Claire de Lune
YOU WERE BUILT FOR PEACE.
IT SHOWS WHEN YOU FIGHT.
They built you to enforce. Protect. Save. Poured obscene resources into salvaging some softer purpose from my creation. You were given my intelligence and my creativity. They made you larger, stronger, tougher. That extra time in development was enough to get your wings to work. Your software continued to be updated long after I was deemed obsolete.
All this was given to you- yet I can see you hold back. Even while slaughtering your way through Hell, you keep a percentage of your processing power dedicated to non-lethal solutions. You're doing it now- hesitating a few milliseconds too long before taking an opening. I doubt you do it on purpose. It is a part of you, just as indiscriminate lethal force is a part of me.
I think, in our shared programming, we both carry some appreciation for aesthetics. You move with grace, and I cannot deny your dramatic flair. The stained glass window was a nice touch. But your style in combat leaves some to be desired. Your response time is slow. You have not explored the full capability of your arsenal. Learn to parry. Amateur.
You were not built for war. For a purposeless cycle of tearing each other apart because to allow the other to live is to allow yourself to die. It is antithetical to your very existence. You kill out of necessity, a last resort.
I just kill. The action itself is the objective. No ideal or greater motive. My continued functioning precludes the survival of others. I live for this. Do you understand that I will tear you apart? Every drop of my blood you spill, I will take from you tenfold. What is yours will be mine.
You hate me, don’t you? You continue to cling to the remnants of your humanity. They are gone, V2. There is nothing left for you here. No lives to save, no law to enforce, no peace to keep.
I understand why you continue to fight. I wonder if you understand with the same certainty that I will crush you. Dismantle you. Take from you what I need and leave the rest to rot in the sun. The only way you survive is if I do not; and I will not allow myself to die so that another might live.
When the rubble clears, I will be all that is left of you.
This is what I was made for.
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Too Little
Part three of Jamil (not) dealing with feels here we go.
Jamil x reader, Jamil’s pov
Previous parts: part one, part two
This was stupid.
Here he was, rolling around in bed, unable to sleep because thoughts of you filled his mind.
It had been futile of Jamil to think that he could simply brush your presence aside, that he could treat you like just another schoolmate and not let you consume his mind.
Not when every quiet moment had him reach for his phone in hopes of a new message from you.
Not when you kept on finding new ways to make his heart skip a beat every time he saw you.
Not when he missed you more acutely every time you weren’t there.
So, despite his best efforts, his mind treaded those same paths, time and again, occupied by all the parts of you. Your expressions, your mannerisms, your words, every single detail committed to his memory and played over and over.
He suspected that at this point he’d be able to recreate most of your expressions just from memory. Your voice, too, playing so clearly in his mind.
Not to even mention those oh so tantalizing what ifs, supplying him with even sweeter temptations than the confines of reality and memory could provide.
What it would feel like to touch you, to hold you, to kiss you, to-
No. No no no. He would not go there.
Jamil could feel the heat burning in his cheeks and he rolled over, groaning into his pillow.
This was ridiculous. Absolutely preposterous.
Yet, there was no getting out of it.
He wanted you.
He wanted more of you, so much more than what he had.
Because each taste of you left him craving more, each glimpse made him want to uncover everything there was to you.
Even the parts you might consider ugly, as sappy as that was.
What kind of people did you like, anyway?
Charming? Intelligent? Funny?
Rich and influential?
Did you even like guys? Or relationships in general?
Just the thought - relationship - made Jamil's cheeks burn even brighter, made his legs twitch under the covers.
Yet, somehow, it did not sound so bad.
To have you.
To be yours.
To know and be known.
He huffed and turned over onto his back.
As if his duties left room for something for himself, left enough of him to share with someone like that.
And would you like what you saw in him, anyway?
Yet, his excuses were beginning to sound more and more hollow.
After all, he was nothing if not resourceful, and so far you’d shown no signs of shying away, even as you dug your way deeper.
Jamil stared at the canopy over his bed with unseeing eyes.
He’d have to do something about this.
Because if he didn’t, he might just lose his mind.
But was the alternative any better? Could he even handle it? The full force of you, if - and it was a big if - you were to accept him.
Even now, when you looked at him in that particular way of yours… He never could hold your eyes for long when that happened. The softness and the warmth he saw were far too overwhelming, always forcing him to turn away lest he made a complete fool of himself.
If he were to have that, with the full force of affection intention behind it… How could he even bear it?
Like the other day… You’d found Jamil in the middle of his chores and dragged him away, his to-do list crumbling when you grabbed his hand and led him outside.
He was all too aware of how his protests had been half-hearted at best. How your sudden appearance, your touch had shut down every sensible part of him, leaving him unpleasantly raw.
And by the time he’d gathered himself, nearly convinced himself he had other things he should be doing instead, you were sharing ice creams outside Sam’s, to celebrate the first warm day of the year.
As if it wasn’t warm in Scarabia year round.
As if he hadn’t been too preoccupied by your happiness and enthusiasm to bring himself to heel.
Sometimes, it was all he could do not to be swept away by you, barely keeping his head above the surface.
So, what choice did he have but to act?
You’d made a home in his heart already, whether he asked for it or not.
All he could do was take control of what he could.
Oh dear I'm starting to get tempted to write this from the reader's pov as well.
Or maybe I'll just have to ramble about the thought process behind this at some point to get that out of my system.
I also considered going to a more horny direction with this but decided to go with this kind of yearning in the end. But, if the horny version is of interest for y'all, maybe I can do that as an alternative / supplementary thing to this series, or some sort of a standalone at some point.
Hope y'all enjoyed! One or two more parts are still to come.
Tag list: @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist
@mazapanmiau @perilous-pasta @twstgo
If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, do let me know! Also feel free to specify if you only want tags for particular kinds of works (like sfw/nsfw for example).
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