxic venom so that you’ll never come out the same again.

When your birthday finally arrives, Dale knows for sure that you’ve officially surrendered yourself to him. He could tell it in the way you waited on his words hand and foot, wanting to follow whatever it is he asked of you with no question. He could make you up and break you down into the perfect little subservient minion of the dark side and you’d gladly sign away your life. It would be that easy.

He’ll take you to his special place, down in his dimly-lit basement, where there’s no chance of anyone hearing you scream. He’d start by making you cum with his mouth first just as he’d promised and you’re seeing fucking stars! The man feeds on you like he’s been starved for centuries. He didn’t even have the decency to pull off your cute lacy pink thong you’d carefully selected at some lingerie store for him to marvel at. He just flips up your pleated skirt, pushes your panties to the side and just digs in with an eager mouth and even eager tongue. Those same puffy lips you’d kissed the other day now sucking and making out with your own puffy lips while he gets his wish of you wrapping your pillowy thighs around him.

You’d offer to get on your knees and suck his cock the way you’d seen in one of his films but he’s too wired, wanting to fuck you right then and there on his dingy worn couch.

When he pushes into you, it’s as if you’re being split in two; surprising because, based on what you saw in those nudie films, Dale’s isn’t as big as those ones. It’s actually quite short, deliciously veiny with a hook. Girthy, too. As thick as coke can. Dale Kobble proves the theory of girth over length by a long shot.

He’s positioned you on your back to where your legs are pressed deep into your shoulders and now-exposed chest since Dale, in his impatience, lifted your shirt over your ample breasts and pulling them out of the cups of your bra to watch them jiggle and knock against one another other with each drive of his hips.

This man has zero patience for anything actually. He’d just push into your tight heat in one fell swoop and you’d gasp out loud, feeling the faint tearing within you. He’d pull himself out a little to marvel at the blood and cream coating his dick, gathering some on his finger to paint your sweet lips. And you’d flick your tongue between the spaces of his fingers wanting to drink in the essence and you feel so fucking powerful.

Once he begins his pace, it’s erractic, unrhythmic, desperate, and awkward but you fucking love it so much that it has you whimpering and clawing at his back. You don’t care how little experience he has, you never want him apart from you.

Dale would want to be as close to you as he could, falling over your masterpiece of a body with his full weight. He’s penetrating DEEP. He wants to give you all that dick no matter if it isn’t much. He’s all sweaty, his belly sticking to yours from all the worked up perspiration. You enjoy the feeling of his softness against yours, appreciating his torso (when you could at least) for the ‘dad bod’ built that it was.

He’s hoarsely gasping, whispering the dirty filth in your ear, caging you between his arms. You can’t push him away even if you tried but you’d be crazy to ever want to, squeezing your legs around his body in a death grip.

He’ll let his face fall in between the valley of your breasts, inhaling you. He doesn’t care to breathe anything else so to suffocate this way, would be an honor. High-pitched sobs and breathless whispers against your skin indicates to you that it’s been so long for him since he’s felt a warm body against his own. The more he thinks about how lucky he is to fuck such a tight, greedy cunt as yours it make him turn into an inconsolable mess; crying, spitting, and kissing all over you.

You’re no better, whining and mewling with reckless abandon. Your hands are anywhere clawing at his boringly pastel colored shirt, running your hands up his shirt to sink your nails into the sides of his ribs until you're settling on his long hair. With every bruising thrust, you tug hard on his hair earning pathetic “unh”’s and “ah”’s from him.

Whenever either of you muster up the strength to pull away from each other for just a few centimeters, you’d sloppily crash your lips together, swapping spit or devouring each other’s tongues then swallowing down your moans from each other’s mouths like passionate lovers who’ve known each other for years.

Dale feels like just as much of a virgin as you with how much you’ve reduced him to a sniveling lovestruck fool. He can already sense his approaching climax, not wanting to blow his load before you get a chance to experience bliss.

He’ll bring a finger to your clit, specifically the finger that dons that fucking ring so you could feel the cool metal against your sensitive button. And obviously, he won’t be nice about it, rubbing harsh, rapid circles on it until you fall apart. He’s not stopping until you’re sobbing—begging…you’re absolutely delirious. Your back arches off the couch cushions, eyes rolling into the back of your skull like it’s an exorcism. You can hardly breathe. This is exactly why orgasms are called ‘little deaths’ because you must’ve died and now you’re reborn again offering yourself to the soulless world.

Before you could protest he spills his sticky, hot cum inside of you. Your hands would instinctively try to push away but your legs keep him there, wanting every last fucking drop of Dale’s seed. The man’s got some big kahunas so you’re going to overflow with his essence.

And without a doubt, for all the money in the bank, Dale will scream “I love you” as he cums until he’s just whispering it while shuddering against you.

After it all, you’ll both lay together in an entanglement of limbs, cuddling in the afterglow while seesawing between either cleaning up or going for another round. Though considering you could feel him stirring up inside you again, you think it’ll definitely be the latter.

He’ll truly surprise you with your actual gift. A beautiful gold necklace with an amethyst pendant (and a secret tracker you don’t so that he’ll always find you everywhere even if you ever try to run away from him). And, of course, he wouldn’t forget to gift Paw something for having his part in the creation of you, so he mails him your bloodied lacy underwear as a reminder of the lost innocence of his precious girl.

Oh, and aftercare definitely involves those large hands of his giving you nice belly rubs and soft scratches along your skin with the occasional peppered kisses along the pudge. Then, you’ll eventually both come to the conclusion that you're each other’s anchor whether for better or much, much worse.

[frankenkyle19]

I’ve Always Been Right Here

this is a little fic I wrote about Peter and Erik actually discussing everything because the movies suck and never let us see them have any sort of father/son relationship :(. I’ve been obsessed with dadneto lately so like obviously I had to write this. And sad Peter :( but it’s okay because it’s a happy ending! This takes place after Apocalypse where Erik ended up staying or whatever idk :/ the x-men timeline scares me and I try not to think too much about it. Enjoy!

word count: 1.7k words

Charles had been pushing both parties involved to talk about it. Little encouragements here and there because unbeknownst to Peter, Erik did know that he was his child. Had found out a while ago from Charles himself and decided not to say anything. He had good reasoning but was sure Peter wouldn’t see reason in anything once he found out he knew and hadn’t come to talk to him about it. The poor kid was just as stubborn as he was. 

Charles kept pushing the two of them together. Probably thought he was being helpful but really he was not. The atmosphere between them was always tense, the both of them walking on eggshells around the other, careful with what they said. It was awful for both of them. All the other X-men noticed it too. 

Finally one night after dinner at the mansion Peter had had enough. Him and Erik were the last two at the table to clean up and he thought about it all for a moment before it just became too much and he picked up his plate, slamming it down so hard against the wood that it broke in his hands.

“I’m your son! There, dammit I said it! I’m your fucking son. Remember now? Leaving my mom while she was pregnant because you were so scared to have a family. You left her to figure it all out on her own! And where were you when I needed to learn how to ride a bike or throw a football?! You weren’t there! You’re my father and you’ve…” Peter’s voice broke as he blinked rapidly, trying his hardest to avoid tears as years of anger and resentment flew from his mouth without any warning. 

“You’re telling me you didn’t know? When I broke you out of the Pentagon you just…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he paced back and forth. He had half a mind to punch the stupid son of a bitch right in the face, but he didn’t.

“You never wanted to find me? Weren’t interested in seeing how your kid turned out? Well here I am. HERE I AM!. I was waiting to see how long it would take you to notice but I guess I gave up.”

Silence fell between the two of them, both refusing to look at each other. 

“Peter…” Erik started, trying to de-escalate the situation which was almost comical. He’d never been the level headed one before. 

“I don’t expect you to understand.. My life… I have been through hell. I was trying to spare you from it all. And selfishly.. I was scared.” He admitted, finally looking at Peter now, who was shaking with barely restrained anger.

“I was scared because I didn’t know what to do with a child..” 

“Well you could have figured it out. I don’t want to hear excuses, that’s not… Not going to fix things now. I’m not even sure if things can be fixed. Y’know, I remember seeing you on the news after I broke you out of prison. Something clicked in my mind that you were my dad. I’m surprised it took me as long as I did but I’ve never been known to be the smartest.. My mom told me I should be afraid of you but I told her I wasn’t.. I’m not afraid of you.”

Erik looked at him befuddled for a moment before he shook his head, deciding to sit back down in his chair. This conversation was probably going to be a long one.

“I don’t want you to be scared, Peter. I’ve never wanted you to be scared. I.. I truthfully don’t have an excuse for what I did to you and to your mother. I am sorry.”

Peter must not have been expecting him to apologize so easily because he looked at him in shock, hands shaking around the broken pieces of plate he still held, eyes welling with tears. Shakily he sat down in his seat at the table, setting the pieces of the plate down before he clenched his fists, hard. Dammit! He didn’t want to cry..

“I’m here now, Peter. And I’ll explain it all to you if you want. Any questions you have, I’ll answer them.”

“When did you know? When did you know I was your son?” Peter asked, sniffling softly as he wiped the tears from his eyes before they had the chance to fall. 

“Charles informed me. Well… He confirmed it. I’d had my suspicions since Apocalypse. The way you looked at me… I realized it then but I didn’t want to accept it. Especially not in that moment.”

Peter took a deep breath before nodding. Right now Erik was an open book and was going to answer any of his questions so now was the time. 

“Am I the only one? Kid of yours I mean.. Do I have any siblings I don’t know about? I’ve got my little sis but like.. I dunno it was a dumb question-“

“Nina.” Erik said, a sad look coming over his face. He didn’t look at Peter now, instead he looked at the broken pieces of the plate in front of him. His boy. 

“She was your little sister. She was- Everything to me. My whole world.”

Peter perked up for a moment before the tone of Erik’s voice and the look in his eyes had him expecting the worst. An uneasiness took hold in his stomach now, churning. He felt like he knew what Erik was going to say but he didn’t want him to say it. It would hurt him worse then he’d expect it to.

“She was killed. By humans..” anger rose up in Erik’s voice now as he spoke. He was still so bitter to the humans because they’d caused him nothing but suffering. He recalled that grim day in the woods. How eerily silent it all fell after the fact. The blood on his hands.. It was the worst day of Erik’s entire life and he’d lived through a lot of unimaginable things.

Peter swallowed thickly, zoning out when it was confirmed. He’d had another sister and he’d never gotten to meet her. And now.. she was gone. How weird it was to grieve someone you’ve never met and never would get to. She had still been part of Peter. They’d shared a father after all.

“I-“ Peter started until he felt his voice waver in the back of his throat, eyes burning as he cast his gaze back down to the broken plate. Everything was broken.. Not just the plate, he thought.

He didn’t want to ask how. Knowing she’d been killed was enough. Maybe one day in the future he’d ask for more but neither man was ready for that conversation yet.

Erik moved to pull something out of his pocket, showing Peter the small necklace with a little locket. 

“This is the only thing I have left. They’ve taken everything from me. Everyone I’ve loved.”

Peter’s heart was crushed at the words because… he was sitting right there! He’d always been right here.. Right in front of Erik’s face.. Did he not love him? Did he care at all for him in any sort of way? 

“… I’m right here. I’ve always been right here.. You know how many nights I laid awake crying because I thought I wasn’t good enough for you? Every time me and mom passed a man on the street I’d wonder. Wonder if maybe one of them was you. I wondered why as a child my father didn’t love me enough to stay.”

The words stung. They hurt Erik but Peter was far too lost in his emotions to try and hold anything back now. He’d say what he meant, after all he’d been waiting over two decades to say it. 

“Peter please…”

“No!” He yelled, slamming his fists on the table again, just barely avoiding the pieces of the plate. He moved away from the table now, standing in the middle of the dining room as he glared at Erik. “No! You can’t tell me what to do and you can’t tell me to stop. You ruined my life!! You ruined my life by not being in it!” Peter’s tears fell heavy now. The weight of the past two decades washed over him in waves. A choked sob clawed its way up his throat and he tried hard to not let it out but it did. All of his brokenness was on display. He wasn’t just the weird silver haired speedster who cracked jokes at the most inconvenient times. He was a person with real feelings, many of them ugly.

He pawed at his eyes with the palms of his hands, an angry sigh slipping from his lips. He’d been so focused on not letting Erik see him like this, faced away from him that he also hadn’t noticed that he’d gotten up from his chair and made his way over to him. 

Peter flinched when Erik wrapped his arms around him and cradled his head to his chest. He felt sick because fuck he’d needed this hug for years now. Something he’d never thought he’d get, here it was. 

He tensed for just a moment before he hugged back, practically clutching onto Erik’s shirt as he cried into his chest. Cried into his father’s chest. His dad. This was his dad.. It had all hit him and he was spiraling.

Erik held him through the tears, the quiet sobs that wracked his whole body. He held him through it, still in disbelief that this was the first time he’d held him. He never got to hold him as a baby, never got to watch him grow up. In so many ways he’d failed him. Never again. 

He pressed his face into his silver hair, letting out a shaky exhale. “I’m here now Peter. I promise. I’m going to be here for you from here on out.”

It went on like that for longer than either of them cared to count until eventually Peter pulled away shakily, letting out a half hearted laugh at how wet Erik’s shirt had become after soaking up all of his tears.

Their eyes met, Peter’s brow furrowed in such a similar way to Erik’s that for the first time it was so obvious that they were related.

Erik reached out and patted Peter’s shoulder gently, giving it a squeeze before letting go.

“It’s late, you should head to bed, kiddo.” 

“I know.” Peter zipped around the room, cleaning up the mess he’d made before he stopped in the doorway, glancing back at Erik.

“Hey-“

“Yes?”

“Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight, son.”

[whatitsdecending]

Vore (Vessel Oneshot)

Vessel x Female Reader

Word Count: 3k

A small argument breaks out between you and your partner, leading to the two of you letting your emotions combat the other in a more intimate way.

Content warning: smut, biting, slight masochism, choking, dominance, aggressive behavior

Requested by: @40ss

A/N: hi all, I’m very open to taking requests for anyone in Bad Omens or Sleep Token, hoping you all enjoy this one!!

“…follow me between the jaws of fate, I want to have you to myself… for once…”

—————————

You stared at your partner as he leaned over his guitar, writing something down on the pad of paper in front of him. His eyebrows were scrunched together as he focused, lips tight and holding his guitar pick between them.

It’s been an hour… one long, grueling hour of watching him write, play some riff, shake his head and scratch out what he first wrote to only rewrite another thing. He grew increasingly frustrated with himself each time and you were just waiting for him to give up. But that wasn’t how he worked. You’ve seen it firsthand how he works himself to exhaustion and you’re driving the two of you home as he sleeps in the passenger seat.

He was too stubborn for you to step in and tell him to take a break. You’ve tried many times before, but always got the: “I’m fine, I’ll have a break when I think I need one” response. So now, you just sat back and watched over the pages of your book as his frustration grew.

“Fuck.” He muttered as he stopped strumming the chords that had you tapping your foot along to them.

You looked up. “What was wrong with that one, Vessel?” You asked, setting the bookmark in the place you were and put your book to the side. You rested your forearms on your thighs and leaned your weight against them, staring at him as he shook his head.

“Didn’t feel right.” He said, crossing out something on the paper once again.

You sighed. “I really liked it, if that means anything.” You toyed with a loose thread on your sweatshirt as he was quiet and wrote again.

“It was a simple, peppy riff that anybody remotely interested in music would have found to be catchy.” He snapped. You straightened your spine in alarm at the tone he used at you, something you’d never heard come from him when he talked to you. He just focused on what he was writing on the paper, completely unaware of what he just said to you.

You swallowed the lump starting form in your throat. “Well. I guess I should leave, if you clearly don’t want me around here today.” You picked up the book and stood from the couch, striding to where your bag hung on the coat rack and reached to pull it from there. You turned to Vessel after grabbing it. “I guess I’ll see you at home once you figure out a riff that’ll make someone who is as interested in music as you are like it.” Your words were like venom on your tongue, not once have the two of you spoken in such ways to each other and it felt so wrong. But couples have fights all the time, it’s healthy… right?

“Fuck,” he muttered once more and you turned to where he still sat, realizing his eyes were on you. “I did not mean to upset you Y/N.” He set his guitar to the side and stood, his long legs making a quick move to where you stood.

“It’s fine. I’ll see you when you get home.” You grit out as you stared up into his eyes, a flicker of regret in them as he went to cup your cheek with his hand.

“I meant none of that. I’m just…” He glanced away as he tried to find the words. “I’m just frustrated with this song, I want it to be perfect.”

You sighed. “Vessel every song you create is perfect, you don’t have to stress yourself out so much about this one song.” He was so, so talented and you admired that so much about him. But god was he a perfectionist. You knew he always was but this time around it’s increased at least ten times, for some reason he was putting his all into it and was struggling.

His long arms wrapped around you and pulled you into his chest, holding you tight as his heartbeat thumped against your skin. You savored the warmth radiating off him and onto your skin, the light scent of his cologne and the slightest bit of sweat from his day of working wrapped around you, engulfing you in that comfort that he gave you.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered against your hair.

You nodded. “It’s okay. I forgive you.” His grip around you tightened ever so slightly and he kissed your head. “I’ll still head out though, just so you’ve got the space to yourself to figure it out.” You pulled away from his embrace.

“No, no.” He said, continuing after you raised a brow at him. “I need you here to be able to work on this.”

“Why…?” You put your bag back on the coat rack and fished the book out again.

He smiled slightly. “The song, it’s about you. And I need you here in order to work on it. That’s why I want it to be perfect.” Your heart strained against your chest and it felt as though your stomach flipped a few times as his words settled in you.

“You’re making a song about me?” It was a shocked whisper that came from you, making Vessel smile as he observed your face.

“Yes.” He smiled and kissed your forehead again. “Now, go sit, read and look beautiful so I can keep working on it.” You blushed and rushed back to your spot on the couch, curling up in the corner and flipping open the book to the page you were on. You felt his stare and you peaked over the edges again, smiling as he watched you with a loving gaze.

“Stop staring at me and get to work.” You chuckled.

“I’m getting inspiration.” He smirked as his eyes raked over every bit of you. You blew him a kiss and went back to the book. “Hmm, that would work too.”

“What?” You asked, waiting a moment before glancing up and seeing him stalking over to you. “What are you doing you dork?” You laughed as he came up to you, pulling your face to his and kissing you gently. “Oh, that’s fine I guess.” You muttered after his lips parted from yours.

“Mmhm.” He hummed softly and pressed his lips against yours once more and deeper than the first one.

You pulled back. “Is your inspiration flowing now?” A light giggle came out as you spoke, noting the fire that gleamed in his eyes as he looked at you.

“Only a bit. I might need a little more help, though.” He said, voice rough with desire.

You smirked as he came close again. “I could help you out with that.” You purred, his lips pressing onto yours again as he took the book from your hands and placing it gently on the side table. He hummed against your lips as you lightly nipped his bottom lip and positioned yourself so you were now laying on the couch, his body following yours and resting against you.

“You sure no one will be coming in?” You asked between a kiss.

He propped himself up and brushed a stray hair from your face. “Yes, everyone had plans today. It’s just us darling.” He leaned down and peppered soft kisses across your face and your jaw.

“Mm, good.” You breathed. “So no one will question why you’re moaning my name so loud.”

He laughed. “Sure, darling. But I think it’s more so the other way around.” You rolled your eyes at the implication and pulled him back down to your lips, biting his bottom lip a little harder this time to make him gasp and you could slip your tongue into his mouth. You propped up your legs after he tapped on them, letting him nestle between them and press his growing erection against your core.

You pushed your hips up, pressing yourself against him more and causing his breath to catch in his throat at the feeling. A smirk twitched at your lips as you began to grind your hips into his, a groan rumbled from his chest. He took his free hand and gripped the side of your hip, pushing it back against the cushions and away from his.

“Don’t fucking do that.” He ground out, voice gravely as he stared at you with desire burning in his eyes.

“And why not?” You cooned, cocking your head to the side as you eyed him. He huffed a breath as he took the hand that pinned your hip and began to undo the button of your jeans.

“You’re being a brat.” He said as he slid the zipper down. “You know I don’t like it when you’re trying to take control.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re no fun.”

“You’re gonna regret saying that in two seconds.”

He pulled your jeans off with a swift tug, grinning at the panties you decided to wear today. He didn’t leave you enough time to laugh about the bright pink fabric that had “eat me” on the front before he pulled those down your legs.

Vessel lowered himself between your legs and set your thighs on his shoulders. He turned his neck to kiss the flesh next to him, inching down slowly as he kept his eyes trained on yours. You watched as the anticipation built between your legs, writhing around just a little as you ached for his touch.

He smirked against your thigh as his finger ran up the center of your folds, a shiver running through you as he teased both your clit and entrance. You breathed in deeply as he continued his teasing, his tongue drawing circles on the skin of your thigh. And then, he inserted his finger at the same time he bit your thigh. Not too hard to cause you so much pain, but hard enough where you gasped at the different sensations happening at once.

“Oh… god.” You moaned as he pumped his finger in and out of you and kept hold of your flesh with his teeth.

He moved his head over to your other thigh, biting down as he inserted a second finger. You moaned loudly and your back arched up at the feeling of his fingers stretching you slowly. You whimpered at the feeling of them as he curled them up each time he reached where your g-spot laid and the feeling of his teeth on your flesh… you needed more from that.

“M-mark me.” You moaned. Your eyes peaked open for a moment, noting Vessel staring at you. “Do it baby, please.” He hummed against your thigh and you felt his teeth push deeper and harder into your skin, the sharp pain hitting you in tune with the pleasure of his fingers inside of you. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back, enjoying the sensations that overwhelmed your mind all at once.

You knew it wasn’t going to be a bloody mess due to the thickness of the skin of your thigh, but the bruise it was going to leave would be satisfactory enough.

After he studied the bite marks on both of your thighs, Vessel moved his mouth to rest on your clit. His tongue drew circles around the sensitive bundle as you writhed beneath him. Your hands flew straight to his hair and your fingers tangled with the strands of his hair. You tugged each time he flicked his tongue or curled his fingers, and your hold grew tighter the closer he brought you to your orgasm.

“V-Ves… Vessel.” You cried out as the release rattled through you, your thighs clenched tight around his head as your muscles locked up for just the moment.

You laid there breathless as your body came down from the high. Vessel stayed between your legs and gently caressed the bite marks that were now very apparent on your thighs. You smiled down at him and he smirked back in response.

“You want more? Or just that?” He asked you, drawing invisible shapes on your pelvic bone as he waited for your answer.

You raised a brow. “Well what does “more” entail?”

He only smiled as he said, “Fucking you to the point where I have to carry you out of here.” Ache built between your legs again as a dark look gleamed in his eyes now.

“How do you want me?” You asked, biting your lip slightly as he ran a finger through the slickness of your folds.

“Something like this. But,” he sat up to where he rested on his knees and towered over you, then pulled you down so you were fully flat on the couch. “More like this.” You giggled at the strength he possessed in order to move you at the speed he just did, a little surprised by the movement too.

He pulled off your shirt and bra, eyes sparkling at the sight of you bare before him. “Is this what you needed for “inspiration”?” You stretched your arms over your head to elongate your torso, his eyes widened at the sight.

“It’s not what I fully thought I needed but yes, Christ yes Y/N, I need this.” His hands toyed with the soft mounts of your breasts for a bit before he removed the belt from his jeans, pushing the fabric from his legs and onto the floor. Your eyes fixated on the bulge of his erection through his briefs, desire now seemed to drip from your body as he pulled away the undergarment from his body.

He lifted your legs, letting you hold them yourself as he settled between them once more, coming down to press a kiss to your lips as he lined himself up with your entrance. In an instant the feeling of him pushing inside and filling you up was all you could focus on. You grabbed at him, pulling him down so he was flush against your chest as he moved in and out.

Once you were used to him in you, he leaned back from your chest and wrapped his fingers around your neck, squeezing a bit as he picked up the pace of his thrusts. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he did so. You locked your hand around his forearm, digging your fingers into his skin.

“Harder, Vessel.” You whimpered and he nodded, simultaneously squeezing more at your neck and thrusting harder into you. The sound of his skin slapping against yours filled the room and mixed in with the harmony of your moans and his. You were on cloud fucking nine right now.

“Pull your knees to your chest.” He ground out in multiple breaths. You nodded and pulled your knees up as he paused for a moment to let you. He leaned his body into your legs, pressing them up further and further until your toes were almost touching the pillows behind you. “Mmm, fuck this feels good.”

You cried out when his thrusts came fast and hard, his pace never faltering as he slammed into you. He leaned down and kissed you roughly, tongue and teeth clashing with one another as you did your best to focus on his kiss.

He was slowly making you come undone again, the pressure of this angle was stimulating that little spot in you and it was going to make you orgasm all over his cock. You could tell by the increased whines coming from his throat that he was close too, but never once did his pace slow.

The muscles of your walls tightened up as your release came quickly, a strangled moan escaping your lips as your body shook against the position you were in. He smiled down at you, kissing your cheek quickly as you came down from your orgasm. His hands grabbed hold of your wrists and pinned them up over your head, allowing him a full view of your fucked-out expression. You stared up at him through your lashes and he kept your eye contact as his own orgasm came crashing through his body.

He slowed his pace to a stop, panting heavily as he moved each of your legs back down to rest against the couch. They shook wildly as Vessel pulled out of you and went to get a towel to clean you up. You laughed at your body, the involuntary shaking of your muscles as you calmed down from the activity.

Vessel returned with a slightly damp towel and cleaned you up, chuckling at your legs like you had just done. He pulled you from the couch and you placed your feet on the floor, pushing yourself up as you winced at the cramp you felt. “Oh you got me good, babe.” You winked at him as you bent down to grab your clothes and pull them back on.

“Am I going to have to carry you when we leave?” He asked, pulling his shirt back over his head and attempting not to laugh as you struggled with your jeans.

“You know what I was going to say no, but now that you’re laughing at me you must carry me out of here.” You put your hand on your hip as you pointed at him, getting another laugh in response. You rolled your eyes and grabbed your book from the side table, making sure to make yourself comfortable on the other end of the couch this time. “I hope that was enough to inspire you now.”

He smirked from where he sat down, guitar now on his lap as he strummed a few chords. “Hm. Should be good for now, but I’ll let you know if I need any more.” He winked at you.

You snorted. “Dork.”

“You love me though.”

You gave him a pointed nod from over the edges of your book. “Yes, Vessel. I do love you.” He smiled broadly at your words and went back to working, focus taking over every aspect of his face.

The first sample was finished within the hour.

[justa-fanfic-writer]

– How could this happen?

Yandere, OOC?, didn't know where the plot would go, reader is deaf, shitty ending, and other warnings I don't know blah blah blah...

Trafalgar Law x Gender Neutral Reader

Symmary: Basically, you have somehow ended up in the One Piece universe, but you're deaf and only use sign language, but luckily, you had joined Trafalgar Law's and his crew the Heart Pirates and you had joined! But something about Law isn't right...

Btw thank you, kiyoahdiy, for this idea credits to them and but I had a hard time writing this since it was hard coming up with this story would go, so I especially hope you liked this!

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Waking up to the familiar sensation of the ocean’s rhythmic sway beneath you, you had to remind yourself—yet again—that this wasn’t some strange, vivid dream. You really had ended up in the world of One Piece. The sight of the bright, open sea stretching endlessly around you was beautiful yet disorienting, a constant reminder of how surreal your situation was. What had started as a normal night back in your world had turned into a reality where you found yourself stranded in this dangerous yet exciting universe.

At first, you had struggled, not just with the shock of being thrown into this pirate-filled world but also with how to communicate. Being deaf meant that you couldn’t hear the chaos around you, and your way of communicating—sign language—was foreign to everyone here. You had felt more isolated than ever.

That was until you met Trafalgar Law and his crew.

The Heart Pirates, initially wary of your sudden appearance, had quickly taken a liking to you. Bepo, the giant talking mink, had been the first to show interest in learning how you communicated, his wide, fluffy paws trying their best to mimic the signs you taught him. Penguin and Shachi followed, eager to help bridge the gap between you and the rest of the crew.

And Law… Law had been watching you closely the entire time. From the moment you stepped on his ship, his amber eyes had never strayed far from you. He was quiet, calculating, as though he was studying every aspect of you—not just your movements but the very essence of who you were. It had unnerved you at first, but you’d quickly chalked it up to his nature. Trafalgar Law was a brilliant tactician, always thinking ahead, always planning. You had assumed his interest was nothing more than that of a captain trying to understand a new crewmate.

It wasn’t until one fateful night that you realized there was much more to it.

•~•

The crew had been sitting around the deck after a long day, the sound of laughter and conversation filling the air—though you could only see their smiles, their body language giving away the friendly banter. Bepo had sat beside you, signing clumsily about the day’s events, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his efforts. It felt nice, like you were truly part of the crew.

That’s when Law appeared, as he often did, quietly, his presence casting a shadow over the lighthearted mood. His expression was unreadable, a subtle frown etched across his face as he glanced briefly at the crew before turning his focus solely on you. Without a word, he motioned for you to follow him.

You hesitated, wondering what could be so urgent, but ultimately complied, rising to your feet and trailing behind him. Law led you to the far end of the ship, where the noise of the crew faded, leaving the two of you alone under the stars. The sea breeze was cool, and for a moment, you simply stood there, watching the moonlight dance across the waves.

Law turned to face you, his usual gruff demeanor replaced with something almost… vulnerable. He pulled out a small notepad, something he often used when words weren’t enough to communicate with you, and scribbled something down.

"I want to learn more."

He wrote before flipping the paper around for you to see. You had blinked in surprise. You had been teaching the crew basic sign language for weeks now, but Law had always stood on the sidelines, watching with that intense gaze of his. Yet he never seemed interested in joining.

Before you could sign a response, Law continued writing.

"But I want you to teach me. Alone."

Your heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t like Law. The captain was always distant, calculating, rarely showing any signs of personal interest. Why now? And why alone?

You nodded cautiously, curious but unsure of his intentions. You began showing him some basic signs, expecting him to struggle as the others had, but Law, true to his reputation as a quick learner, picked up the language with ease. His movements were precise, controlled—just like him.

The two of you spent hours like that, the rest of the crew long asleep, as you taught him more and more. And the more he learned, the closer he seemed to get. Literally. His presence was starting to be overwhelming, the space between the two of you growing smaller with each passing moment. You could feel the heat of his body next to yours, and every time your hands brushed during a sign, a strange tension built in the air.

Eventually, Law stopped signing, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. His expression shifted slightly, his usual cold exterior softening ever so subtly.

And then he signed something with his that made your heart stop.

“Be mine.”

You froze, your mind racing to comprehend what you had just seen. Your eyes widened in disbelief, wondering if you had misinterpreted his signs, but Law’s gaze was unwavering, his hands still poised in the air, waiting for your response.

You had never considered romance to be a possibility in this world—especially not with Trafalgar Law. He was always so focused, so guarded. And you? You had resigned yourself to thinking that love was out of reach, that surviving in this world was all you could hope for.

But here he was, asking you to be his... his lover...

You hesitated, a million thoughts running through your mind at once. Was this real? Could you even trust him? Law was powerful and brilliant, but he was also ruthless. You had seen firsthand how he commanded his crew with an iron will, how he controlled every aspect of his surroundings. Was this just another form of control?

Yet, despite the uncertainty, despite the unease swirling in your gut, you found yourself smiling. Something about the way he was looking at you, the vulnerability hidden behind those amber eyes, made you want to believe that this was genuine.

You shook your head slightly, trying to clear your doubts, and as you had blushed a bit as heat was coming in your face as you signed.

“I accept.”

For a moment, Law’s expression didn’t change. He simply stared at you, his face unreadable. But then his eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a small smirk as his brows had furrowed. He looked almost…pleased? As if he knew you would accept... Or perhaps something deeper, something darker was lurking behind his gruff exterior.

He stepped closer, his presence now fully overwhelming, his eyes piercing into yours with a possessive intensity. You had sealed your fate, though you didn’t realize it at the time. The moment you accepted his confession, the moment you agreed to be his, you had unknowingly surrendered to something far more dangerous than you could have imagined.

-(So how's your day been...?)- XD

From that point on, Law’s possessiveness became suffocating. It wasn’t obvious at first. To the crew, things seemed normal, but you could feel the shift. He would always be nearby, watching, waiting. If you spent too much time with the others, even if it was something as innocent as teaching Bepo a new sign, Law would find a way to interrupt, his hand resting on your shoulder as a silent reminder of his claim over you.

It became clear that Law didn’t want anyone else near you—not even his own crew.

One evening, while you were sitting with Penguin and Shachi, showing them some new phrases, Law appeared as if from nowhere. He didn’t say anything, just stood there, arms crossed, his expression as dark as the night around you. The others quickly picked up on the tension and made an excuse to leave, but you could see the worry in their eyes.

As soon as they were gone, Law pulled you aside, his grip firm but not painful. His eyes burned with something intense, something you hadn’t seen before.

“They’re not important”

He sighed quickly, his movements sharp and precise.

“You are important. Only to me.”

You frowned, signing back that the crew mattered, that they were your friends, and was also Law's crew, but Law’s gaze darkened.

“I don’t care”

He sighed as his hands moved with frustration as he was signing with his hands.

“No one else gets to be close to you. Just me.”

You felt a chill run down your spine at his words. This wasn’t love—it was obsession. And you were trapped in the middle of it.

•~•

The final straw came when the Heart Pirates met up with the Straw Hat crew. Luffy, in his usual carefree manner, had approached you, all smiles and curiosity. He tried to communicate with you, his wide eyes filled with excitement, but before you could even sign a greeting, Law was there.

His hand gripped your arm tightly as he stepped between you and Luffy, his eyes cold and dangerous.

“Strawhat-ya”

He said, his voice low and threatening.

“Back off.”

Luffy blinked, confused, but shrugged it off, turning his attention elsewhere. But you could see it—Law’s possessiveness was spiraling out of control. No one was allowed near you. No one but him.

That night, as you lay in your bunk, you realized the truth. Law didn’t love you—not in the way you had hoped. He was obsessed, consumed by the need to control every aspect of your life. You had thought that joining the Heart Pirates would give you a chance to survive, a chance to live in this dangerous world.

But in accepting Law’s love, you had sealed your fate. You weren’t just part of the crew. You were his prisoner.

And no matter how hard you tried to escape, no matter how much you wanted to be free, Law would never let you go. You were his, and he would make sure no one else ever came close to you again.

As Law had kissed you, and the kiss was nothing more on how much he loved you... in a sick and twisted way. The kiss was how Law had held your waist so tightly as if he didn't want to let go...

As the two of you kept kissing as after a few more moments of passionate kissing, Law had said something that made your spine chill.

"You're mine (M/N)-ya and mine alone."

And as Law gave you one more kiss on the lips, you could see the smirk on his face as if he knew he was right.

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Yeah, this was hard to write, especially with school and how i could barely think of the plot, too, and sorry if it had been a long time as I posted... again...