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builtbybrokenbells · 5 months

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CAPITAL VICES | PRIDE

Pride: an excessive view of one’s self without regard for others

Masterlist

Listen while reading: Little Wing - Jimi Hendrix, Nobody Home - Pink Floyd

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 14k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, morning sex, quickie (ish), fingering (f!receiving), choking, praise, degradation, name calling, sir kink, begging, dom/sub, overstimulation, rough sex, dirty talk, touch of bratty sub, showering together, fluff (lots), angst, arguing, fighting, crying, breakups/mentions of breakups, mentions of death/dying, mentions of loss of a parent, grief, swearing, sorry if i miss any!

I wasn’t going to post this today but I just couldn’t help myself 😁 don’t hate me too much ;) as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!

“Wake up, sweetheart.” A soft kiss was placed on your shoulder, the light tickle just the right amount of sweetness to wake you up in a good mood. You had grown accustomed to Jake’s presence in the early mornings; your defence was down, and in some strange way, you’d even grown to love it. You hummed in response, neglecting to open your eyes and see what he wanted from you. You could still feel him wrapped around you, your back pressed tightly against his chest and his touch warming your soul. A light hand was on your hip, his fingers lazily holding you in a show of clear affection. Whatever he wanted was nothing important, and that you were certain of.

“Five more minutes.” You protested, pulling the blanket closer to your chest. He chuckled at your reluctance, continuing to pepper kisses across your shoulder.

“It’s late, angel. You should get up.” He tried again, the little white lie slipping past his lips to encourage you to open your eyes. His hand drifted a little further downwards, his fingertips now grazing your bare thigh.

“I have nothing to do today.” You argued, trying not to give into his gentle touch. The temptation was impossible to resist, but you put up the fight for as long as you could.

“Nothing to do?” He teased. “Not even me?” Even with your eyes closed, you had to fight off the urge to roll them at his shameless flirting.

“You’ll be here all day,” you grumbled, struggling to ignore his hand that was drifting towards your heat. You had only been awake for a moment, but the familiar ache was already growing too strong to ignore. “I’m sure you can wait a little while.”

“Haven’t you learned that lesson already?” Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers slipped between your legs. “I don’t like waiting, angel.” A rush of arousal ran through you at the memory of the night before. Although he gave you what he thought was a punishment, it did not seem to deter you from wanting to deny him again. Whatever he was trying to teach you did not seem to stick. Whether that was due to his poor teaching ability or your undying need for him, you did not know. What you did know was that despite his efforts, he could not seem to fuck the brattiness out of you and his form of punishment was highly enjoyable. You were eager to press the same buttons just to experience sex like that again.

In truth, there were a million lessons he had tried hard to teach you, but you never cared to listen. It had nothing to do with his ability, and everything to do with your own stubbornness.

Perhaps if you listened, you might have avoided the disaster that was looming just overhead.

“Maybe you need to remind me again.” You yawned, and although it was not on purpose, it seemed to fit the narrative perfectly. “Not sure if I remember correctly.”

“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t start with me again.” He sighed, his fingers finally reaching your cunt. You took in a sharp breath in reaction to the feeling, still sore and sensitive from the night before. “I thought I fucked that little attitude out of you?” His finger ran through your wetness, trailing it all the way up to your clit where he began tracing slow circles. You shifted, rolling over on your back to allow him easier access to you. His eyes drifted over your face, a small smile stuck on his lips as he admired your beauty in the light of the early morning. “Nothing to say?” He questioned, keeping his movements steady, but light.

“Wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings.” You lied through your teeth, knowing that he was right. You had zero arguments, and the only reason you felt the need to talk back was because you wanted him to touch you. Now that you had gotten what you wanted, you felt that you could comfortably remain in silence.

“Right,” he chuckled, unable to find the desire to chastise you.

His eyes were fixated on your face as he drank in every detail you had to offer. The specs of brown that floated amidst the color of your irises, the way your eyelashes drooped down and dusted the dark circles under your eyes every time your eyelids fluttered closed. He stared long enough to notice the speckled freckles that littered the bridge of your nose, barely noticeable from a distance but mesmerizing when he got close enough. He studied the few scars that were painted on your skin, reminding him of a lifetime that he did not know about but so desperately wanted to. They were so light now that they barely even existed anymore, but he was so immersed in the constellations they formed across your face that he was sure he would never miss them again.

He watched as your lips parted as waves of pleasure washed over you, wishing so desperately that you would let a moan slip past your lips just so he could have the chance to hear the melody again. He wanted to kiss you, or to at least speak his adoration into the universe, but he seemed frozen in place. He had locked himself in with lust, stalemating his own feelings and making it so they could never surface. What he felt for you in that moment was a feeling stronger than love; it was adoration, safety, happiness, and a sense of home he hadn’t felt since he was young, nestled in his childhood bedroom after his parents tucked him into bed. He felt all of the things for you that he was certain this lifetime would never grant him, and he had no idea what to do with all of it.

That night at the bar, he found you so compelling that he could not force himself to walk away. Your beauty was blinding, and your charm was irresistible despite your rejection. Had he known at that moment that you would be so important to him, he never would have spoken a casual relationship into fruition. Dating was not his forte, and he never wanted to do it again, yet now that he sat face to face with his love for you, it was the only thing he wanted. He wanted all of the things he previously denounced as long as it was with you, but he was terrified of his own revelations. It made him want to run, to hide and never be seen again just to ensure that his heart would be safe. Then, he looked at you for a second too long and he realized he would run for so long and so far that he would land straight back in your arms. If he left, he would search for you until the day he died, and if he still could not find you, he would spend the next life searching, too.

Through the weeks of hookups and long nights spent sleeping beside you in bed, he’d fallen for you unintentionally and beyond anything he’d ever known. He fell in love with you in the most sincere and honest way, and the intensity in which he felt it nearly gutted him. He loved you without expectation, nor any requirement. He loved you silently, and he loved you loudly. Through smiles and shared touches, through small stories about the young girl that lived through travesty so the young woman he adored could flourish, and through memories made by the cumulative hours spent holding each other and laughing with each other after sex. He loved you through spoken words, shared jokes and playful banter. He loved you enough that it was hard to be away from you, and he loved you enough that his apartment felt like it belonged to you more than it ever belonged to him.

As he watched your face, the man who had seduced you into bed for the first time ceased to exist. He was no longer a devilish being that was driven by concupiscent thoughts; he was a boy who wanted more than just the sex the two of you had based your entire relationship around. For the first time since knowing you, the last thing he wanted to do was fuck you. He wanted to hold you until the morning bled into the afternoon, cocooned in blankets and suffocating in the sweetness of your laughter. He wanted to ignore every single growl of hunger, and every scorching sensation of thirst. He didn’t need anything other than you in his arms, and he didn’t want anything more than the simplicity of loving you.

The devil had finally met his maker, and it was far more sinister than anything he ever imagined before. You were everything all at once, the very thing that breathed life into his soul, and the only thing that could take it away. If he had half a brain, he would have already ran out the door, but he could not fathom leaving your side. His fear made him withdraw, and his love made him stay. He was being ripped apart by his own moral struggle, but he felt so much love for you that it completely overshadowed the pain that came along with it.

Instead of facing his conflict, he slipped his thumb to your clit as his fingers rested on your entrance. Before he could debate the consequences, he began pumping his fingers into you as he moved his thumb in time. With his eyes still fixated on your face, he tried to harness the same energy as the first night he met you. The filthy desire for you, rather than the love that ran so deep it made his veins dry of blood.

“That feels so good, baby.” You whimpered, your eyes fluttering open to catch sight of his own. Had you not been so lost in bliss, you might have noticed the pain that was shining through the cloud of desire. He could not respond, fearful that a confession might slip out instead of an encouragement. Instead, he leaned down and pressed his lips to your own. It silenced you from spewing any more beautifully venomous words that would in turn convince him to tell you all his heart felt for you.

As he kissed you, it did nothing but worsen the ache in his chest. His hand continued working at you, begging for an orgasm to hopefully lessen the discomfort of love and heighten the lust that so often burned in his chest. He was desperate for you to orgasm, but it was for a reason much different than all of the times before. It had absolutely nothing to do with remembering, and instead, everything to do with forgetting. He watched your expression twist into one of pleasure, and he hurt at the thought of you being so oblivious to the things that he was feeling for you. He wondered, just for a moment, if you had ever felt that way about him in the time you had spent together. He could not focus on the thought, because it pained him to know that you did not.

“Fuck, Jake.” You gasped, feeling the pit of your stomach ignite with a fire he so often caused.

“Yeah? Does that feel good, angel?” He crooned, his eyes heavy and a lazy smile plastered on his lips. He did a great job at covering up the damage he had done to himself. “Do you want to cum for me?”

“Yes, please.” You groaned, your hand clasping around his bicep in hopes of keeping him there forever. You had a slight mistrust for him since he denied you of the pleasure so many times the night prior. Little did you know, denying you anything was nearly impossible for him, especially in that moment when sleep was still threatening your eyes and your need for him was primal.

“You sound so pretty when you beg for me.” He muttered, imagining the sight of his hand driving you to insanity underneath the blanket. He took in a long breath as his eyes fluttered closed, listening intently to the noises falling so delicately from your lips. “Cum for me, sweet girl.” The silky smooth tone of his voice was all it took to push you over the edge. You clenched around his hand, uttering ugly curses painted with the beauty of his name. The vulgarity of the scene would turn any man to his knees before god, yet somehow it was so ethereal when the obscenities were doused in his name, like holy water working to rid you of the sin. “That’s it, angel.” He coaxed you through it, gentle and sweet as if he wasn’t opening the gates to hell and pushing you inside.

As you rode out the euphoria, your eyes settled on his face in a similar manner as he had been watching you. You thought your heart might stop and you would ascent to the heavens from the picture of his beauty alone. He was looking down at you, his warm brown eyes casted down upon the bridge of his nose to soak in every inch of your expression of pleasure. They were warm, inviting you in and promising to keep you safe. The permanent upturn of his lip made your chest ache and your eyes cross with stars. The smirk, although infuriating at first, had quickly turned itself into something you could not live without. The soft locks of brown hair hung down to frame his rosy cheeks, flushed at the sight of you in such a state. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly, barely enough to notice, but too much for you to bear. His dark eyelashes casted a shadow over his stare, but it did not offset the intensity of his eyes burning into you. The blemishes and scars left behind on his skin were in tune with your own, allowing you to realize that the man you’d made out to be a godless entity was nothing but a boy who was mindlessly trying to make it through life alive, strikingly similar to yourself.

When you breathed out the last of the pleasure from your orgasm, you expected the fleeting moment of adoration to fade away with it. When your chest was steady, back to its normal rhythm, it did not seem to disappear. The cloud of sexual tension dissipated, and so did the sensation in the pit of your stomach and between your legs, but the swell of your heart did not seem to want to follow. He gave you a few slow blinks, the smirk turning into a smile as he recognized the far away look in your eyes. It was the same one he had been watching you with, but he would never speak a word to you about it. The confirmation in your expression was enough for him to move on from it without speaking it into existence.

You bit down on the inside of your lip ever so gently, holding back the words that were begging to be spoken. He didn’t interrupt your moment of clarity, but he did admire you while the reality washed over you. He withdrew his hand from you, but you were too enthralled in the details of his face to notice, the ones that only you had access to. You loved him in every way you knew to be possible, but it felt like you were choking on the confession. Slowly, the words would suffocate you and you would never get the opportunity to speak the truth.

“You’re beautiful, Jake.” You choked out, managing the compliment if nothing else.

“As are you, sweetheart.” He leaned down, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. You were struggling to find another word to speak, but your train of thought was cut off by the ring of the doorbell. You snapped out of the trance in a panic, wondering who would be knocking at your door so early in the morning. Before you could scramble out of bed to investigate, he laid a gentle hand on your stomach as if to tell you it was okay.

“Almost forgot why I woke you up.” He chuckled, sending a soft, reassuring smile your way. You raised an eyebrow as he stood, adjusting himself in his pants before he retreated to answer the door. “I ordered food, and I didn’t want it to get cold before you got the chance to eat.”

“Oh,” you breathed, your head still swimming with confliction about the feelings arising in your chest. “Thank you.” He watched you for a moment, his head cocking to the side in confusion at your lack of argument. When you didn’t follow your statement up with any kind of rejections or insults, he gave a slow nod before walking out of the room.

You collapsed against the pillows as soon as he was out of sight, heaving a heavy sigh of relief. You were so disoriented that you almost considered asking him to go home so you could sort through your thoughts, but the idea of him leaving struck a painful nerve in your heart. You had no idea why you were so infatuated with him, or why the sight of his face brought you to such weakness. He was the same Jake that had laid in your bed dozens of times before, and it was the same hand between your leg giving you the same, earth-shattering orgasm. Although those were all good things, they weren’t any different than the days that came and passed before. What changed, you did not know.

Denial is a disease, and you were plagued with it.

You were so deep in your pondering about the strange feelings sparking in your chest that you failed to realize Jake was bringing you not only breakfast, but was intending to bring you breakfast in bed. It was the furthest thing from your agreed upon rule, but it was so minuscule to you now that you barely even thought twice about it. Breakfast was the least incriminating thing the two of you had done together in regards to romance, and you knew that, even if you didn’t want to face the truth.

So, instead of either of you digesting the feelings and speaking up about them, you compartmentalized them and simply pretended they did not exist.

Sloth still had its deadly hold on your hearts, and it was slowly beginning to take a control of your lives.

Before Jake returned, you stood and made your way to the kitchen in attempt to mitigate the effects of breakfast in bed. You were still dazed and completely lost in your thoughts when you took post by the kitchen island. When he returned and noticed you were not in the same spot he left you, he stood beside you without a word, a takeout bag in one hand and a tray of coffee in the other. When he sat the items on the counter, relief flooded you instead of fear. You were not relieved to be sharing such an intimate meal, but because you would have something to occupy yourself with while you tried to swallow down your confessions of love.

Then, when your hand grabbed the bag, you could not seem to bring it any closer to you. Your body was rejecting the thought of food, and the smell was nearly sickening. You were so distraught from your revelations that you couldn’t even stomach the idea of eating. Jake mindlessly sipped away at the cardboard cup in his hand, barely noticing your stunned gaze. He’d already gotten over the painstaking realizations and had pushed them so deep down inside of him that they barely existed at all.

“Not hungry, angel?” He asked, his hand finding your hip as he moved behind you. Your eyes closed at the contact, the relief instantaneous and the comfort immeasurable.

“No, guess not.” You muttered, trying your best to focus on the feeling of his touch rather than the emotion running rampant in your chest.

“Interested in something else, by any chance?” You could feel his erection pressing into your ass. Pleasing you had worked him up to the point of no return, and now eating breakfast was the last thing on his mind.

“Is sex all you think about?” You chuckled, feeling the unease begin to fade. Everything was easy to forget about when his hands were on you, holding you so close.

“You make it hard to think about anything else.” He admitted, slipping his hands underneath his t-shirt that was resting on your thighs. You couldn’t deny the feeling that blossomed in your stomach, and you had to agree that when the two of you were together, sex had always been the most pressing thought.

“Don’t put the blame on me for your filthy imagination, Jacob.” You smirked, finding a shred of your normal personality making a return.

“Wasn’t blaming you, angel. Simply just stating a fact.” He pushed the shirt to your hips, a low growl sounding from his chest at the sight of your exposed lower half. “You know I always have to finish what I've started.”

“Make it quick, honey. I’d hate for you to waste another coffee on my behalf.” You breathed, trying your best to make it seem as if the position was not affecting you. In truth, your legs were quivering at the thought of him being inside you again, and your stomach was already tied in knots, ready to snap from the tension.

“Haven’t I told you already?” He freed himself from his sweatpants, forgoing any formalities or foreplay. Getting you off had already pushed him to the point of insanity, and he feared that if he had to wait a second longer he might die from the disease of needing you. He rested the tip of his cock on your entrance, pausing there only for a moment so he could speak again. “This is worth more than anything else in the world.” His words were firm, forcing you to believe it to be truth even if you wanted to refute it. He avoided what he really wanted to confess, knowing that if his emotions were coated in a protective shield of lust, it was less likely to scare you away. He so badly wanted to tell you that it was not the sex that was worth the world in gold, it was you.

He hated the fire burning in his chest, not because of the intensity, but because he knew that you were the one who so often ignited it. He promised that love would not complicate your relationship, but love had been tangling itself in your souls since the first time your eyes locked together. It was there before the first word was spoken, and long before the first touch. It was there in the beginning, before he ever stepped foot in the bar. It guided him to you, speaking soft whispers through the moonlight in hopes of landing him directly by your side.

Of course, fate was such a twisted little thing; to make two people who denounced the callings of their own heart fall irrevocably in love was a sinister act, but it was undeniably true. The two of you were meant to find each other, to experience such serenity at the hands of another and to find love that did not make you want to seek shelter from the explosion. You were meant to learn love in its true form, not the kind where raised voices and fists chilled the warmth it created, and not one in which infidelity and mistrust blackened its golden glow. Most of all, you were meant to give it to each other as much as you were meant to learn it. Sloth had affected you so badly because you were so good at caring for each other in a way nobody else had, and it was a heinous crime to withhold that kind of care from each other.

This love did not leave a bitter taste in his mouth, nor did it leave one in yours, but it did strike so much fear within you that it was nearly paralyzing. You knew you felt strongly about him, and you knew why you felt that way, but it did not make the fact easily digestible. You hadn’t felt a feeling so strong since before the tragic end of your last marriage, and you had been perfectly content with never feeling it again. It was not warm and fuzzy like it was to so many others; to you, it was violent and painful, and it made you ache all over when you thought about how much he meant to you. You were terrified of letting him in, but you were even more fearful of losing him. Above all, you were so scarred from the past that you feared that once your guard was down, the Jake you knew would morph into a monster that would hurt you far beyond what anyone else had done.

You knew you should not blame him for the mistakes others had made, but what you had experienced at the hands of love made the whole idea turn sour in your mind. You knew it was implausible, but if you could, you would have lived the rest of your life alone and never let anyone get too close.

When he pushed inside of you, the turmoil living inside both of your hearts immediately settled. Nothing ever seemed to matter when he was so close to you, and perhaps that was the most dangerous of all.

“God, you feel so fucking good angel.” He groaned, biting his tongue so he wouldn’t let any more sweetness slip out. “What do you do to me?” He muttered, looking down at his hips as they fucked into you. His eyes focused intently as he slowed his movements slightly, increasing the intensity of his thrusts, instead. He was so infatuated with you that the sight of him fucking you had quickly turned into his favourite sight to see.

“Harder, Jake.” You pleaded, gripping on to the countertop as you prepared for more. The feeling was already overwhelming, your last orgasm still lingering on your skin. The newly discovered feelings did nothing to aid your ability to withhold a climax, and if anything, feeling such things with him inside of you was only worsening the love blossoming in the deepest depths of your heart.

“You want more, angel?” He smirked, doing exactly what you wanted. A yelp sounded as he slammed against your cervix, your knees buckling under the weight of your body as you struggled to keep yourself upright. “Tell me how good I make you feel.” He ordered. His words were heavy, and the intent had nothing to do with the power trip he usually found himself in during sex. It had everything to do with how badly he needed to hear you say it, how badly he needed to know that you needed him the same as he needed you.

“You make me feel so good, Jake.” You felt no need to fight the truth, and if feeding into his ego would ensure he never stopped, you would praise him until your lungs collapsed from a lack of oxygen. “Nobody can make me feel this good, only you, Jake.”

“Fuck,” he huffed, reaching down and pulling you up off the counter. He only withdrew for a second, just long enough to grab you by the hips and lift you up. He sat you on the counter, wasting little time before making a home between your legs again. He pulled you to the edge of the countertop, lining himself up with you and pushing back inside. “Being so good for me, today. What’s gotten into you?” He teased, smiling down at your pleasure ridden expression. The new position limited his movement, but it was all the more euphoric now that you could see his face.

You could not tell him the truth as to why you were so well behaved, because it had everything to do with the aching feeling of love burrowing into the muscles in your chest. You could not confess because of your own fears of falling in love, but even more so because of the fear of him not feeling the same. He had been just as intent on keeping your relationship casual, and you worried that if he knew you were losing your grip on your sanity, he would run and you would never see him again.

Instead, you leaned forward and captured him in a kiss, silencing yourself before you said something you could not take back.

Pride was filling the room, protecting your own ego’s while destroying anything that tried to infiltrate the walls you’d built up so high.

The two of you needed to hear the word so badly, but you could not let down your guard enough to give each other the satisfaction.

He let out a moan into your mouth as your walls clenched around him. You drank in the sound, letting it settle into your bones and overtake any moral and rationality that still existed. In that moment, after hearing a sound, no, tasting a sound so beautiful, you would have given your whole life for him without a second thought, just so you might be able to experience it again.

“Cum for me, angel.” He was begging you, and this time he had little choice in hiding it. “Please, baby.” The vulnerability in the two words absolutely shattered your psyche, and you no longer had control of the climax. There was no holding back, even if you wanted to. Your legs locked around him and your stomach burned as the muscles tightened. The pleasure you were feeling was maddening, and the only thought you could form was his name. It fell from your lips like a prayer, but there was no holy entity that could save you from his wrath. You had reached the pits of hell and there was no way you could climb your way out of it, now. The embers were familiar, and the brazen flames were inviting. The truth was harrowing, but you knew you would live within his sin happily for the rest of eternity. He made the worst of suffering seem pleasant, and he could even make the cold grasp of death seem comforting.

As you were coming down from the high, he pulled back from the warm embrace of your arms wrapped around his neck. You were so weak that you could not even mourn the loss of the closeness. He took one quick glance over your shoulder, ensuring that there was nothing laying on the table behind you. When he noticed the area was clear, he pushed your top half down on the table with the ferocity of a wild animal. He cushioned your head as you descended onto the frigid granite countertop, but did not care too much about your shock at the change in temperature. With a rough motion, he pulled your hips towards him again, tapping your leg so you knew to keep them locked around him.

With the new found freedom, he resumed his pace with a whole new type of strength. The obscenities falling from your lips were filthy, painting the kitchen with a sinful memory you would remember fondly for years to come. One of his hands trailed up your stomach, the light tickle offset the burning overstimulation from the movement of his hips. His fingers settled loosely around your neck, but he did not apply any pressure straight away. His thumb and index finger landed on your pulse points, and his eyes watched your face closely, clouded with desire and heavy with love.

“Can you do it again, sweet girl?” His voice was husky, his fingers tightening a little more with every word he spoke.

“I don’t think I can,” you whined, unsure if the burn of the overstimulation would ever subside into the pleasure he so often gave you. His pace felt bruising, and the pain for once seemed to overshadow the enjoyment.

“You can, baby.” He encouraged. “You’re being so good for me, angel. Just one more.” You choked out a moan at the sound of his sweet words. He slipped his other hand between your legs, his thumb tracing circles over your clit as he tightened his fingers once more. “Or do you just need to me to treat like a whore?” He questioned, his jaw hard set and his stare fiery. “Is that what it takes to get you off? Being treated like a slut?”

“Oh, fuck.” You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut at his filthy question.

“That’s it, angel.” He hummed, feeling his hips stutter at the look on your face. You had always been his biggest weakness, and even after months of doing the same dance, that never seemed to change. The knot in your belly tightened, the pressure nearly unbearable. He seemed to pry the orgasm from you without even trying. All it took was the right words, and he had you in a complete mess for him. “You take it so good,” he hissed, trying to think of anything other than how good you felt wrapped around him.

His hand locked in against your throat, constricting the blood flow to your head. Your heart was pounding against your chest, the sound filling your ears and begging to be felt behind your eyes. You tried to keep your gaze focused on his face, his hair sticking to the soft, tan skin in the most delicious way. His eyebrows were furrowed together, and the animalistic expression was driving you mad. Your head felt woozy and your chest burned for air. Your eyes fluttered closed as the pressure reached its peak, and for a moment you feared that you might fall unconscious because of his unwavering hold. The pleasure was skewing his judgment, and he was teetering on a dangerous line. With both hands focused intently on you, you descended into a climax with no way of voicing your euphoria. A raspy croak left your lips to let him know you were there, but he could feel the clench of your cunt around him and the lock of your legs drawing him further into you.

He caught your eye, noticing the far away look and instantly feeling a wave of panic. He released his hold on your neck, allowing the blood flow to return and a breath of air fill your lungs. As you rode out the high, he let his fingers gently massage the place they’d just assaulted while he fucked you through it. When you relaxed against him, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. His hips stuttered and pleasure took over, sending him over the same edge you’d just fallen from. He spilled his release into you, his pace remaining steady until he milked every second of pleasure from the orgasm as he could. He leaned back slightly, watching as he fucked his release back into you. The sight nearly brought him into a second climax, intoxicated by the fact that only he was lucky enough to have you in such a way.

When his hips slowed to a stop, a lazy smile crossed both of your faces. “Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.” He chuckled, letting his eyes drift over your chest still clothed with his t-shirt.

“I’m not complaining.” You assured him.

“Are you okay?” He asked, inspecting your neck. There was lingering redness from where his fingers were holding you, but it seemed superficial.

“I am.” You promised. “What’s gotten into you this morning?” His purchase of food and the sweetness of his morning wake-up was different than usual. Paired with the carnal desire and the overly concerned look in his eyes, you began to fear he was feeling the exact same way as you were.

“I don’t know.” He lied, giving a small laugh to avoid the subject. He knew exactly what had gotten into him, but it was the last thing he wanted to talk about. He was terrified of the love he had for you in his heart, and he was nowhere near ready to bring it up. “Let’s get cleaned up.” He said, running a gentle thumb over your blushed cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling, and for a moment, you wished to stay there all day immersed in the moment of intimacy. You turned your head to the side, placing a small kiss on the pad of his thumb. The small gesture made his knees weak and nearly sent him falling to the ground. His heart sang with affection for you and his stomach twisted into knots.

He was a dead man walking, and you were not far behind him.

With his help, you slid from the counter and made your way to the bathroom. You cleaned up first, your eyes lingering on the shower, yearning for the feeling of warm water soothing your aching muscles. You pulled your shirt over your head and took a step towards the faucet, flicking it on without a second thought. You looked over your shoulder at him, an eyebrow raised in inquiry.

“You want me to fuck you in the shower, now?” He laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”

“No,” you shook your head, your voice quiet and anxious. You weren’t sure why you asked, but you desperately hoped that he would agree. The simple innocent intimacy seemed enticing, and you so badly wanted to be surrounded by his comfort for a little while longer. “Just a shower.”

“Oh,” he tried to hide the surprise in his tone, not wanting you to take it the wrong way. “Of course, angel.” He couldn’t seem to muster the strength to voice his enthusiasm over the idea, but his whole body was filled with delight at the thought of showering with you.

A small smile crossed your lips as you stepped inside, holding your hand out to him. He stepped towards you, his hand landing delicately in your own. When he was under the water with you, he slid the door shut, the steam already billowing around you both and fogging the glass. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling your body into his as the droplets washed down over both of you.

“Do you have anything else to do today?” You asked, your palm pressed lightly against his chest as you gazed up in admiration at his face.

“Nothing more important than this.”

Casual was long gone, and you were digging your graves. The final resting places were side by side, a tunnel dug through the earth so you could decompose hand in hand until the end of eternity.

“You must have really missed me, then.” You smiled, brushing the wet hair from his face.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He teased, placing a kiss to the top of your head. You both knew he missed you more than words could express, and you missed him just the same. For a moment, the two of you remained in each other's arms in silent bliss. Then, you reluctantly pulled away from him to reach for the bottle of shampoo that was on the shelf behind him. “Here,” he whispered, reaching for the bottle. You handed it to him, confused at his motive. You watched as he poured a small amount into the palm of his hand, then he placed it back on the shelf. He motioned for you to turn around, which you did without argument. His hand came to your head and he slowly began massaging the shampoo into your mess of tangled locks.

You closed your eyes and leaned against him, enjoying the soothing touch and feeling your chest ache with the intensity of adoration you held for him. You weren’t sure you’d ever experienced such kindness and gentleness at the hands of another, and you had no idea why you ever doubted that it would be from him that you received it. When he was certain your hair was fully coated in shampoo, a smile began to eat away at his lips as he brought all of your hair together at the top of your head.

“What are you doing?” You giggled, feeling the shake of laughter run through his body.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” He dismissed you, still trying to form your hair together.

“If you’re trying to get it to stand up, it’s not going to work.” You couldn’t hold back your laughter, finding the childish humor contagious.

“You have no faith in me.” He let out a disapproving tsk, reaching his arms upwards in hopes that the makeshift mohawk would stay. For a few seconds, it stood, then it toppled over under the weight of the soap. The two of you burst out into laughter as the hair fell into your face, splattering the soap across your skin in a dramatic fashion.

“For good reason.” You explained, stepping forward into the water to wash the suds away from your eyes. He took a step towards you again, raising his hands to your head to help you wash the shampoo out. “Your turn.” You said, ringing the water from your hair as you stepped out from under the shower head.

“My turn?” He questioned, looking down at you with curiosity. You let out a hum of agreement, nodding your head.

“Unless you don’t want to use my shampoo, then it’s okay.” You digressed, worried that he might not want to smell your memory long after he went home.

“No, it’s okay.” He promised, fearful he gave you the wrong impression. A smile crossed your lips as you reached for the bottle again, this time bringing your hands to his hair as you massaged the soap throughout his long locks. When the soap was sufficiently sudsy, you compiled all of his hair into a neat little knot on the top of his head.

“I don’t think I’m tall enough.” You giggled.

“That’s okay, angel.” He found your laughter contagious, both of you giggling at nothing other than the joy that came from being together. Before you washed your hands free of soap, you quickly swiped a few of the bubbles onto his nose. “Hey!” He scolded, trying his best to look down at the bubbles littering his face. He reached forward, snaking his arms around your waist as he pulled you into him. You let out a shriek of laughter as he leaned down to kiss you, inevitably getting soap all over you, too. The blissful bubble the two of you existed within in that moment was impenetrable.

But, all good things must come to an end eventually, and not even your perfect little world was safe from the harshness of reality.

You both finished washing yourselves, reluctantly stepping out of the warm water and into the cold air. You tossed a towel at Jake while you grabbed one for yourself, wrapping your body in the fluffy fabric and relieving yourself from the frigid air. Once you were both sufficiently dry, Jake wrapped the towel tightly around his waist, watching you as you secured yours around your chest. You grabbed a smaller towel from your closet, wrapping your hair in it and settling it on your head.

You walked out of the bathroom, looking over your shoulder to make sure he was following. He thought it was laughable that you worried he wasn’t, because if he had it his way, he’d never let you stray too far away. He followed you into your bedroom, hoping for a second that your towel would falter. The boyish part of his brain never left, and he seemed to always be in that state of mind around you; pure, unadulterated joy that knew no bounds. He was always excited to see you naked, even if he’d seen it a hundred times. He was always thrilled to see a smile on your face or a laugh stuck on your lips. He loved listening to the words you had to say, even if they were mindless insults thrown his way. You brought out the part in him he thought he’d lost long ago, and he was afraid of the feeling fleeing him again.

As you dressed yourself, he watched intently. It was not in a sexual way, nor with any hidden desire. He loved admiring you even in the simplest of ways. He didn’t move to find clothes of his own until one of his t-shirts was hanging down to your thighs and a pair of shorts was secure underneath. He slipped on a pair of his sweatpants he’d brought with him and discarded his towel in your laundry hamper.

“I suppose we should probably eat.” You chuckled, stepping towards him but going no further. He smiled at your comment, realizing that you’d left your breakfast without a second thought. His hand landed on your waist as he pulled you into him, and he placed a soft kiss on your lips.

“Let’s go, then.” He always wanted you to move first, just so he could be certain you wanted it and weren’t doing it just because he wanted to. You lead him back to the kitchen, looking over the counter that you’d just disgraced with your sinful actions. At the memory, another feeling of arousal blossomed in the pit of your stomach. Instead of acting on them, you grabbed your coffee cup and stuck it in the microwave. He grabbed two plates and put the respective sandwiches on them. When the microwave beeped, he passed the food to you to warm next while sipping on his cold coffee.

He’d grown to like it that way, because with you around, he never seemed to drink it while it was still warm, and you had yet to hear a single complaint about it.

“Thanks for getting this,” you hummed, taking a sip from your own cup. You’d still neglected to process that you were breaking the only rule you’d put in place. He did not order breakfast for any spiteful reason, or to push your boundaries; he did it simply because it felt right, and he was itching to do something nice for you after going so many days without you.

“No need for thanks.” He said, brushing off the acknowledgement. He felt no desire to be praised for something he was so eager to do. Once your food was heated sufficiently, you held your plate tightly in your hand, thinking intently about your next move. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” You looked up at him, your eyes catching his own for a moment. The sweetness in his stare made your next choice the easiest one you’d ever made.

“Come with me.” You nodded down the hallway, hoping he wouldn’t protest. Little did you know, he’d never say no to anything you asked of him. You led him through the dining room, all the way to the end of the hallway where a door sat, rarely opened and never seen by a guest before that day. You balanced your coffee cup on your plate carefully, twisting the knob with great caution. You took a deep breath as you pushed the door open, willing yourself to keep moving forward as you stepped inside.

He was close behind you, silent and eyes wandering the new room he had yet to see. When you were fully inside and waiting for him to join you, he took a step inside, too. His eyes scanned the walls, an unfamiliar feeling rising in his chest as he drank in the detail and tried his best to sear it into his memory. Your heart was erratic against your ribs, your anxiety plaguing you as you watched his expression intently.

The picture frames decorated the walls, leaving little room to spare. Some were so close together that the delicate designs of the frames blended together. They were filled with photographs of smiling faces, so bright and beautiful that it nearly took his breath away. The daylight poured in from the windows, casting a golden glow over every object that made home inside the room. In the middle sat a piano, the top looking slightly dusty from months of being forgotten about. Piano books littered the few bookshelves that fit on the walls between the picture frames. On one sat an old camera that looked to be from the nineties, and just below it sat an acoustic guitar on a stand that appeared to be homemade.

“Welcome to my life.” You whispered, taking a seat on the bench sat in front of the piano. “What do you think?”

“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this all this time.” He breathed, exasperated at the thought. “This piano is stunning.” He said, taking a step towards it and gently running his hand over the top.

“Thanks.” You gave a small smile, still incredibly anxious to have another person in your space. It was a room full of memories that you did not like sharing with anyone else, and aside from very few people, he had been the first to see it. There was a trust in your heart for him that you couldn’t comprehend, and for a moment, you felt like you could tell him everything.

“Did you take all of these pictures?” He asked, now stepping towards the walls. He was beyond excited that you finally took the step to show him a part of yourself you liked to keep hidden, but he did not want to express it too loudly in fear it might ruin the moment.

“Most of them.” You replied, watching him as he took in the photographs. “Every one of them that I’m not in.” You clarified, chuckling at the fact. “It’s mostly just pictures of my family.” It was true; there were pictures hung on the wall ranging back to when your hands first held a camera, and up until the recent years when your skill had vastly improved. It was mostly your parents and your sister, but there were a few of your childhood pets and friends.

“Is that your mom and dad?” He asked, pointing to a picture of a couple he did not recognize.

“Yep,” you nodded, smiling at his interest. You wanted to say more, but the words seemed stuck in your throat. You were having a hard time processing your desire to tell him more, so you sat with it instead of acting on it.

“You look just like your mom.” He noted. “You have your dads smile, though.” Your heart warmed at the sentiment. “That must be your sister, too, because you look like twins.” He pointed to a different picture.

“It is.” You chuckled.

“I can’t wait to meet her. If she’s anything like you, I know I’ll love her.” You both dusted over the ‘L’ word as if it were nothing at all, barely registering the fact he’d said it.

“She is pretty great, but I think I’m biased.” You grinned. When it came to your sister, you would talk praise until you could no longer hear yourself speak.

“You take stunning photographs, y/n.” He said, not a hint of a joke in his tone. Your cheeks reddened as you bit into your sandwich. You let the compliment hang in the air for a moment before responding.

“Thank you, Jake.” You said, feeling the fear melt away the longer you sat together. “Did you… did you want to play a song on the guitar, maybe?” You asked, hesitancy written all over your face. You thought that it was finally time to take the step, and now that he knew such intimate details about you, you craved the same from him.

“You want to hear me play?” He turned back to you, shocked at your words.

“Yeah.” You nodded, certain of that fact. “Just… just be careful with it, please. I don’t want anything to happen to it. The strings are old, too, so it might not sound the best.”

“Of course.” He assured you, carefully grabbing the acoustic from the stand. Your stomach was twisting with anxiety as he held the instrument in his hands, but you managed to swallow your fear. “This is a beautiful guitar, too.” You hummed an agreement, knowing that he wasn’t just saying it as a formality. It was a stunning instrument, and it was your most prized possession. He walked over, taking a seat beside you on the bench as he settled the body in his lap. Carefully, he plucked the strings and tuned them to his liking. “Anything in particular you want to hear?” You pondered the thought for a moment, knowing there were plenty of songs you’d love to hear him play, but curious about what he would choose. After a few seconds, you shook your head.

He looked over your face, knowing that his best shot to impress you might also give him a chance at expressing his feelings for you at the same time. Carefully, he began a melodic intro, carefully plucking away at the strings as he smiled at your expression of awe. With a lot of courage, he sang softly along with the sound of the guitar, trying to hide the nervousness in his voice.

“Well she's walking through the clouds

With a circus mind

That's running wild

Butterflies and zebras and moonbeams

And-a fairly tales

That's all she ever thinks about

Riding with the wind

When I'm sad she comes to me

With a thousand smiles

She gives to me free

"It's alright", she says

It's alright

Take anything you want from me

Anything

Fly on, little wing.” Slowly, he stopped playing, looking up from his hands with a hopeful expression.

“You really are a rockstar,” you gave a soft smile “that was fantastic.” Deep down, you hoped that he picked that song for the reason you wanted him to, but you were too nervous to ask.

“Thank you, angel.” He smiled, looking down at his hands to hide the redness that was plaguing his cheeks.

“I didn’t know you could sing, too.”

“I usually leave the singing to Josh.” He admitted, brushing some dust off the body of the guitar. “He’s way better than I am.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” You whispered, the profound emotion in your statement almost too much for him to handle.

“I, uh, I didn’t know you played guitar, too.” He changed the topic, feeling the burn of love begin to sear the skin of his lips as he tried to hold it back.

“Oh, I don’t.” You chuckled. “I tried to learn when I was a kid, but it’s not my thing. I kind of sucked at it, if I’m being honest. The piano has always been my choice of instrument.”

“So where’d you get this?” He asked, inspecting the details of the fretboard.

“It’s my dads.” You replied, swallowing down your sadness with a sip of coffee. “He played it all of the time when I was a kid. He tried to teach me, but I was too stubborn to learn.”

“And that camera is his, too?” He asked, his eyes flickering back towards the bookshelf on the wall. “I remember you told me you used your dads camera when you started doing photography.” Your heart fluttered at the thought of him remembering all the small details you told him.

“Yeah, it is. For an old camera, it takes pretty good pictures.” You tried not to let your stare linger on the camera, feeling the sorrow fill your chest up so much that it made it hard to breathe.

“You must be pretty close to him,” he noted.

“You can say that.” You gave a slow nod. “My dad was my best friend for my entire childhood. We did everything together, and so much so that I think it made my sister jealous sometimes. Wherever he was, I had to go with him. Mom got mad at him a lot, because he never said no to me. We’d stay up until midnight watching cartoons and we’d eat ice cream for breakfast on the weekends.” You explained, looking down at your hands as you spoke. “He was just one of those people that understood me, and I think when you’re a girl growing up, not many people do. He always listened, and he always had the best advice. I love my mom, but my dad and I were just… we got along better than anyone else in the world, I think.”

“That’s sweet,” he smiled, looking over at you with adoration in his eyes. He was thrilled to hear so much about you, and he never thought the two of you would get to this point. “I’d love to meet him.” You looked up, catching his eye with a sympathetic smile.

“He would have loved you.” You replied, seeing the light in his eyes change. He wanted clarification before he spoke further, and you could see that in his expression. “He passed away not long before I graduated high school.”

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” He felt bad for his earlier words, even if he did not know the truth.

“Don’t be,” you shook your head “you didn’t know.” You reached over, brushing a strand of his long hair out of his face. “I was lucky to know him for as long as I did, and I’m still just as lucky to have him as a memory. Seventeen years with him was equivalent to a lifetimes worth of love. I wish he was still here, but I know that he’s not really gone. He’s in that guitar, and that camera, and he’s proud of every accomplishment and he’s still picking me up off the ground when I fall.” You explained. Although you knew it might not be true, it always felt like it was. Since he died, you neglected to believe that he just lived when he was alive. You felt the love so strongly sometimes that it was impossible to believe he wasn’t still around in some way. “He really would have liked you, I think. He loved Jimi Hendrix, too.” You laughed, finding his song choice impeccable.

You weren’t sure what it was, but you felt the confession sitting heavy on your chest when you looked at him for too long. Whether it was the blatant vulnerability, or the way he looked at you the same even after you expressed such horrible things about your life. Whatever it was, the moment made you want to scream your love for him, even if you knew you shouldn’t. You had never been so transparent with anyone before, and you never wanted to be so open about your life, but there was something so compelling about him that it was impossible to ignore the desire to be close to him.

“Jimi Hendrix is pretty good.” Jake laughed, astounded by the strength that lived within you. He didn’t think it was possible to admire someone as much as he did for you, but here he was, sitting in front of you and feeling all of the feelings he believed to be impossible.

The air was different, and both of you could tell that whatever dynamic you had before that day had shifted drastically.

For good or for bad, you weren’t sure yet.

You turned inwards, placing your hands on the keys of the piano. You did not want to show off, nor did you want to prove your own talents; the moment was moving, and all you wanted to do was share more of yourself with him. You began a slow intro, working yourself up to speed. It had been a while since you played, and it was fantastic to feel the keys on your fingers and the sound fill your heart.

“I've got a little black book with my poems in

Got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in

When I'm a good dog, they sometimes throw me a bone in.” You took in a long breath, nervous to be showing such an intimate part of you to him. Little to your knowledge, he was watching you with hearts in his eyes and nothing but love in his heart.

“I got elastic bands keepin' my shoes on

Got those swollen-hand blues

I got thirteen channels of shit on the T.V. to choose from

I've got electric light

And I've got second sight

I got amazing powers of observation

And that is how I know

When I try to get through

On the telephone to you

There'll be nobody home.” You closed your eyes for a moment, playing for a little longer than you needed to so you could regain your composure. Quietly, you could hear him picking away at the guitar, not in an attempt to outshine you, but to accentuate your playing. The two of you were in perfect harmony, moving in time with the music surrounded with more comfortability than you’d ever felt in your entire life. Your heart felt like it was going to burst with the emotion you felt for him.

“I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm

And the inevitable pinhole burns

All down the front of my favourite satin shirt

I've got nicotine stains on my fingers

I've got a silver spoon on a chain

Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains

I've got wild staring eyes

And I've got a strong urge to fly

But I got nowhere to fly to

Ooh, babe when I pick up the phone

there's still nobody home.” You hit the last few notes, letting the sound ring through the quiet room. You looked up, staring at the wall for a moment to gather your thoughts before turning back towards him.

“You’ve got quite the voice, angel.”

“It’s nothing to call home about.” You chuckled, taking a long drink from your coffee.

“I think it is. I’d tell the whole world about you, if I could.” In that moment, the ability to hold back his thoughts fled him. “I… I think that you’re fantastic, y/n, and I hope that you know that.” You looked up at him, nervous about the confession but knowing that you felt the same way. “And I think that I’d like to do this part… more often.”

“What are you saying?” You breathed, trying to understand if he was expressing what you thought he was trying to say. Anxiety gripped you with its deadly force, panic overtaking your mind before you could even appreciate the sentiment in his words.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He sighed, hating that he couldn’t seem to keep the feelings buried. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it, too. We’re in here, showing each other parts of our lives we try so hard to keep hidden. This has been more than sex for a very long time, and I think that you know it, too.” A spark of terror filled you, and you recoiled away from him. He was right, but your fear was larger than your heart, just like it always had been. Love was less daunting when it was buried underneath the surface, and when he expressed it so outwardly and obviously, it morphed into the monster that only lived in your worst nightmares. You weren’t ready to discuss it, and you weren’t ready for anything to change. By speaking it aloud, it changed everything, and you could not stomach that thought in the moment. Change was terrifying, and you did not have enough strength to endure it.

So you did what you knew best; you shut down and locked him out, your heart rebuilding the thick iron bars that often protected it so furiously.

“I brought you in here because we’re friends.” You took the defense, terrified of speaking the truth because you had not yet processed what it truly meant. Your vulnerability had taken a toll, and you began to realize that you had dug yourself a hole too steep to climb out of. You loved him so deeply that it pained you, that it made opening up to him easier than anything else, but facing it was an entirely different thing. Your harshness did not come from your lack of love, but from your abundance of it. You loved him so much, but you did not know how to love anymore. As much as it hurt to reject him when all you wanted to do was fall into his arms forever, you knew it was the best thing to do. You would hurt him more by trying to love him than you ever would if you rejected him. “You were so desperate to be friends, and I thought that was all you wanted. You can’t… we can’t.” You shook your head.

“Friends.” He reiterated, unable to explain the incessant ache in his chest at the word. “Right.” He was angry at himself for ever pushing that title on you, and he wondered if it would have made the difference if he didn’t.

“Jake,” you warned, pleading for him to listen before he jumped to any conclusions. You did not want to end your relationship, but you did want to slow down before things got out of control.

“No, y/n. I hear you loud and clear.” He said, making a move to stand. “You’re right.” His obstinacy had rivalled your own since the very beginning, and you could finally see the infuriating effects of it. His lack of understanding prompted a rush of anger through you.

“You don’t get to do that!” You shook your head, standing up with him.

“I don’t get to do what?” He snapped back, placing the guitar back on the stand with great caution. His words were harsh, but his actions were not. He would never disrespect an item of such importance to you, no matter how upset he was. “I don’t get to be upset? I don’t get to talk about the things that I’m feeling?”

“Christ, Jake, stop putting words in my mouth!” You were panicking, and all of your fear was projecting outwards with an angry mask. You were terrified of loving him, but you were horrified at the thought of him leaving. You did not know what to do to make it better; if you said you loved him, you would be sealing your own grave, and if you didn’t, he would walk away and you would lose him for good. “I didn’t say that, and you know that!”

“Then what? What is it, y/n?” He sighed, watching you with a small shred of hope that you’d double back on your word. He knew you felt it too, and it killed him that you refused to accept it. The entire day was filled with nothing but wordless acts of love, and to deny it and throw it all in the garbage was worse than any physical injury you could cause him.

“You said this wouldn’t happen. You promised that you wouldn’t do this, and then you come here, and you treat me better than anyone ever has, and you make coffee, and you text me just to let me know you’re thinking of me, and then you buy me fucking breakfast!” You exploded, pointing to the coffee cup still sat on the piano stool.

“Jesus Christ, it always comes back to fucking breakfast! Please enlighten me on what is so bad about it?” He yelled back, just as much intensity in his voice.

“Because I don’t know if you’re going to wake up tomorrow and change your mind!” You admitted, running a hand through your hair. “I don't know if you’re doing all of this because you want me to keep sleeping with you, or if you truly mean it. I don’t know anything, and I don’t want to be in love, and I never wanted this!” You did not want to be in love, but by god, you were. If it had been anyone else, they would have been gone before they had the chance to order breakfast. They would never have stepped foot into the room you were fighting in, and in truth, you never would have brought them home at all. If it were anyone other than Jake, you would not have looked twice, but you were so head over heels for him that you were fighting for him to stay, even if it did not seem like that was what you were doing. He watched you, carefully inspecting every detail of your pained expression. Questioning his care for you was the most heinous act you’d ever committed. You knew he cared, and he knew you did, too, but you were so damaged that it was easier to convince yourself that he didn’t. Although he held sympathy for that fact, he could not seem to choke down the pain that you caused with your sharp tongue and violent words. “You promised me, Jake. You promised this wouldn’t happen.”

“I did.” He nodded, casting his gaze towards the ground. “And I meant it. You don’t have to fucking worry about it.” He could not fight another losing battle, and he knew that was exactly what this was. He could not win your heart if it was never offered as a reward. You did not want him to love you, and he could not force you to let him. Instead, he was walking away.

Well, he was threatening it whilst hoping you would ask him to stay.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You knew it was not justified, but you were hurt over the fact that he wanted to take his confession back. You felt it just the same as he did, but you were too scared to admit it. All he could see was rejection, and the injury was bleeding both of you dry. He wasn’t even sure why you were fighting, or where it came from. The sweetness that had carried you through the morning was long gone, replaced with a feeling he’d never felt around you before: resentment. He resented the situation, but in that moment, it felt like he resented you.

“Exactly what I said; you don’t have to fucking worry about it.” He repeated, venomous and dangerous. A different man stood before you than the one you knew just moments before. This one was cold, unfamiliar, and someone you did not want to be around. The heartbreak turned him vile, and now all he wanted to do was hurt you the same way you were hurting him.

“So that’s it?” You whispered, feeling the room fill with anguish. Your safest space now housed the worst of memories. The situation turned into everything you feared most, but you were the only one to blame. Had you been able to admit to all you were feeling in your heart, the situation may have changed for the better.

“That’s it.” He agreed. “You don’t have to worry about me falling in love. You don’t even have to worry about me liking you. No love, no feelings, nothing. You were a great lay, but not worth much more than that, sweetheart. I hate that I ever thought otherwise, but you are just sex to me. That’s it.” He didn’t mean a thing he was saying, but he was so blinded by hurt that anger was the only thing he could show. If he could have taken the words back, he would have. The pain in your eyes nearly brought him to his knees, and he knew he would never be able to repent from the suffering he caused.

“I have no idea why I ever thought you were different.” You spat, the choke of tears beginning to suffocate you. “I can’t believe I let myself fall for it.” You muttered to yourself. “Get out, Jake, and don’t ever come back.”

“My pleasure.” He agreed, pushing past you without another word. You did not even turn to watch him walk away, instead settling your gaze on the guitar that he’d tainted with his touch. You heard him gather his things into his bag, and after a few moments, the slam of your front door let you know that the struggle was over. He was gone, and he would never return, just like you asked. You had pushed him away to the point of no recovery, and the tears that stained your cheeks reminded you that you were the sole blame for the failure of your relationship.

Pride has outweighed sloth in every aspect, but the sins you had committed for once were completely different than Jake’s.

He had too much pride to apologize, and too much pride to recognize that you were hurting more than he was. If he had swallowed his feelings for a moment to see the ache that was plaguing you, he would have understood that your rejection was not because of a lack of love, but because of an abundance of fear. You loved him just as fiercely as he loved you, but you were so damaged from the love that came before him. You could not choke down that hurt, and you could not see past it for long enough to recognize that he only had your best interest in mind. Jake did not want to hurt you, and he would never have treated you in the ways that others had, but you had pushed him to the point of cruelty. It took a lot for him to muster the courage to say how he was feeling, and you had faced him with nothing but bold-faced rejection.

His attempt at protecting himself only made him more vulnerable, and in turn, only hurt the person he loved most. The cruel words he said were not true, and they replayed in his head for the entire drive home. Pride made it so he appeared stone cold, and that his feelings were more important than yours. In truth, there was nothing more important to him than the sound of your beating heart and the things that made it possible to do so. He wished so badly that he could have put his guard down for a moment, to let you in and tell you everything he wanted to say to you. Instead, his last heartbreak left so little of him to give to you and he could not face the truth without defenses.

He was plagued with the knowledge that other people took so much of him that he could not give you all that you deserved.

Your sinful entanglement with pride came from your inability to confess your true feelings to him. You were too prideful to realize that he needed to hear it more than you needed to keep it hidden, and you were too stubborn to admit that you knew he would keep all of your confessions safe. Instead of facing the truth, you wallowed in the consequences of dishonesty. You loved his sweet words and his messages confessing that he missed you. He did treat you better than anyone ever had, and you knew that it was not because he wanted to keep you on a hook, but because of the love he held for you in his heart. Most of all, you knew that you loved sharing a breakfast with him while you shared the most intimate details of your lives.

You loved Jake with all of your heart and soul, and you had never loved anyone with quite as much intensity. You loved him selflessly and wholly, and although you loved being alone, you loved being alone with him even more. You knew that he was what your heart desired most, but for some reason, when he confessed his own likeness to your heart, you could not handle the profound feelings. You were terrified, and that much was obvious, but it was even more than that. You could not handle someone as wonderful as Jake loving you so deeply, because you did not feel like you deserved it. You could not imagine bestowing your own sorrows and suffering upon him, and you could not bear the thought of making his life harder when he made yours so much better.

He was too prideful to show that you hurt him, and you were too prideful to let him know that he had the ability to hurt you. He let you know that he cared for you, but he could not see past his own hurt enough to realize that your words had nothing to do with his character. He took it personally when it had nothing to do with him at all. You could not admit that you cared, but it was not because it was him you cared about. Loving him was easier than falling asleep, but being in love was a dangerous game, and you feared if you fell again, you might not survive it.

Lust drove you to each other, and his otherworldly charm made you gluttonous. You needed him so badly that you had resorted to greed, and sloth had paralyzed you into submission at the hands of love. Pride, although not the most powerful sin, seemed to be the most deadly yet. It had driven you away from the only home you’d ever known, and it ensured that you severed the bond between you with expert precision. Sin was bleeding from the walls as you sat in a pool of your own tears and self pity. You begged for forgiveness, for mercy at the hands of an entity that knew no such thing.

The devil doesn’t bargain, and he was ensuring that you would suffer the consequences of your own mistakes. You were so far gone that the grace of God could not touch you, and the only relief could come from Satan himself.

When fate is in the hands of evil itself, hope is a feeble word, and any shred of hope you still held in your heart had been struck down without a trace.

With only two of the capital vices left to go, sin seemed like the only thing you knew how to do. You feared that after so long of defying the gods, salvation would never be found.

TAGLIST: @sacredjake @profitofthedune @thewritingbeforesunrise @sacredthethreadgvf @klarxtr @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @freefallthoughts @jaketlover @clairesjointshurt @ageofbajabule @dannys-dream @earthgrlsreasy @starshine-gvf @brujamagik @gvfmarge @ignite-my-firerod-blog @twistedmelodies @gretavangroupie @alwaysonthemend @edgingthedarkness @gvfpal @sinarainbows @writingcold @starcatcher-jake @literal-dead-leaf @takenbythemadness @gretasfallingsky @hsfallingsky @freyjalw @itsafullmoon @lyndz2names @blacksoul-27 @i-love-gvf @vikingsisthenewsexy @mp0801 @mindastreamofcolours @indigogvf @sparrowofthedawnsworld @jordie-gvf @cassy-face @highway-tuna @creadliz98 @dancingcarbon @do-it-jakey-baby

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hauntedpearl · 1 month

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s12 destiel from dean's perspective is explanation enough for why dean is sooooo insane after that season. like.

- first he almost kills himself for the greater good or whatever and has to come to terms with like. dying. on purpose. and then he is given the gift of life but before he can be like yay! i can go home! his mom is back from the dead??? and his brother is missing???

- then his mom leaves him bc she wants to figure out who she is and even tho he's like a 38 yo man it fucks w him a lot understandably.

-they get arrested and put in SOLITARY for a while and when they finally get out and meet cas again (at which point dean has once again come to terms with dying for the greater good but also mostly his mom and brother this time), he KILLS THE REAPER THEY MADE THE DEAL WITH AND GETS ALL EMOTIONAL??? after which he proceeds to fuck off bc he is Busy™ tracking lucifer etc.,

- then they get a lead and CAS ALMOST DIES IN FRONT OF HIS EYES and throws an I love you in his goodbye speech for the lolz. which. hahaha. anyway cas lives but turns out his mother — with whom he's trying to connect so badly so he can achieve full Normalcy — was like. lowkey responsible for his almost death. so they're fighting now.

- cas receives a divine voicemail from his close friend and colleague and then they go on that case with Lily sunder and ISHIM BEATS CAS UP AND THREATENS TO KILL HIM and even after they beat him Lily Sunder is like. I'm gonna go do some soul searching and if im in the mood I'll come back and KILL YOU. THREAT. and cas is like 😔 fair. so you know.

- there is also an instance of him losing his memories which is scary. and it's like. being intimately familiar with that experience is. something else. as a memory loss girlie let me tell you 👍🏽😄

- and then!!!!! lucifer's unborn child mind melds with his wifehusband — once more in front of his own two eyes — and "manipulates" him into running away with the pregnant lady instead of staying and Figuring Out A Solution. and when they finally do find cas, they are with them for all of 12 hours before HE DIES. FORREAL THIS TIME. AND LIKE THAT'S IT. NO COMING BACK FROM THAT ONE!

this is not an exhaustive list bc i don't remember everything but. like you know. he was primed to get worse and worse. all things that happen in s12 are out of his control but they are also things that happen in front of his eyes, and in ways that make him think that perhaps he did have control over them and he did fuck up some way and he *should* have done something to change the course of their lives so he's filled with guiltshame about it. and he decides that the solution to not losing anyone in the foreseeable future is to just. Control Every Possible Aspect Of Their Existence. which is impossible and that's why he gets mad all the time but YOU KNOW. YOU CAN SEE WHY HE'S CRAZY. poor s12 dean man.

#doe is talking again #just thinking thoughts #i MISS S12 BTW #EVERYTHING WAS SOOOO RIGHT #and then </3 #also this is my bias against s13 showing bc i think it's STUPID #thete i said it idc about narrative importance s13 commits the worst crime of all: its boring as shit #and yeah I've only watched it once but i hated having yo watch it and supernatural WAS my favourite show back then even!!#snd an excuse to spend time with my v close friend!!! SO !!! EVEN THAT couldn't make s13 worth the time 😔#im also not a big fan of first half of s14 while we're at it.#i think it picks up in the second half thk when thsy start doinf family drama #anyway #ANYWAYSSSS #this is not meta or analysis im just thinking about s12 dean my baby #suicide ment

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ao3komorii · 7 months

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On the Hunt (Astarion/Reader)

Happy Halloween! I want to write something for Raphael eventually, but here's a shorter Astarion thing for now. Hope you enjoy the story :)

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You had gotten very good at detecting when the light left his eyes.

It happened a lot less after Cazador had been felled, but often when Astarion had little else to focus on, his red eyes travelled back in time, back to his own world of pain and loss and hopelessness.

It didn’t help that with all that he had gained, he had lost the sun, left to see the light only from afar, his memories of its warmth nowhere near enough.

You had happily joined him in the night as you set out to cure him of his condition, but like anyone, Astarion still had bad days.

You had figured it was going to be a less good day when you had woken up in the middle of the day, your body sensing the absence of his next to yours. Drowsily opening your eyes, you easily spotted your silver-haired partner sitting at the edge of the bed, staring silently at a rectangle of light shining through a small slit between the curtains you had closed when you had first entered the room at the inn, as you always did.

You closed your eyes again, allowing Astarion his moment, knowing that you fussing over him every time would only make things worse. Instead, as you allowed yourself to fall back to sleep, you decided to do something to make tonight as exciting as you could to help give the vampire an escape from his losses.

When you woke next, Astarion was next to you in bed, his meditative pose telling you he was actually asleep. You stared at his peaceful resting face for a long moment before turning your focus to those still-closed curtains, the shade of the barely-visible sliver of light telling you that it was at least midday.

Setting about your pseudo-morning routine, you began to brainstorm a solid plan to distract Astarion from his ongoing plight.

He was likely starving for blood, you knew that much. Without a power-hungry cult looming constantly over your heads, there were much less fights to be had in cities that didn’t result in legal consequences, and you could only safely let him feed from you so often without risking your health. And without Withers around, you couldn’t risk your life quite as stupidly as you had before.

But it had been over a week since Astarion had last had your blood, and you had been considering finding a bandit camp or seeking out some wild animals just to get his mood up when an idea struck you.

It was perhaps a bit sooner than the two-week timeline you had both agreed on between larger blood donations, but you found yourself ensorcelled by the idea of putting on a little hunt for him, just with you as the prey this time. A little test of his instincts as it were, keeping your real reasoning close to your chest, not wanting him to think you were pitying him. And what was a little anemia if it was in the name of cheering up your beloved?

You were sitting at the small wooden desk in the room, itemizing your carefully-hoarded spell scrolls when Astarion came out of his trance, leaning down beside you before you realized he was even awake.

“You’re up early,” he remarked curiously, and you froze up in surprise, doing your best not to look like you had been caught in the act, casually reaching to hide your scroll of disguise self under a more conspicuous hypnotic pattern. “Now what could be so important that you decided to deprive me the pleasure of waking up next to my love?”

You shuffled your scrolls and maps into a messy pile, aware of how his sharp gaze followed the action with suspicion.

Turning from your papers to meet his eyes, you did your best to look innocuous. “I was thinking we could do something different today.”

“Oh?” Astarion’s face lit up with intrigue. “And here I thought I’d be in for yet another day of rifling through dusty old tomes written by dusty old men who haven’t even met a vampire, let alone possessed any useful information about one.”

You let out a huff of laughter, equally aware of the bad information streak you had been on for the last month, the most useful information coming from a thoroughly depraved romantic vampire novel that Astarion had found significantly too much enjoyment in reading out to you whenever he had gotten bored of reading whatever vampiric history tome he had discarded when its contents proved valueless.

“I was thinking–”

It was probably to your benefit that Astarion leaned in to kiss you, cutting off the sentence you hadn’t quite figured out how to phrase. The kiss was chaste, the smug vampire pulling back with a smirk, clearly enjoying having caught you off guard.

“You were saying, love?” he teased lowly, and you willed yourself not to fall for his distractions like you usually did.

“I was thinking we could go on a hunt today,” you said at last, Astarion raising an eyebrow in response.

“You know I always relish the chance for some meaningless violence, but why all of a sudden?” he asked, always way too perceptive for your own good. “What’s the hunt? It had better not be another cluster of ooze. It took me far too long to remove their slobber from my weapons the last time I had the misfortune of stabbing one.”

“No, no ooze,” you dismissed with a laugh. It wasn’t like you had wanted to do that job either, but it had gotten you the funds to pay for your last three inn stays. Summoning up your courage, you tried your best to not look as embarrassed as you felt. “I was thinking this time you could hunt… me.”

Astarion’s eyes glinted noticeably as he leaned in towards you, a hand resting on either armrest of your chair, his arms caging you in. “Am I to take this as a request of a more carnal nature? Because I am very willing to oblige.”

His voice was dripping with quiet ardor, the cheeky vampire using the tone he knew would lure you into bed with him every time, but not this time. You wanted something that would catch him off guard entirely, leaving no room in any part of his mind for his latent sadness to set in today. There would be plenty of time for sex later, once he had been fed.

“I was thinking more along bloodier lines,” you said, Astarion’s resulting frown at his seduction attempt failing more than a little cute. “I know we agreed to every two weeks, but I do have that vibrancy potion I’ve been saving.”

Astarion leaned back out of your space, looking quizzical, but not unhappy, so you took that as a sign to continue.

“Since this is a special occasion, I thought it might be fun to make you work for it,” you said with a conspiratorial smile. “Neither of us have been to this city before, so we’re on an even playing field. I was thinking if you can find me by sunrise, my blood is yours. As much as you want, since the effects of the vibrancy potion will last until then. If you can find me, that is.”

Astarion grinned wide, his pristine white fangs on full display. “Oh darling, I hadn’t taken you as someone who makes gambles they haven’t a hope of winning.”

You felt a flare of competition spark within you at his surety that he would win. Just because this was supposed to end with your blood on his teeth didn’t mean you were going to make this easy for him.

“If you’re so sure you’ll win, then maybe I’ll set off now and get a head start,” you shot back teasingly, reaching into your bag on the floor and downing the small vial of forest green vibrancy potion in one go before standing up, licking the last stray drop from the corner of your mouth to make sure the potion had maximum effectiveness.

Astarion’s eyes closed as he took a long inhale, which told you that the potion was indeed working as intended. When his eyes opened again, his pupils were blown wide, looking every bit the vampire ready for a hunt.

“Your blood smells even sweeter than the first time,” he spoke in a strained voice, posture so rigid he looked like he might snap if you moved an inch closer to him. “If I wasn’t such an honorable vampire, I’d already have you.”

Keeping any comments regarding his honor to yourself, you lifted your bag, sweeping the papers on the desk into it before slinging it over your shoulder, heading all the way to the door before turning your head back to face the shirtless, sleepy-haired vampire with a teasing smile.

“Good luck, Astarion,” you told him. Knowing how desperate for blood he had been the first time, he had to struggling even harder than he looked to be holding himself back right now.

“I don’t need luck,” he replied smoothly, sitting back down on the bed, hands fisting tightly onto the sheets. “There is nowhere you could hide where I can’t find you, my love.”

His sultry tone made you flush, and you quickly fled the room, knowing you had to go now before your willpower gave out.

Emerging onto bustling early evening streets, you knew that you had until the sun fell to find a place to hide. Making your way down the main street, you made sure to stop and chat up a perfume salesman, accepting a heavy dose of one of their floral samples in the hope that it would disguise the smell of your blood to the hungry vampire that would be on your trail within the hour. Your scent taken care of, now there was just the manner of your appearance.

Stopping by a busy clothing store, you stood before a long mirror in a deserted corner of the store, pulling out your disguise self scroll and getting to work.

You left the store a purple-skinned tiefling with long ruby-red hair, clad in a skimpy black dress with a long slit up the thigh, gold jewelry accenting your neck and illusory horns. If Astarion was looking for a disguise, you doubted he would think you would take on such a gaudy one, the stares of people as you passed telling you that you definitely looked the part of a lady of the night.

The sun had begun to fall as you walked the streets, intending on getting a decent distance away from the inn before finding somewhere to hole up when the dark set in. There was no doubt that Astarion would have the advantage in the dark, so you had to be as well-hidden as possible by then.

It felt too much like cheating to set up in a noisy tavern, though it wasn’t exactly like you had set any concrete rules before setting out, but still, you dismissed the fleeting idea. You wanted to make this hard for Astarion, not impossible. You didn’t often have enough gold for vibrancy potions anymore, so you wanted to make this one count, but Astarion would have to earn it first.

You had your momentary doubts that he would even agree to your proposal, given he had his moods sometimes, but his reaction had surpassed even your most hopeful expectations. You knew he wouldn’t be holding back, and you would hate yourself if you didn’t at least put up a fight.

You stopped to feign interest in a group of dragonborn musicians playing in a park as you considered your options further. You could cast a hypnotic pattern and pretend to be captivated by it as well? But you couldn’t sustain that one for long, and there was no telling when Astarion would pass by here. You could blur yourself, but that was likely to end up attracting his attention rather than evading it.

Lost in your thoughts, you took altogether too long to realize the passing of time, coming to the sudden realization that the sun was now just the tiniest sliver in the horizon. Astarion was definitely out by now, who knows for how long while you were zoning out.

You followed the crowd’s lead, clapping for the performers as you took subtle glances around you, not seeing any silver hair in the area. Still, you had wasted too much time here. You needed to move.

With most people in the park distracted by the performance, you were easily able to misty step your way across the park, exiting into what looked to be a district of… lesser repute. Here, there were women and men dressed in less than you were, hanging outside gaudy establishments and trying to draw customers in. You were just passing by a gnome and a scantily-clad human making out so loudly that you briefly wondered if either of them had ever kissed anyone now before when you ran into an issue.

“Haven’t seen yer sweet ass ‘round here before,” a male voice slurred, a large half-orc stepping into your view, or rather completely blocking it with his bulk.

“Excuse me,” you spoke flatly, immediately on guard. You moved to walk around him, but this only seemed to egg him on, as he moved in turn to step to the side and continue blocking your way.

“Ain’t no tieflings at tha bars, not anymore,” he spoke angrily, waving his arms wildly around as he talked, large axe glinting from its place on his back. “It ain’t the same when those other broads ain’t got no horns to grab while I plow ‘em!”

You could easily discern the reason why tiefling women seemed to become scarce around him, regretting that your choice of disguise had now led to this unexpected issue. You wouldn’t want to talk to this creep on a normal day, but you really didn’t have time now. You weren’t sure if your ego would survive being caught by Astarion less than an hour after the hunt had begun.

While you were confident that your disguise was flawless, the half-orc was being so loud that you would catch anyone’s attention right now. Looking around, you noticed the eyes of many of the seedy crowd were on you, but as expected, nobody was stepping in to help you, clearly wary of attracting the wrath of the drunk brute.

Sighing internally, you resolved to yourself to give this guy one more chance to leave you alone before you made him. What a mess you had managed to find yourself in.

“I’m not interested,” you said, not intimidated in the slightest by the half-orc who was at least a head taller than you. “I’m asking you nicely to walk away.”

The half-orc scoffed loudly, making a show of looking around, the onlookers all averting their gazes, not wanting to be involved, their eyes shifting back to you when the brute finished his overdramatic display before turning back to you with a cocked brow.

“Well I don’t see no man here ta claim ya,” he boasted loudly. “And Barorth don’t recognize no other claims on the womens he wants anyway!”

He would probably have been luckier if Astarion was here, the snarky vampire possibly content to mock the half-orc without him realizing rather than what you were going to do to him if he didn’t leave you alone.

“Not interested,” you repeated flatly, deathly intent plain in your voice, at least plain to anyone but this moron, who instead reached out to take one of your arms in his grasp.

“‘Nuff talkin’,” he grunted, hand clamping down on your arm. “Those tits are just–”

The second he touched you, you blinked, immediately activating eyebite, your eyes turning into teeth-ringed pools of black.

“Go,” you snarled at the half-orc, his grip falling from your arm instantly, an all-too-loud guttural groan leaving his mouth before he turned and ran. You didn’t dismiss eyebite until he was out of sight, glaring after him the entire way.

Taking a breath to calm yourself down, you blinked and your regular eyes returned. How much time had you wasted on that moron? He was lucky all you did was traumatize him, the brute likely to have suffered a much worse fate if it was Lae’zel he was hitting on. Hopefully he would leave any real tieflings alone after your little display.

Frustrated, you moved to the less busy side of the street, ignoring the people there who now stared at you in shock. You were far enough from Baldur’s Gate that very few people would recognize you even if you had your real appearance, but there was definitely going to be gossip spreading now about the tiefling escort that sent a half-orc running away with just a look.

And then you were striding past an alleyway, intent on figuring out your next move, when a hand darted out, clasping firmly around your wrist and pulling you into the alleyway, finding yourself quickly pinned to the stone wall by your assailant’s body.

Amused red eyes stared down at you, Astarion running one hand down your side to rest on your hip. “One hour and you’re already finding your way into trouble without me. Darling, I’m hurt.”

You knew he had you, despite your feigned appearance, but your pride wouldn’t allow you to give in so easily.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sniffed with very false confidence. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to–”

“Spare me,” he dismissed. “Did you really think you could hide from me in plain sight when I know your scent, your taste so… intimately?”

You wanted to protest further, but any words you were going to say turned into a pleased sigh as Astarion leaned in to kiss at your neck.

“You do make a rather fetching tiefling, my love, but I do think I prefer the you that I wake up next to every morning,” he spoke against your neck.

You smiled despite yourself, finally giving in and allowing the disguise to drop, Astarion holding you to him tighter in response, but his fangs still hadn’t made their way into your neck. The smell of your blood had to have been driving him crazy, he had said as much earlier, so then why hadn’t he claimed his reward yet?

“You win,” you conceded, unable to stay mad with your beloved so close to you, even in the dingy alleyway whose prior inhabitants had likely been either a murder or a messy hookup. “My blood is yours.”

At your words, Astarion pulled back from your neck entirely, further confusing you. Noticing your questioning look, he gestured out to the street, where some onlookers were barely visible, but their attention at least seemed to be on their own business now.

“I won’t be playing the part of the heinous vampire attacking the fair maiden and risking some do-gooder rushing to your rescue with a stake meant for my heart,” he explained disdainfully. “No, I think my prize would be better savored in a more private location.”

You could still see just how bad his hunger was getting to him, so it was obvious that you weren’t making it back to the inn. Looking out over his shoulder, you spotted a private enough looking rooftop several stories above some seedy-looking bar, placing your hand on Astarion’s arm as you summoned a dimension door.

“Good enough?” you asked, drawing Astarion’s gaze to the matching door waiting on the roof.

“Not quite the caliber of the Blushing Mermaid, but I can hardly be choosey when it means I get more of your delectable blood,” he answered.

That was as much of a yes as you figured you were getting out of him, and so you activated the door and found yourselves instantly transported to the actually-not-too-bad-looking rooftop.

It was barren, but clean. Seemed like nobody really came up here, as all that was on the roof were a couple ratty-looking chairs and a large rug that looked like it would be worth some money if it weren’t for a large stain on one corner that was either blood or red wine.

Stepping away before Astarion could get too carried away, you rummaged quickly through your bag, pulling out one of the many arcane lock scrolls you knew to keep on hand for situations like this, sealing the door so you wouldn’t be interrupted. Job done, you went to turn back around, not wanting to keep the vampire waiting.

“Well, I think we’re—”

Astarion was way closer than you expected, having silently closed the gap between you while your back was turned.

Shaking off your momentary surprise, you smiled at him, turning your head and pulling your hair back so your neck was left bared for him to drink from. So you were caught off guard when he instead backed you up against the door, caging you in with his body and catching your mouth with his own.

While you were confused, you weren’t opposed, your eyes sliding closed and arms coming up to rest against his chest, the gentle buzzing of the magical lock against your back all but forgotten at the things Astarion’s tongue was doing to your own.

You were having a hard time telling if he was actually this turned on, or if he had just turned his switch on, as much as you had tried to break him of the habit of feeling like he had to perform sexually if he wasn’t feeling it. Recognizing you should probably make that discernment now, you pulled back from the kiss, Astarion’s lips shifting to kiss at your neck.

“It’s okay if this is just for blood,” you spoke, trying to keep your voice steady despite Astarion suckling on a particularly sensitive spot. “You don’t owe me anything for my blood if you don’t want to.”

Astarion pulled back from your neck at last, no bites taken, instead reaching a hand down to take your leg in his grasp, pulling it around one hip and using the opportunity to grind his clearly hard cock into you, the resulting feeling fluttering your lashes as you tried desperately to focus on the seriousness you were trying to inject into the moment.

Astarion saw your serious expression and only smiled, a small little smile so unlike the openly flirtatious ones he used to send your way back when you had first explored each other’s bodies.

“Trust me darling, you mean far too much to me to ever treat you like you’re a favor to be traded in,” he spoke quietly, hips still rolling into yours as he spoke. “You’ve given me too much to ever be repaid. But no need to fret, my reasons for wanting your body now are just my own selfish lust.”

He didn’t need any words from you to know he had you, one broken moan at his hips rutting perfectly against yours enough of a response for him to return to your mouth, one hand sliding under your dress to press firmly on your clit as you kissed fervently, doing your best to keep up with his tongue as you felt warm enough for the both of you even on the chilly rooftop.

The greedy vampire could only go so long without claiming his reward, mouth moving to your neck the second he felt you getting close, sinking his teeth into you at last as he barraged your clit with attention, the twin sensations of blood loss and orgasm feeding off each other in beautiful harmony, Astarion prolonging your peak with his talented fingers as he drank from your neck until you laid boneless against him, panting above his head.

“I love you,” you breathed, Astarion breaking from your neck to return the sentiment with a bloodstained smile.

And then it was your turn, pulling him to your mouth and grinding up into him, the vampire’s own panting breaths loud against your mouth. Astarion moved his hips back into yours, his pace nothing like the practiced, even rhythm he’d had back when he was playing the part of what he had thought you would like. His groans now were entirely his body’s reaction to yours, and the thought burned deeply in your core.

Neither one of you content to keep things going with clothes still on, your hands moved to the clasp holding your flimsy dress together, while Astarion smoothly discarded his own pants, his hands then coming back to maneuver you onto your back on the non-stained section of the rooftop rug, your dress splayed out under you helping to guard against the slightly rough texture of the rug.

“This is a sight I will never tire of,” Astarion groaned, ripping his shirt up over his head, his underwear following and leaving him entirely bare to your wanting gaze.

He looked every bit the vampiric seductor in that horrible novel he liked to bother you with, red eyes and bloody mouth gleaming in the sparse light the rising moon provided.

You watched his expression spark with debauched pleasure as it was plainly obvious how wet you were as he practically peeled your underwear from you, one hand returning to work at your clit, his own cock looking so hard that it must hurt.

“Astarion, please,” you begged, reaching out for him, your lover effortlessly evading your grasp as he worked you closer and closer to orgasm.

“Not yet, my love,” he chided lowly, knowing you could do little to resist his efforts right now. “I rather enjoy getting you so worked up. I could spend hours listening to your pretty cries as I bring you over the edge again and again, but I suppose that potion is only good until sunup, and I am so hungry.”

“Then come here,” you prompted, already feeling clearheaded from the vibrancy potion rejuvenating your blood supply so quickly.

“How could I refuse?” he replied happily, slotting himself between your legs.

Wrapping your legs around his back, you pulled him down, the vampire smoothly lining his cock perfectly to hit deep inside you as you pulled his mouth to your neck.

“You are too perfect,” Astarion murmured against your neck before biting down.

You decided it was better for you to start strong while you still had the blood supply to energize you, using your legs around his hips to start a slow but deep rhythm. Astarion needed very little coaxing to keep up, one hand coming up to angle one of your legs higher, the resulting shift making you cry out as he started to hit against a spot inside you that only he had ever been able to find.

You had always prided yourself on being the talker of your little group, able to talk your way in or out of trouble when needed. But here, under the snarky vampire you had come to cherish more than anything, you were wordless, barely able to manage more than his name as Astarion moved his focus from your neck to thoroughly ruin you, blood-red smirk telling you he knew exactly what he was doing with every grind of his hips.

It took almost embarrassingly no time for you to finish again, Astarion’s keen senses picking up on it immediately without you having to say a word.

“I do so like to see you like this, darling,” he said, slowly his pace down as you came down from it. “So thoroughly ravaged that you couldn’t recite a spell if you tried.”

You knew that he wasn’t unaffected, the slow roll of his hips telling you that much, but you found yourself determined to exhaust him just as badly, a tall order for someone of his stamina, but you were going to try your best.

With as much grace as you could manage with legs that felt like jelly, you withdrew from under him, pushing him back so he was sitting back, staring at you with loving eyes more black than red as you climbed onto his lap, settling back down on his cock, intent on riding him until he lost himself.

Astarion’s hands quickly found the back fastenings of your bra, unhooking it with a satisfied growl and tossing the garment aside, allowing him access to lean down and lave kisses and bites across your chest as you continued to ride him hard.

You were slamming your hips into his now, running a hand through his hair, his increasingly loud groans of your name telling you that he was finally getting close. With a shuddered breath, his hands went down to your hips, holding you still against him as he came, teeth sinking into your neck once again in tandem.

You slowly stroked his hair, in no rush to free yourself from his embrace, even as you could feel stray droplets of blood running down your neck and onto your chest.

With a pleased sigh, Astarion’s hands went from your hips to around your back, pulling back from your neck to see you smiling at him, the sight sending him leaning forward to kiss you, his peaceful expression one you could look at forever and never get tired of.

“Here I was thinking all I had to thank that grotesque nautiloid for was my freedom,” he mused between kisses. “If it hadn’t found you too, I’d probably be dead, hunted by that gur and delivered to my death. Never thought I’d be so grateful to a damn illithid for plucking me off the street.”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “This makes even the whole parasite insertion thing worth it, if I get to be here like this with you.”

“How sweet,” he huffed in response. “I however could have done without Gale’s lectures on morality. And Lae’zel’s snoring.”

“And the Withers lecture about how you were distracting me from my quest,” you added with a laugh, recalling the at-the-time awkward talk with the skeletal man the morning after you and Astarion had first slept together.

“I don’t know about that, my dear,” Astarion replied slyly. “You did seem a touch distracted after that first night. I recall you stepping on several fire mines that Shadowheart had warned us of not five minutes before. Hard to blame you though, I mean really, just look at me.”

“Having fun?” you sulked, pulling back from him to cross your arms across your chest, trying to appear annoyed but fully aware your point was not well made considering he was still inside of you.

Astarion didn’t let you get far, arms pulling you back in. “Not so fast, my love. As I recall, my reward was to last until sunrise, and I intend to reap it in full.”

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #reader is tav #tav is a sorcerer #can be read as human/elf/half-elf #smut #baldurs gate x reader #baldurs gate astarion #reader insert

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agentc0rn · 5 months

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Another Pretty Long Character Analysis: Kieran and Nemona - Strength

disclaimer: not claiming this to be objective, just another writing piece full of thoughts done for fun because Kieran is such an interesting, in depth character ever

Okay so I mentioned this in my older post about kieran being the foil of nemona and their shared struggles with being at the top, socially excluded, and how strength as social arbiter displaced them in social settings. Like Kieran, Nemona became overly strong that no one wanted to compete and keep up with. Her passion is misread because of that plus the top statuses she holds as a wealthy multi-talented, high-achieving student. She is a good person and true to herself (her naivety to social cues perhaps is because of her lack of social connections with others). She means well and just want someone to battle with their efforts no matter the outcome and enjoy to the fullest. Battling is her expression of self, her way of enjoyment and connecting with others. Kieran is alike to an extent, with his strength already at a high level (stated by Carmen in the beginning), and his joyous expression seen during our first fight. This is supported by the fact as stated by Drayton how Kieran had fun battling pre-Teal Mask. These two rivals' love for battles run parallel with each other!

However, Kieran's transition reflects a common mindset that artists, athletes, musicians, etc. all resonate with: competitiveness + measure of worth in the things you like the most - you have to be good at them. I feel this strongly as well with art being my major source of passion - I pressured myself into thinking I had to be really good at it and not enjoy for the sake of doing it regardless of skills.

Battling was not only something Kieran liked doing, it was his main source of confidence and self-esteem.

We see that clear in Blueberry Academy, in dialogues and student culture, competitiveness is high, demanding, and brutal. Kieran may have internalized the idea, provided with his insecurity of weakness and his goal to become independent and reliant. Seeing that we were able to defeat him and sister with ease, he grew to admire but also envious of our esteemed strength, how our power seems to be favored by luck (having speical mons like Koraidon), inducing him to believe that if he worked hard, he could get to our level too. To add further, his lifelong admiration of Ogerpon supports his motivation and his aforementioned desire to be stronger. He wanted to be strong and cool as the ogre, not caring what others thought.

What I find interesting is how Kieran and Nemona handles their way of battling with us. Nemona guides you through the journey while challenging herself to learn in new ways - she restarts her journey essentially. For Kieran, even though he has experience, he struggles with the losses against us (confidence issues and again, aside our MC Role, there is some skill difference given that we fought the titans, area zero mons, team star, and gym leaders). He does change up his tactics, but ultimately does not see victory. He ends up restarting in a way back at BB academy. As a result, Kieran becomes more isolated throughout his training arc and his domination in the league. Him strictly calling out others for slacking inadvertently turns him into the fearsome "oni" figure that he idolized and thus earns him an unfavorable reputation as the president (similar status with Nemona) of the League, for instance, a dialogue between two students mentions how how ever since he became champ, the League club became less fun....Despite the contrast of tensity in these circumstances, Nemona is misunderstood in similiar manner with Kieran.

If memory serves correct, Nemona really gets into the battling mood and sometimes forgets about hers and others' limits, but does acknowledge them given a few instances when she does not battle you. Whereas for Kieran, once he entered the extreme zone, he fully devotes himself to strength at the cost of his mental, social and physical well-being. He discards his limits, giving everything he has got that ultimately eats him from the inside. The final scene when he reacts to losing may also show not just his struggle to grasp reality but a literal side effect on his health (no sleep = poor mood, poor thinking)

He desperately clings to the idea that endless training would grant him the guaranteed chance to beat you ("I know I am making the right choice") and no longer enjoys battling. Battling became a constant test of worth, the last and only means of proving himself. Even though he did become stronger, it drained his health, energy, sanity and reputation. Again, in an ironic way, he really became the oni (self filling prophecy).

at the end however, when we reach out to him to be confident in himself, that we needed his help, it gave him that confidence boost. We all believed in him - he really needed that support. Maybe seeing terapagos going berserk had him gain self awareness that he was like that too and how that caused harm to not only himself but to others.

One small thing to point out that he is like Terapagos in a way. Both are small, secluded and strong lads who end up going wayhire with their mass power.

Not to sound corny but I really felt Kieran’s frustration about losing. I was competitive too but soon let go of that. It’s fine to improve yourself but doing that to be better than others as your main reason can really cause burnout. Anyways this is a disorganized list of thoughts I wanted to share but if you read it the entire thing I really do got to say thank you for taking the time to do so.

EDIT: fixed some grammar and stuff because this was just a run-on draft lol

#Terapagos + Ogerpon hyperfixation got me connected to more people which is nice cause I’m no talker like Kieran #Looking back on the story I saw bits of myself in Nems and Kieran #ac rambles #pokemon scarlet and violet #indigo disk #the indigo disk #kieran #pokemon kieran #rival kieran #pokemon nemona #Man sv has solid characters

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iaure · 1 year

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𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁; 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗱

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟthe dearest collection - part one/beloved 𓆩♡𓆪 part two/prized 𓆩♡𓆪 part three/devoted 𓆩♡𓆪 part four/desperate 𓆩♡𓆪 part five/blind 𓆩♡𓆪 part six/watcher 𓆩♡𓆪 part seven/ardor 𓆩♡𓆪 part eight/fervor this is very heavily inspired by @//clusterfuck-yandere's yandere leon headcanons; please check out their works. this is something of a love letter to their puppy obsession series.

yandere leon s. kennedy headcanons; reader is a survivor of raccoon city.

tw: general yandere behaviour, stalking, harassment, ptsd, mentions of mourning

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ aaa i am so tired! i am sorry about the delay ૮꒰⸝⸝> ༝ <⸝⸝꒱ა work has been rough but i am tougher! there is another part planned already of which i am more excited about; it is another Leon pov!! next time he will have perversions...it will be somewhat nsfw! i am very excited about part four ☆૮꒰•༝ •。꒱ა please keep an eye out! ♡

you'd been doing better.

♡ the days began to blur by as you repaired your life. work got easier, you started making friends, and you were picking up the pieces.

♡ your new friend Leon was, as always, a constant ray of light in your life. you had progressed into a blooming friendship!

♡ he was always so sweet, even going so far as to bring you gifts.

♡ for your birthday, he even got you a video game you had mentioned wanting off hand; a AAA game that cost 70$. not a cheap price for someone who you met at a bakery.

♡ when he gave it to you, you tried tell him it was too much-but he insisted, saying it was your birthday and that you deserved it.

♡ the thought made your heart jump, but you took the game.

♡ your coworker jokes that he's got a crush on you, and slowly, you're starting believe it.

♡ you'd seen times where you were working in the back, and leon would come in. he'd look around, realise you weren't in sight, and his mood would visibly plummet upon not seeing you.

♡ according to your coworker, he'll even straight up turn around and leave if you aren't working that day.

♡ as weird as it is, you think it's cute.

but recently, you've been having troubles.

♡ your apartment was maybe a five minute walk from your work, truthfully. you often just made the trek to save gas and get some exercise in.

♡ but you've been feeling eyes on you lately.

♡ it's a nagging feeling, and while it's only a five minute walk, you're back into that quiet terror you had back when K was in your life.

♡ you've been checking over your shoulder, hiding pepper spray in your pockets, and staying as alert as possible.

home was just as unnerving.

♡ before, the mourning had left your apartment as a bit of a mess. it was normal and fine, but now that you had work, you found yourself realising just how bad it had gotten.

♡ you made yourself a list of things to do, to chip away at and celebrate each time something was done.

♡ but in the last week or two, that list has been checking itself off.

♡ parts of your apartment has been cleaner. the sink full of dishes washed themselves. your bathroom was wiped down. your bed was made, pillows fluffed and sheets taut. laundry, for the most part, was transferred from washer to drier while you were gone.

♡ 'for the most part' was because some garments were going missing; used towels, your favourite shirt, undergarments.

♡ they turn up again, but it's always some time later and with new stains or portions torn away.

♡ needless to say, you were freaked out.

♡ you had sent a request to get your lock changed to your super, but it was taking just too long.

♡ your paranoia skyrocketed. was it K? was it possible there was a gas leak and you were having memory loss? what was the most reasonable thing that could answer this?

♡ your mind is reeling, and it's been progressively getting worse until one night at work.

♡ you were closing up, and leon was there, keeping you company. was he supposed to be there after close? perhaps not, but he was your friend and he never did anything wrong; just watched you clean up with his head in his hands and a sappy smile.

♡ you had looked out into the windows, and the darkness outside was...so much. it was raining hard, and the night was absolute. anything could happen in a five minute walk. what if K was out there?

♡ you had paused, and leon saw. his voice was soft, kind, as he walked up and held your hand. "is something wrong?", he said.

♡ you told him only a bit about what was going on, the bare minimum so he knew that you didn't feel safe.

♡ his face contorted-shock, fear, worry-but he kept on listening, and he looked so sympathetic to your plight, almost like a kicked puppy.

♡ you then have a great idea. Leon was strong and brave. could he possibly walk you home?

♡ at your asking, Leon lights up. were he a dog, his tail would be wagging.

♡ "I'll be your knight in shining armour," he says. and you believe it.

♡ when you close the shop, he's right behind you, carrying his gym bag in one arm and your umbrella in the other. he takes care to cover you with it, but it's not until you turn that you realise he's already drenched.

♡ he waves it off, joking that it's a shower.

♡ you feel bad, but when you try to insist on sharing it, he tosses you a pout that breaks your heart. damn you, heartthrob!

♡ he keeps on looking around during the walk to your apartment, as though you're about to get jumped at any moment. as strange as it seemed, you appreciated how vigilant he was.

♡ for once, you felt safe. there were no eyes on you besides Leon's careful, kind gaze. this was the most comforted you'd been in...a while.

♡ when you get to your apartment, the rain had doubled down, forcing the two of you to ditch the umbrella and run under the roof of the first floor, laughing as Leon shook the rain off like a dog.

♡ when you finally get to your apartment, your joy dissolves into fear. your stomach churns at the idea that K might be inside, trying to wait out Leon.

♡ you turn to Leon, and before you find it in you to say good night, you look him over.

♡ he looks a little bit like a puppy left out in the rain, in a cardboard box. he's happy to see you, sad that you're leaving, drenched, and giving you big, sad eyes.

let's be honest.

♡ were you going to say good night, giving Leon no reward for his kind act and potentially walking right into your potential stalker's arms?

♡ or were you going to invite him in, getting Leon some food and thanking him as well as hypothetically warding off K?

♡ when you asked him to come in, he practically did a jig. was he really that excited to see the inside of your apartment?

♡ he's a polite guest, which isn't surprising. he took off his shoes, set his bag by the door, and tried to dry off the best he could before sitting on your couch.

♡ you began digging around, trying to see what you had that would be moderately okay for a guest to eat, silently grateful that your home had been cleaning itself up.

♡ you turn every now and then to speak with Leon, and each time, he moves a step closer to you, giving you the most devoted look.

♡ it makes your heart pound, but you can't let it distract you.

♡ you finally give up, electing to order a pizza of Leon's choice, which ends up being your choice when he tells you to order your favourite.

♡ "I wanna know more about you!", he says.

♡ you pay for it, since he helped you, but he tries to help pay. when you refuse, he makes a small noise of what was presumably discontent, but he lets it go.

♡ while you're waiting for the pizza, you begin to confess your concerns with your home, about the cleaning and how items seem to be shuffling about of their own will.

♡ Leon's first guess, much like yours, was a gas leak. but he agrees, after a moment, that you should change your locks anyway.

♡ the conversation changed direction multiple times, going with the flow. Leon was a great listener, and every time you list something you like or hate, you can see him filing it away in his head.

♡ the rain gets harder, and the night gets longer.

♡ the pizza was delivered, and you two begin eating when-unceremoniously and without warning-the power went out. you could see off in the distance it wasn't just your apartment complex; it was a sizable chunk of the block you were on.

♡ there was a beat of silence between the two of you as you realised what happened.

♡ you got up to light some candles as Leon ran over to the door, fishing out a flashlight he had on him, for whatever reason.

♡ he passed it off to you, with a small frown. "I guess that's my cue to go," he said. his voice was low, upset at having your time together cut short. he was still a little wet, and it just made him look...a bit pathetic, to be honest.

♡ as you began to ask him if he was going to be okay in the rain, he mentioned that he lived thirty minutes from his gym, which was ten minutes from the bakery, which was five minutes from your apartment...

♡ which meant a miserable fifteen minutes spent in the rain and another 30 spent being cold and wet in the car.

no, you insisted-he could stay the night, if he wanted to wait out the rain.

♡ over the course of the night, you've come to realise a handful of things. one, Leon was sweet. two, he also got excited over what seemed to be the littlest things.

♡ his jaw dropped when you offered him to stay, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. it was as though you'd fulfilled his biggest wish and had ultimately become his saviour.

♡ you gave him some clothes to change into that once belonged to your brother-it's not like he'd wear them anymore-and instructed him to the bathroom.

♡ he found it in record time as you yourself got changed, ready to go to bed and wait out the power outage.

♡ when he stepped out, he had evidently dried down his hair with a towel that had been hanging in your bathroom, and looked at you with big eyes. he had also evidently decided to sleep on the couch, using a blanket from his bag (which you've decided to call his wonderbag, considering everything he pulls from it).

♡ you gave him two more, just to make sure he was comfortable, before wishing him good night.

♡ all was well. you were safe, you were home, and you could sleep.

♡ it wasn't until maybe two or three in the morning that you woke up to a nigh horrifying sight.

Leon was standing at the foot of your bed, staring at you.

♡ you let out a bit of a gasp, still too sleepy to realise really how strange it was. you asked him what he was doing, and his voice...how small it felt.

♡ "I thought you were gone."

♡ your heart breaks. god, Leon really was whipped. if even you could tell at that point, then it must've been some cupid-arrow shenanigans that got him this bad.

♡ in your haze, you just want to go back to sleep. so you pat the empty side of your bed, rolling over and shoving your head into your pillow.

♡ leon takes a second. he registers.

♡ "Do you want me to...sleep with you?"

♡ his awe is palpable. he asks twice, then thrice, each time with you answering with a nod until you ultimately just repeat him in your own voice.

♡ he climbs in and you realise he'd be trailing the blankets you gave him behind him, pulling them over the both of you when he got into the bed.

♡ there's a moment or two where he's just staring at you again, and you open your eyes with a soft smile. you tell him to get to bed.

♡ and you shut your eyes, sure that wherever K was, they were far, far away.

♡ ...did Leon just get closer?

#˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ palabras muertas #divagaciones (per)#yandere resident evil x reader #yandere resident evil #yandere leon kennedy x reader #yandere leon kennedy #yandere x reader

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creechurrr · 1 month

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OKAY OKAY, SO. Thank you to @/ultra-raging-ghost for straightening out a bit of the BBH lore timeline for me, because now that I know dsmp egg lore and the qsmp take place in the same universe, I'm going to go crazy and take advantage of it at every moment possible.

In the dsmp, Bad started getting memory problems after being fully under the egg’s influence. He’d have visual and auditory hallucinations (presumably, as reportedly c!Skeppy reacted to Sam Bucket as just another of Bad’s "imaginary friends"). Bad would also have drastic mood swings, from being terrified of the egg, to trying to lure people down towards it. Foolish would have to ask Bad "are you yourself?" Sam seemingly understood that Bad was unstable as well, and thought that Bad was imagining Sam Bucket.

So now we have the qsmp, which is an unknown amount of time after the dsmp egg arc. The last time we saw everyone involved, Skeppy had tried (and succeeded) to secretly lure all of Bad’s friends to the egg so that it could hatch; he made a deal to keep Bad safe if he did that. Unfortunately Bad was still caught up in the crossfire, and a freshly egg-ified Puffy began hacking him with an axe.

So Bad made it out alive with Skeppy somehow.

Bad also became colourless when he was fully corrupted under the egg. Maybe when he has really strong devastating emotions, he's more suseptible to corruption (i.e., the soul vultures infecting him, and his loss of red).

Bad has recently had drastic mood swings, such as scaring Missa (much like he did to people when under the egg), killing Bobniho and not remembering, ect. ect. The time Cucurucho invaded his house is also something we don't yet know was real or not. Bad still seems somewhat suseptible to hallucinations and memory loss. I don't know how much of this cc!Bad plans to be connected, and if q!Bad is experiencing all of this for purely different reasons. But I’m still not over egg lore, so here we are, and maybe even if q!Bad has these issues for a different reason, perhaps he’s more suseptible to it after what he went through under the egg. I wouldn’t be surprised if little bits of his attitude changed because of his corruption.

q!Skephalo better look out, because now I have even more of an excuse to keep torturing them with egg lore, and not just the delusions and voices in my head 👍

#badboyhalo #q badboyhalo #skeppy #skephalo #qsmp #creechur rambles

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darkskywishes · 4 months

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Levi and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

TW: mentions of rape and childhood sexual abuse

Throughout the course of Attack on Titan, and even before the canon timeline, Levi experiences innumerable traumas, not the least of which are repeatedly experiencing the deaths of his closest friends and comrades. By the end of the series, Levi has lost every single person he had been close to, being the last of the Survey Corps' veterans. Given the truly immense amount of traumatic events Levi suffers, it'd be difficult to believe that he wouldn't have post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and indeed, he does display several key features of the disorder.

Paraphrased, the DSM-5-TR PTSD criteria are as follows (American Psychiatric Association, 2022, p. 301):

Criterion A: stressor (one required)

The person was exposed to: death, threatened death, actual or threatened serious injury, or actual or threatened sexual violence, in the following way(s):

Direct exposure

Witnessing the trauma

Learning that a relative or close friend was exposed to a trauma

Indirect exposure to aversive details of the trauma, usually in the course of professional duties (e.g., first responders, medics)

Criterion B: intrusion symptoms (one required)

The traumatic event is persistently re-experienced in the following way(s):

Unwanted upsetting memories

Nightmares

Flashbacks

Emotional distress after exposure to traumatic reminders

Physical reactivity after exposure to traumatic reminders

Criterion C: avoidance (one required)

Avoidance of trauma-related stimuli after the trauma, in the following way(s):

Trauma-related thoughts or feelings

Trauma-related external reminders

Criterion D: negative alterations in cognitions and mood (two required)

Negative thoughts or feelings that began or worsened after the trauma, in the following way(s):

Inability to recall key features of the trauma

Overly negative thoughts and assumptions about oneself or the world

Exaggerated blame of self or others for causing the trauma

Negative affect

Decreased interest in activities

Feeling isolated

Difficulty experiencing positive affect

Criterion E: alterations in arousal and reactivity (two required)

Trauma-related arousal and reactivity that began or worsened after the trauma, in the following way(s):

Irritability or aggression

Risky or self-destructive behavior

Hypervigilance

Heightened startle reaction

Difficulty concentrating

Difficulty sleeping

Criterion F: duration (required)

Symptoms last for more than 1 month.

Criterion G: functional significance (required)

Symptoms create distress or functional impairment (e.g., social, occupational).

Criterion H: exclusion (required)

Symptoms are not due to medication, substance use, or other illness.

I've indicated the symptoms that apply to Levi, or that I believe likely apply, based on canon content in purple. Let's go one by one.

Criterion A: stressor

During the canon timeline, Levi was exposed to both large amounts of death and threatened death, primarily due to titan casualties, but also due to the circumstances of poverty and deprivation in the Underground. Notable examples include witnessing his mother die and decay while he starved as a young child; Furlan and Isabel's deaths; the deaths of Petra, Oluo, Gunther, and Eld during the Female Titan arc; the loss of Kenny; Erwin and the new recruits' suicide charge against the Beast Titan; and Hange's sacrifice.

Levi experienced multiple instances of serious injury, with the most significant being his injuries resulting from the thunderspear explosion and the Battle of Heaven and Earth. Given the nature of blast injuries, it is likely Levi suffered from internal damage—in particular, rupture of the respiratory and hollow organs, such as the lungs and bowels. We're also shown he suffered complete separation of the index and middle fingers of his right hand, as well as ocular damage to his right eye. A concussion and perhaps a traumatic brain injury following the blast is also likely, as well as hearing damage. Following the Battle of Heaven and Earth, he also experienced significant injuries to one of his legs, necessitating the use of a wheelchair three years post-Rumbling.

In regard to actual or threatened sexual violence, Levi was born and lived in a brothel, in which his mom was a prostitute. It's not an exaggeration to say Levi was likely the result of rape. Given the circumstances of his upbringing, it's also likely he witnessed the sexual encounters between his mother and the brothel's patrons and was perhaps sexually abused himself when his mother was unable or unavailable to protect him. Given the Bad Boy panel previews, we also know he was directly threatened with sex trafficking on at least one occasion.

Only one stressor is required to meet this criterion, and Levi meets all of them. He very much fits the profile of someone with complex trauma or C-PTSD, although that diagnosis has not yet been added to the DSM.

Criterion B: intrusion symptoms

Canon evidence of intrusion symptoms is a bit harder to find, given the heavy plot focus of Attack on Titan; however, I do believe there is enough to make some inferences.

During the Uprising arc, Levi takes note of a starving woman with her baby on multiple occasions, who appears to remind him of his mother. This indicates to me that he thinks of his mother and the circumstances in which he grew up with her with some regularity.

When he later confronts Kenny in the same arc, he specifically questions Kenny regarding the relationship he had with his mother, again indicating that Levi's mother took up significant space in his thoughts.

While we know Kuchel chose to keep Levi (rather than abort him), thus indicating Levi was a desired baby, it's evident that Levi's upbringing overall was damaging and distressing due to the severe poverty, food insecurity, and violence he endured as a young child. Accordingly, it's safe to assume that these memories related to his mother were likely to be both unwanted and upsetting.

We also have this panel during the War for Paradis arc, during which Levi ruminates on the deaths of his comrades and the purpose behind having saved Eren's life so many times. His facial expressions are truly crushing and filled with deep despair.

In terms of nightmares, we know that Levi experiences some truly disturbing dreams from the "Smartpass Good Night, Dear and Sweet Dreams Vol. 02" short story, in which he envisions his closest comrades all morphing into a sea of blood on a red carpet. Clearly, the affect of his dream has been influenced by the specter of death constantly looming over him.

Criterion C: avoidance

The full phrasing of this symptom (trauma-related external reminders) is, "Avoidance of or efforts to avoid external reminders (people, places, conversations, activities, objects, situations) that arouse distressing memories, thoughts, or feelings about or closely associated with the traumatic event(s)." Similar to the unwanted upsetting memories symptom under Criterion B, there is not direct canon evidence, but I do believe there is enough to make some inferences.

Primarily, what sticks out to me about Levi is the fact that no one near him seems to have knowledge of his past, which indicates he does not talk about it. When his past is brought up, it's always people who have some direct knowledge about it speaking on it (e.g., Kenny or Erwin). This is shown both directly in canon, such as when Petra speaks to Eren regarding the rumors of Levi's recruitment into the Survey Corps, and in supplemental Smartpass content, like the Close Up interview with Erwin and Levi.

This comes across to me as an effort to avoid conversations, and thus, reminders and memories about the topic.

Criterion D: negative alterations in cognitions and mood

There's quite a lot of evidence for these in canon.

In terms of overly negative thoughts and assumptions about oneself or the world, Levi has plenty. He appears to have the persistent belief that he only exists to be of service and use to others; he views himself as a tool, one which has no value if he is not directly contributing to something. This is exemplified by the following panels:

When Erwin asks Levi if he would be willing to be in charge of keeping the titan serum and determining whom to use it on, Levi answers with, "Why would you bother asking me?" This shows that Levi has no regard for his own personal feelings.

When Erwin and Levi are discussing the plan to take down the Beast Titan during the Reclamation of Wall Maria, Levi expresses his agreement with the plan by remarking that taking down the Beast Titan will act as him "[making] amends for failing to kill that armored brat earlier." This shows that Levi viewed it as his responsibility, and thus, his failure to take down Reiner. He placed an undue burden on himself here, casting blame for outcomes that should not be solely attributed to him.

And then there's this panel in the lead-up to the final battle, in which a severely wounded Levi is being reprimanded by Armin for being reckless and not resting, in light of his injuries. Levi responds, "... You want me asleep in bed? You're going to forget I even exist if I rest any longer." Levi suffered truly disabling injuries, and yet, he shows complete disregard for himself—concerned that no one will remember him if he is not actively fighting. This shows a projection of his own lack of self-worth onto how he believes others view him: if he is not useful, then he does not matter. Levi also shows disdain at the concept of resting and having been asleep, as if that's somehow a sign of laziness on his part, which is of course, untrue. No one would have faulted him for resting—he truly needed and deserved to rest.

We also know that Levi blamed himself for Kenny leaving him, which can be surmised from interviews with Isayama and the expression on Levi's face when Kenny abandoned him. Levi also asks Kenny why Kenny left him, which shows a certain preoccupation on Levi's part, wherein he worried there must have been something inherently wrong with him to make Kenny leave.

On the topic of Kenny and Levi, Isayama is quoted as saying:

"Levi still had the experience of being separated from Kenny during his childhood. He was constantly troubled by the thought of "Kenny left because I couldn't fulfill his expectations." When the Uprising occurred within the walls, and he confronted Kenny again as an enemy, Levi sought to meet what couldn't be satisfied previously." (x)

Regarding both negative affect and difficulty experiencing positive affect, Levi's expression and mood is frequently shown as depressed. There's a great post by @cosmicjoke on the topic. In terms of the latter, Levi laughs and smiles so infrequently that it's a significant moment at the conclusion of the Uprising arc when he smiles after Historia playfully punches him.

For decreased interest in activities, the full phrasing is, "Markedly diminished interest or participation in significant activities." Levi's character is contrasted with all the other characters in the series in the sense that he has no dreams of his own. Both Armin and Hange have that greater curiosity about the unknowns of the world, represented by the sea and titans; Erwin is similar in that he desired to validate his dad's theories about the outside world and the existence of other humans; Eren craved freedom above all else; etc. Levi, on the other hand, is never shown as having those same dreams and ambitions. Hence, I would say he demonstrates a markedly diminished participation in significant activities, as even though his complete lack of self-interest is immensely admirable, it is also deeply tragic—particularly as dreams and ambitions are often crucial for one's psychological well-being.

And then we also have feeling isolated, for which the full phrasing is, "Feelings of detachment or estrangement from others." On the topic of Levi and relationships, Isayama is quoted as saying, "It’s likely because he is afraid of forming close relationships. Because he exists in a world where one can be eaten by a Titan at any time, he consistently avoids building 'family'-like connections with others." (x)

This manga panel is a good example of how Levi views himself as detached from others. Pay attention to the phrasing: "And I doubt normal people think about these things on a daily basis... So that means I'm abnormal... Probably because I've seen far too many abnormal things."

Criterion E: alterations in arousal and reactivity

With all of the above laid out, Criterion E becomes very easy to meet.

For irritability or aggression, this is one of Levi's known character flaws, borne as a result of his upbringing.

For risky or self-destructive behavior, we have clear instances of Levi engaging in battle to the detriment of his physical well-being.

For hypervigilance, the last manga panel I attached provides a good example of that.

For difficulty sleeping, Levi is famously an insomniac, often quoted as getting 2-4 hours of sleep a night.

Criterions F, G, and H: duration, functional significance, and exclusion

Have the duration of Levi's symptoms been greater than one month? Yes.

Do the symptoms result in distress or functional impairment? Yes.

Are the symptoms more attributable to the physiological effects of a substance or another medical condition? No.

Thus, Criterions F, G, and H are met.

Citations

American Psychiatric Association. (2022). Trauma- and stressor-related disorders. In Diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders (5th ed., text rev.).

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman #medium: anime/manga #anime: snk #c: levi ackerman #my thoughts #snk meta #I wrote this instead of doing my grad school work #goodness poor Levi #He suffers so much

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mylackoffaith · 5 months

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Dragon's Dreamer - Part II

Summary: Daemon does not like Hightowers. Especially the perfect little hightower bastard girl, who was sleeping in his bed.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x modern!reader word count:1497 words

Daemon always believed the Hightowers were the epitome of dullness and arrogance, parading around as if they owned the Seven Kingdoms with their highborn noses reaching the heavens. The memory of the day he encountered the insufferable cunt—right after the death of his father, Baelon—still lingers vividly in his mind.

The day had been gloomy, the kind that matched Daemon's foul mood on the occasion of his father's funeral. The cunt had been going around, collecting congratulations for his new position as the Hand, and offering condolences with the same fake smile.

Daemon's patience, already as short as a summer night in the North, reached its breaking point. Frustration brewed within him like wildfire, and in a fit of dragon-worthy impulse, he decided it was time to put an end to the Hightower's act.

So, with the grace of a storm, Daemon did what any Targaryen worth his dragon would – he took Otto down, fists descending on the cunt's face.

His grandsire had been furious, as had been Viserys, but Daemon wore his rebellious spirit like armor. The scuffle became the talk of King's Landing, whispered in the shadows and shared over goblets of Arbor Gold in the Red Keep. Otto Hightower, the lofty Hand of the King, humbled by the Rogue Prince in a brawl.

The twit strutted around the Red Keep sporting a black eye like a badge of honor, and Daemon? Well, he earned himself a new moniker—The Rogue Prince. And that marked the beginning of the brewing feud between Daemon and Otto.

The feud continued, each encounter turning into a play. Daemon, with his smirk as sharp as Valyrian steel, takes a certain pleasure in needling Otto.

To this day, Daemon has no idea what his aunt Viserra had seen in the Hightower prick to bed him, but he figured it must have been some twisted sense of humor.

Now that he thinks about it, his aunt was fond of charity. Perhaps, in her charitable moments, she thought the Hightowers needed a dash of Targaryen blood to liven up their dull, highborn lives.

That charitable act resulted in the birth of the eldest daughter of Otto Hightower, a bastard by name but cherished enough by Jaehaerys, Alysanne, and Viserys to be deemed trueborn. So much that the Hightower girl, while in Viserra's womb, was gifted a dragon egg from his grandsire.

Her arrival, however, bore a bitter sweetness. On the very day this Hightower girl opened her lilac eyes to the world, the realm mourned the loss of Daemon's beloved aunt, Viserra.

The girl's motherless fate left an ache in the hearts of the Targaryens, but Alysanne and Jaehaerys, in their grief, found solace in the babe with ginger locks and white streaks.

It had stung when there had been no celebrations for Daemon claiming Caraxes, but when the girl's egg hatched in her cradle, the old King and Viserys didn't put her down for days on end. The small room echoed with the laughter of a king and the coos of an infant dragon.

Daemon, still young, didn't quite warm up to the girl. In fact, he harbored a dislike for her. She seemed to steal away the attention that was once solely his.

Before her, Daemon was the youngest Targaryen, the darling of the family, and now, this Hightower girl had shifted the spotlight. It wasn't just his favourite aunt Viserra he lost; it was the undivided focus of everyone around him.

Days melted into nights, and the halls of the Red Keep echoed with the laughter of a king and the coos of a dragon-blessed child. While Daemon brooded over the lack of attention, the little Hightower girl grew up under the watchful eyes of her Targaryen kin.

Jaehaerys, in his grandfatherly pride, declared her the "realm's jewel" when presenting her to the people of King's Landing. But for Daemon, she remained a constant reminder of what he was compelled to share—his place in the sun, his family's gaze, and the undivided attention he once claimed as his birthright.

Pious and pretty, she was the ideal princess of the Red Keep, a vision that Jaehaerys delighted in showcasing. To the people, she became a prized possession, a radiant gem adding luster to the Targaryen legacy.

Yet, for Daemon, her brilliance cast shadows over his own accomplishments, leaving them diminished in the face of her grace.

Whenever Daemon voiced his discontent to Viserys, his brother's response was a dismissive eye-roll, steadfastly aligning with the girl. Daemon found himself pitted against the perfection she effortlessly embodied, his protests falling on deaf ears.

To make it worst, Caraxes, Daemon's dragon, seemed infatuated with the girl's dragon, Stormsong—a stunning, pure white dragoness with hints of pale blue that could steal anyone's breath. Painfully, Daemon found himself conflicted, for, despite the rivalry, he couldn't deny the beauty of Stormsong.

It was downright comical how Caraxes would gallantly soar across the skies, hunting for prey like a knight on a quest, all to lay the spoils at Stormsong's feet.

The absurdity reached its peak when Stormsong, regal and nonchalant, would casually accept Caraxes' offerings. No grand displays of gratitude—just a quick nibble, a dismissive flutter of her massive wings, and a return to her stoic disinterest. Caraxes, the poor love-struck fool, was stuck in a loop of hunting, presenting, and being ignored.

"She's just one dragon, Caraxes, not the damn Queen of Love and Beauty." Daemon had tried to convince his blood wyrm.

Caraxes rumbled in disagreement, his gaze never wavering from Stormsong, who was being groomed and licked by her mother, Dreamfyre. Stormsong was a dragon version of the little Hightower, if there ever was one.

The peace was short-lived as Stormsong grumbled at her mother, pulling away. With a soft thrill, the dragoness took flight, her wings cutting through the air with grace that made even Daemon paused momentarily.

But he quickly shook off his distraction, turning to confront his blood wyrm. "Do not even think of—" Daemon's words were abruptly silenced as Caraxes took flight in pursuit after Stormsong.

Caraxes was nothing if not determined. It was embarassing to see his dragon reduced to one of those pitiful lovers in those books Aemma reads.

Everything in Daemon's life was affected by the girl. A constant thorn in his side. The Hightower girl, despite being a bastard by name, had the uncanny ability to steal the limelight.

Stumbling in after a night of indulgence in the finest wines, Daemon was greeted by a scene that would make even the most seasoned warrior question reality. There she was, the little Hightower, lying in his bed like she owned the place, completely in the nude.

Daemon, not one to be easily flustered, blinked a couple of times, wondering if the wine had played a trick on him. But no, there she remained, sprawled across his bed in all her ginger-haired glory, softly snoring like a dragon who'd had a few too many sheep for dinner.

A mix of confusion, irritation, and a hint of amusement flickered across Daemon's face as he surveyed the unexpected guest. Can he have one day where this girl doesn't create havoc in his life? Apparently not."

"Did you lose your way to the sept and mistakenly wander into a dragon's lair?" he quipped, his tone a blend of sarcasm and genuine curiosity. The girl remained blissfully oblivious, undisturbed by the chaos her mere presence was causing.

Daemon considered waking her with a nudge or a shout, but something stopped him. Perhaps it was the absurdity of the situation or the wine still coursing through his veins, but he found himself oddly captivated by the sight of the girl in his bed.

Just for tonight. He can deal with her for one night.

taglist: @justaproudslytherpuff @naty-1001 @juskonutoh @ammo23 @beebeechaos @fabimaou @w3ird11 @pet1t3 @moongirl27

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smolmousepotato · 3 months

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Fluff, dreamcore?, Jing Yuan x reader, cringe yeh

(Music for sum good mood if you'd like)

————☆————

"I know you, I've walked with you once upon a dream..."

"I know you, that look in your eyes is so familliar a gleam"

The melody of dreams sings its song of ardor the moment their eyes meet. The feeling of having met one another somewhere brought a fleeting sense of déjà vu to strike their hearts. And their memories roam.

A prince whose hair was the color of white with a tint of ash, and a nameless whose mysteriousness entices everyone she meets. His golden gaze met hers and his soul was already lost in them.

It drove him to step forth, take her hand, and guide her into a dance of newfound thrives to life. The gentle sways and hurls soon led to a stop, where he caressed her cheek with wonders in his eyes.

Her identity, masked by the masquerade mask that contributed one to many of the others who were there on that summer's night. He couldn't track down who she was nor admire her beauty to the fullest.

He could only hold her briefly as they glided across the dancefloor under the many gazes of the nobles there. His loss, he considered.

But the moment of the present that has them both engulfed in, is the absolute, pure bliss that he felt, be it he knew her or he did not. He can see her now, in her truest self in this reality.

The reality where he's a general, and she's a visitor.

Xianzhou Luofu.

"General Jing Yuan," he can hear her clearly and can sculpt that figure into the back of his mind, "I... thought I had met you somewhere."

"Perhaps." Quietly, he responds. Indeed, she is just as breathtaking as she was in his dream. What a pleasant day this has become.

But his calm demeanor never wavered throughout their exchange. He maintained a professional and formal façade in front of the nameless from his dream. A difficult one to keep up.

And so he risks it, with an offer for a stroll around town. He doesn't expect her to agree.

However, with a nod, she shocked him greatly. With a smile that speaks up his joy, he offers her his hand.

"Shall we?"

The cool breeze of the evening softly touches and runs through his hair as they walk side-by-side. With each step, his burden drops gradually until it's reduced to none. It's almost a blessing for him to have this much tranquility once in a while. He looks down at her, who seems to be staring.

"I can see," he chuckles, "you're enjoying the nightly view of the Exalting Sanctum... or?"

"It's excellent... the view... but it's also statuesque, the center of it..." Her eyes squint a little, like an artist when they depict the basic shape of objects.

"Is it?" He laughs, "I never thought someone would rate the 'center' of a mere image of the Exalting Sanctum so highly."

"Really? Now there is," she mumbles, "start believing then."

He only chuckles. A low rumbling of relief and a refreshed mind, free from the shackles of responsibility that tied a general to his place.

"I know you," he starts humming a melody from the dreams, the unknown reverie where he first met her, "I've walked with you once upon a dream."

The deafening silence that follows churns up a feeling akin to anxiety; a little void in his heart.

"I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam."

He is surprised by a fleeting moment before a genuine smile blooms on his lips. She recognizes him, the prince from her dream.

Reality feels like a reverie, now that they meet and end up staring.

"And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem"

For it's almost fictitious, meeting the one whom you fell for from your dreams. Hand in hand, they almost danced. The glint in his eyes speaks drunkenness, and she finds the shade of golden there almost divine.

"But if I know you, I know what you'll do"

She's almost breathless, the way his gaze takes her breath away. The cool breeze and the scenarios aren't as beautiful as she once observed them, but the man before her...

"You'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream"

He takes her breath, and her soul away, with just a gaze and a fleeting moment of a kiss.

The wholesome feeling of a pleasant dream come true is something to be appreciated, especially one that brings two souls together.

#jing yuan #general jing yuan #honkai star rail #jing yuan x reader #fluff #dream #disney #sleeping beauty #hsr #jing yuan honkai star rail #jing yuan hsr #Spotify #fyp

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gatheringbones · 7 months

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[“Many psychodynamic therapists understand that they must work with how their patients’ pasts play out in the present. In this way they attempt to help them secure a better, healthier, more focused, effective, and vibrant future. However, without a working understanding of how trauma becomes inscribed as memory imprints in body, brain, and mind, as well as in psyche and soul, the healer is sure to lose his or her way in the labyrinth of cause and effect. For effective therapy, it is critical to appreciate just how trauma becomes riveted in the body’s instinctive reactions to perceived threat; how it becomes fixated in certain emotions, particularly those of fear, terror, and rage, as well as in habitual affective mood states such as depression, bipolarity, and loss of vital energy; and finally, how it plays out in various self-destructive and repetitive behaviors.

Without a firm grasp of the multidimensional structure of traumatic memory as it is stored in the brain and held in the body, the therapist is often left floundering in the swamplands of ambiguity and uncertainty. Indeed, misconceptions about so-called recovered memories have caused much unnecessary pain and suffering for patients and for their families, while also creating confusion and self-doubt for the therapists who treat them.

Perhaps more than we might wish to admit, many therapists are influenced by common misconceptions about the nature of memory. Traditionally, both academic and clinical psychologists have tended to study what has been called “verbally accessible memory.” This “declarative” form of memory is called upon and rewarded in elementary, middle, and high school, as well as in undergraduate and graduate studies. No small wonder then that psychologists and psychotherapists, as products of academia, tend to reflexively identify with this particular kind of conscious memory. However, conscious, explicit memory is only the proverbial tip of a very deep and mighty iceberg. It barely hints at the submerged strata of primal implicit experience that moves and motivates us in ways that the conscious mind can only begin to imagine. But imagine we should, and understand we must, if we are to work effectively and wisely with trauma and its memory traces in both mind and body.”]

peter levine, from trauma and memory: brain and body in a search for a living past, 2015

#peter levine #brainspace #currently reading

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vinciwolf · 1 year

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Loyalty Pt 5 (1/2)

(Recom)Na’vi!Miles Quaritch x (fem)Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: SLOW BURN, THIS IS AN EVENTUAL NSFT SERIES, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, capture, romance, reader is female

Warnings for this chapter: LIGHT SMUT, alcohol, drunk reader/Prager, suggestive themes, tension, angst, some violence, fluff

Notes: Na’vi is spoken in italics, but inner thoughts are also in italics.

Tags: @deliwrites @ikranwings @lovekeeho @luciddasher @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @avatar-lover @justasimps-blog @mechformers @perseny @dakotali @ragingloser

“These shot glasses are too fucking small!” Prager shouted over the obnoxious thumping of music filling the room where the Recoms celebrated getting their Banshees.

Lyle took up a whole table as he danced in hand with the biggest bottle of whiskey he could find as Z-dog and Walker arm wrestled, throwing back shots for each loss they got as the rest cheered and hollered around them. The only reason why the Colonel was present was to make sure nobody gave Spider alcohol, but something else weighed heavy on his mind.

Making tsaheylu with his Ikran had him feeling…differently…about the world around him. It was strange how none of the others seemed to be bothered. They took it in stride. Just another perk of being half Na’vi – able to control something like a Banshee. But Miles didn’t think of it as control. More like, how did you put it, a bond? Even though Cupcake resisted being forced to let the Colonel into her mind, like she could feel the evil within him, she only stopped when she felt something split. Miles was shifted by her. He felt a piece of himself, or his old self, chip off.

You were sheltered behind a dividing wall that jutted out in the corner, hiding away from the Colonel and the rest of the rowdiness, nursing a tiny cup of God knows what to get drunk. You needed this. At this point, your whole mood was sour from what happened to you in the cave with Miles. Those memories of his hand at your breast got you bursting with jitters, craving something to get your mind off of it – something to forget about the whole fucking thing. That was when you spotted a tipsy Prager laughing with Ja. Perhaps it was the liquid courage guiding your senses when you peeled yourself off the wall. He looked perfect in your haze, making you giddy as you finally found a reasonable distraction.

The hallway in the Recombinant barracks was graciously isolated as you were pushed into the frigid metal. Your breath got caught when the hot mouth at your neck drew a wet line down your jugular, causing you to rub a knee up the Marine’s side.

It was funny how you caught yourself up with the same guy you held at knife point months ago, allowing his tongue to poke and salivate into the cavern of your mouth, not with much of a rhythm, but at least it made your legs feel weak and head light. You were chasing the high of being fucked good, long, and hard, maybe even adorning some bruising in the process, but when flashes of Miles entering your vision wouldn’t leave you alone, everything about this moment crumbled. The heat, the sweat, the idea of sex with this Recom seemed so gross.

Prager's moist hand went up your shirt and squeezed your breast a little too roughly causing you to wince. After struggling to find a steady grip on your body, he rutted uneventfully at your hip trying to get his own traction. It was a slack and poor attempt at lovemaking, the poor fellow. Then the kisses stopped feeling good and soon had you bored and somewhat disappointed. You really wanted something to destress yourself and bide some pleasure in this hellscape, but of course, pushing off the breathy drunk, you left for your room crabby and unsatisfied.

When you got into your room, you fell down on top your bed with an unhappy groan, feeling a headache forming. With a deep sigh, you wrapped yourself up like a burrito and fell asleep.

Dreams were funny. They could be an escape. Or they could hold you hostage.

You were with Jake and Neytiri hunting a Hexapede. Prowling behind the trees, you carefully placed your feet as to not make a sound, until a wave a nausea hit you out of nowhere, causing you let out a plea for help. That had Jake running to your aid.

"Is it happening again?" his voice was etched with concern.

The soul transfer hadn’t happened yet. You knew your human body in the avatar link was suffering as you could feel the strain, the pull of your mind back to your other self. Your consciousness was getting weaker by the moment causing you to collapse into the mud, limbs bouncing from the force. It wasn't fair. It wasn't your fault that you had a shitty body that mutated its cells to kill you slowly.

"I don't wanna die!" you whimpered as tears blurring your vision.

Jake took your hand and squeezed it, comforting you that you'd be ok. But you knew he was lying. Everybody was lying. Mo'at, in this dream, told you she wouldn't do the soul transfer and that you'd be better off dying. Max and Norm didn't seem to care. Neytiri was gone. Jake disappeared. Now you were on the forest floor with the collar on your neck, but something was different. You examined your limbs and noticed you were attached to the ground with orange cuffs, the same ones used by the Recoms to hold you hostage. Hands shook violently in the moment you started yelling for help to find that nobody was coming.

Spider wouldn’t survive without you! He was just a baby!

Help! PLEASE HELP!

The moss and dirt crawled over your limbs as you were forcefully sucked under the mud before your eyes finally opened, body flailing hard when you fell out of bed and crashed loudly onto the floor, eyes streaming with a flood of tears. Your blankets wrapped around your bottom half uncomfortably causing a swell of anger to piss you off. Taking your rage out on the inanimate object, you yanked the material off your limbs, tail swatting while you stood up and chunked your sheets onto your bed.

The fluorescent lights winked above Miles as he walked the long halls to his lodging. He abandoned the party long ago, not seeing you anywhere and feeling a tinge of regret run through him. Maybe he went too far in the cave simply for his own enjoyment and curiosity. Coming upon your room, he paused his stride. His knuckles fell from where they would’ve rapped on the door before he raised them again, mouth agape, then relaxing both when he decided it was best to just head to bed.

As he was about to turn and walk off, he heard a muffled thump, making his hand quickly click the switch to your door to find you seething with your tail pointed straight up at the mangled pile of blankets atop your bed.

Your head immediately spun, ears tipped back annoyed, to where he stood. He was scanned by your burning stare making him face his palms toward you. That seemed to calm the tension in your body, then you were plopping yourself down on the floor, leaning against your bed.

“Rough night?” he put forward while taking a step into your room.

Well, it wasn’t really a room, but a small space with the basics: a bed. Ardmore eventually gifted you this privacy after the none-stop ear-full from the Colonel on how giving you a space would make you more compliant. It wasn’t a total lie, but enough to get her to budge and allow you a space for yourself instead of that dingy cell.

“Nightmare,” you stated indifferent.

Shit.

Then you followed up simply with, “I’m ok now. You can go.”

But he knew that you understood he wasn’t going anywhere when he bridged the distance and found a spot on the floor near you.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

Miles could tell that you were giving it some thought right before you sighed and crumbled.

"I... don't know if the human Miles knew this, but I was sick. I had cancer all over my body. Fucking figures—" you huffed at the irony "—a bright scientist given a choice: stay on Earth to get surgery to fix my ass AFTER the day Grace would leave, or go to Pandora knowing full well that my ticket was a one way. I'd die in cryo on my way home....”

“…when Grace was shot on our way out of Hell's Gate, the Omaticaya tried to help her. They were trying to transfer her soul to her avatar—" tears dotted themselves along the rim of your eyes as your voice cracked "—she didn't make it of course."

Miles listened intently, remembering how human Quaritch shot at Trudy’s gunship, apparently hitting Grace.

"When I saw her death, I saw mine. I was afraid. I hid my sickness for as long as I could before... before Jake found out that I was getting worse, so now... my body is rotting in the ground while I'm in here—" your finger curled in and pointed at your chest "—I couldn't sleep after that, knowing that my own self was dead and it made me unable to breath."

Miles was silent for a while as he gathered his thoughts. The memories of the cave played in his mind. Now he understood your hesitation to confess despite his vulgar interrogation tactics. This was a burden that haunted you, much like how his predecessor’s memories haunted him.

"You don't have to say anything," you murmured.

His heart fell. Verbally he was stunted, but physically…physically he could do something.

Finding your hand, he swept a thumb over your fingers causing you to flinch from the sudden touch in a second of distress, blinking slowly until the onslaught of relief wiggled into your bottom lip, a few of those dotted tears running down your cheeks.

"Could you… stay with me?"

Fixing your bed, Miles slid himself behind you under your blankets with an arm coming to drape over the bend of your waist. Seeing his hand so close to yours, breath at your neck, a content blush crawled over your cheeks. That night, after years of sleeplessness, you finally fell into a slumber that didn’t hurt you.

After that night, communication got easier. Even being around the Colonel felt more natural.

Your eyes even caught glimpses of him studying your form or glancing at your features whenever he thought you didn’t notice. Deep inside, he admitted to himself that he grew attached to you and the kid, just as much as you towards him. Your company was different and he thought it cute the way your tail would betray your outward attitude by swatting contently whenever he entered the room.

You also had noticed your collar irked the Recom to a small degree. His eyes would dart away from it if they travelled to it during conversation. Or he would stare at it intensely from across the briefing room.

Being closer to Miles wasn’t all too bad either because it allowed your fondness to reach forth at him like a clutch of tendrils trying to cling to him before they withered when he departed for other tasks, leaving your chest to bloom forth with distress as you yearned for the space beside you to be filled.

Studying Na’vi during downtime was also another way your heart was sated. After a while however, one by one the Recoms stopped showing up, taking little interest in the difficult language, settling for the basics or words for commands, but Miles was the only consistent one to show up. Soon, it was just him, disciplined and a good student. He wasn’t entirely fluent yet, but he was able to put together broken sentences faster than you had predicted.

“*Menari,” he said rigidly. (Na’vi for eyes)

“Me-na-rrri,” you rolled your tongue.

“That’s what I just said, ain’t it?”

Holding back a giggle, you corrected, “You’re saying menali instead of menari.”

“Nah-nah-ri—like comin’ out your nose or somethin’,” he joked.

You tipped your chin and smiled, a modest laugh erupting from your chest. After a while and like a toddler, Miles got bored and distracted easily, reminding you that this was the time to end the session for the day, but then he did something that had your eyes rounding. He pulled forward his braid and allowed for the pink tendrils to wiggle freely. Then a silly grin stretched across his face.

“Soooo…what would happen if we?”

“NOPE!” you yelled, standing up and leaving, a giant blush covering your nose and cheeks.

~a few days later~

Ardmore and the Colonel were discussing the next steps in their plan to find Jake as you held a firm stance in the shadows of the background. This made your blood flutter, arms crossed, behind the glowing map sprawled across the room. You knew things would eventually come to a head, but your mind always pushed away those bad thoughts.

All you wanted the most…was more time.

“There was a rogue ship that flew over the ocean—” Miles strut through the hologram of Pandora’s landscape “—we pinged its location until we lost it here, but given its direction—” his hand waved across the map “—this group of islands is where we think he’s hiding.”

“You think that a hunch is enough to convince me to send you to a group of islands where Sully could be anywhere, Colonel?” Ardmore beckoned at the countless islands spanning the oceanic map.

“If you give me ships and aircraft, I’ll bring you back his scalp.”

Your head perked up, ears curving forward attentively when you heard Miles’ choice of words. It had been a while since you saw that side of him, making it hard to not be nauseated when it was decided to go ahead with his plan to find your friend.

That was the day you left Bridgehead. The day you left home.

The rush of air vibrated over your ears as land merged into a vast oceanscape, a horizon endless and blue. You turned and beheld the forest one last time, its white cliffs falling off to the rocky waves below, dwindling slowly. The mountainous greenery screamed at you to turn back and stay.

Miles from afar caught your dejected state. This move was necessary for him to find his target, but when he saw the rise and fall of your chest, it made him feel a way that had him sink low. Then he glanced down to see Spider watching you too, sharing the same grief, eyes welling up, only for him to blink fast to stay focused.

Teeth locking firm, the Colonel’s eyes searched the pale distance for something to distract himself.

The thunderous crashing of waves filled your senses when your feet landed on the soft sand of the beachside, everyone hopping off their Ikrans to make a base while waiting for the arrival of Captain Scoresby and his ship. You stayed behind and away from the group, shielding yourself with Sylway while you tried to fill your nose with the calming sent of the salted breezed.

A moment later, while you weren’t looking, a few droplets of something wet sprinkled your face, making you flinch and close an eye from the sudden assault of seawater. Locating the source of this attack, you find Spider dashing away with a light giggle.

He got you, now you had to have revenge.

As the Recoms were focused on making camp, you and Spider treaded fast through the moist, thick sand – kicking up some particle behind you while dodging each other’s whips of water as you played in the waves.

Lyle caught your bodies running around and got annoyed. Eyebrows furrowed, some of the others took note of the chaos on the beach and stilled their movements.

“Hey! This isn’t a vacation!’

The Corporal approached fast with heavy steps through the deep sand.

“Sorry we—” you tried to apologize.

“Help us with the camp, dog, or you’re sleeping without a blanket tonight,” he announced.

You weren’t going to protest as you watched the backside of the Recom walking off, only for your eyes to round big when a wet slosh of damp sand was sent flying and hit his neck. He turned around slowly, rage filling his face as he glared at you.

In your defense, you weren’t lying when you pointed a finger at the kid and said, “He did it!”

Having enough, Lyles stormed forward, making you hop into a run as Spider took off beside you.

Miles pinched the bridge of his nose as the rest of his squad abandoned their tasks to follow quickly the screaming prisoner and the kid, while their friend cussed them out from behind. Not wanting Spider to get too seriously hurt by the nine-foot Marine of fury, he trailed with the group, noting how your figure dodged into the woods to safety.

The kid ducked when Lyle reached out, causing him to trip and slide into the wet sand as a wave crashed into his body. The squad burst with roars cheering on the wild child returning to the group triumphantly.

The Colonel’s mouth tugged up, feeling a swell of pride unfold inside his chest while witnessing the giant smile spread across the boy’s face, the Recoms patting him and giving their praises like he was one of their own. Then he turned his attention to the woods. Thinking about finding you through hunting your scent and tracks made his cock twitch.

Leaves and sand crunched under the weight of Miles’ careful footsteps. He observed the world around him and kept track of your prints left behind in a hurry. Then he stopped when the evidence of your run abruptly vanished. All traces of you were gone except for the lingering smell of the sweet soap you used on yourself this morning. Suddenly, a palm cupped his mouth, causing the Marine to go feral. He grabbed the hand’s wrist and twisted the owner in front of him, slamming them against the trunk of a large tree in a fearsome hold.

“If I had my stuff, you’d be beneath a blade,” you said coyishly, a hint of your fangs peeking through your shallow grin.

Tail upright and lashing about, Miles breathed hard, carved pecs rising and falling heavily below his tactical vest, but once he realized he held you of all people, he relaxed and allowed your hands to fall to your side. You propped yourself against the tree he pushed you into, grunting at the rise of sudden pain from the harsh blow, mumbling how you ‘deserved that’ while in your state of brief distress. Then you saw how Miles took you in.

It was hard for him to tear his eyes away as he observed your current state, especially being that he was already hard. Your shoulders, chest, and neck were moist and glistening under the light, leaving a soaked trail of dampness to line the middle of your t-shirt between the two pebbles that marked your breasts under the fabric.

Not much was said verbally but body language was enough. You saw the tent below his beltline and you knew he could see your tits poking through the thin veil of your shirt. Leaning your head back onto the tall bark, the lines of your neck exposed themselves just begging to be covered with the Marine’s hot tongue despite the collar ever present. But to your surprise, he didn’t lunge, he didn’t bite your neck, he simply lifted an arm and held your chin with the knuckle of his index finger, the bed of his thumb brushing the roundness of your chin gently. His eyes were deliberate and studied your face. It was like you two were transported back to that first meeting in the forest clearing near the Old Shack.

Your eyelids shut as you absorbed the Colonel’s touch. In some way, you were thankful he didn’t lunge. This was kinder.

Miles shifted his focus from your eye, to your nose, to your plush lips, the line of your mouth separated only by a hair’s width. They looked soft and tempting. He wanted to taste you.

Oh, he wanted to taste you everywhere.

But this was dangerous territory. He knew better.

The heartbeat in your chest picked up when you felt his large hands cup your face and heard the shift in bodyweight on the leaves below. He was closer. The breath that blew into your face had your cheeks feeling hot. But nothing would come. Nothing would sate the desire that hung between these two bodies in the quiet forest as the hands on your face promptly pulled away with footsteps shuffling quickly.

Heart twisting, you opened your eyes to an empty space.

The midnight sky was speckled with white dots of light, like someone had poked holes through the floor of heaven. Relaxed in his cot by the crackling fire encircled by his squad who slept nearby, Miles eyes wandered the constellations. There was a strange calm that settled inside him. He for once didn’t feel like the mighty Colonel Miles Quaritch he had met in the recording what felt like forever ago.

Detaching his eyes from the darkness, he peered over to stare at Spider. He would like to say ‘son,’ but that… wouldn’t sound right. Was he his son? They weren’t even the same, but he couldn’t admit to himself fully yet that he wanted to be someone more to the kid.

How the boy slept comfortably with the exomask boggled the Colonel, but through the clear screen reflecting the dancing flames, he saw a child - still innocent but sad. A responsibility that the human Quaritch abandoned, not even thinking about how if he lost the war on the Tree of Souls, the infants born at Hell's Gate couldn't be sent back to Earth.

Then his gaze landed on your empty bedroll. You were always sneaking off. Perhaps it allowed you a breather. Thinking it best to find you, he got up. Soon enough, as the campfire became a miniscule speck in the darkness on the beach, waves crashing softly at his side, his feet treading in the sand brought him to where you extended your arms with a pair of binoculars at your sights.

You understood the footsteps approaching belonged to Miles. The time spent together had you memorize the pattern he made, same with the rest of the squad, Z-dog being the easiest to pick out. That woman walked like a model, holy shit.

Fangs poking out as you smiled, you addressed the Recom, "It's a little blurry with these, but you can see Earth. So tiny and insignificant. Just a blue shimmer."

Miles never paid much attention to the sky, but somehow, every day he spent looking down at the human's giving him orders, and even when talking with his own, made him wonder how much people cared to look up.

"Why're you out here?"

Putting down the binoculars, your face held a passive grin. He noticed that you weren't distant, simply content, before that fell away.

"I... couldn't sleep," you muttered. "I think the only time I slept through the night was when—" you held your words, a part of you wanting to glance at him, but instead kept your eyes on the waves, Miles barely peeking into the corner of your vision "—you stayed."

The Marine ducked his chin away, adjusting his stance to align with the ocean, trying to come up with something snarky like he could with people who got on his nerves. But these nerves weren't the pissed off kind, no, they grabbed him quietly under his skin as his digits fingered the butt of his pistol. He hadn’t realized he was keeping his breath down before he slowly emptied himself, taking new air into his mouth.

"Thank you for that."

His ears straightened.

There it was.

There was the you he hated.

Giving a thank you when you should be lashing out, biting, ripping at anything thrown to you with fangs snapping at his hand.

But you never did.

You felt gratitude instead, and with that, caused his heart to ache.

He wanted you to hate him. He wanted so badly for you to shout at him that he was a monster. How could you treat him like this? With dignity... with kindness... after humiliating you.

It was difficult for him not to respect that about you. It also made it impossible for him to get you out of his head. But he already had his squad, a second chance at life, and the RDA. He was a Marine. He had everything, didn’t he? But why whenever you or Spider would slip away, he'd feel alone.

With eyes looking to the tiny light that gave his squad warmth in the distance, he wondered what he really had. Then he found himself observing your form again and the way your hair poured freely over your shoulders. Not wanting to be a coward any longer, he stepped closer to you.

Miles took note how your face lined with confusion as your body pivoted slightly at the shrinking proximity he created, to then fade away when you watched his eyes and saw that he was seeing you for the first time. The moonlight gave off a soft illumination to your face that had him wondering if the glowing freckles that patterned your face had always been this unique. Then his hand reached up with measured caution, almost asking you if this was ok.

Your lashes fluttered a tad, breath loose over your lips, as you refused to break the connection held with your gaze, a little frightened, but ready. Knuckles brushed the roundness of your features, cupping your cheek and caressing a thumb over your soft skin. Slowly, the Recom closed the gap and pressed his lips against your hairline for a moment, taking in your smell and the way you paused under him.

This gracious moment the Great Mother spared captured your soul and had your entire body set ablaze. Your mouth couldn’t form the words or thoughts of what to say, only realizing that you were at peace and wanted to remain right here for an eternity. Before long, Miles separated himself from your temple, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he rested the bridge of his nose along yours, eyes closed as he held you, not with hands, but with a wordless love that connected your brows.

With a soft smile pulling at your lips, you were finally at ease…

You were happy.

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