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rin-fukuroi · 4 months

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𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 [𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: Aventurine x dealer!fem!reader

Warnings: gambling, sexual tension.

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq I'm just starting my blog on Boosty, but I'll be glad if you support me with a subscription and read the full NSFW version of this work there. Soon there will be other works that will not be published on Tumblr.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. VIVIZ — MANIAC

You have long heard from other casino employees about a certain visitor, which comes here quite often, but you have never been lucky enough to meet him until today. The girls sighed languidly, referring to him as a handsome man, preparing to serve him the best drink, for which he would pay generously, and the men working in security only irritably noted that if he visited the institution today, they would only have more work. Then you didn't pay any attention to their words until one of the bar staff squealed with delight, energetically pointing at the blond man who entered the hall.

A dazzling smile, a light gait, but a sly look hidden behind gold glasses, gliding across the tables and the employees standing behind them before playfully sparkling violet-blue eyes rest on you. Your back straightens reflexively, and your fingers wrap around the back of your hand, and you nod in greeting when several men, led by a blond man, approach your poker table. You have been working in the field of gambling for several years, so you can easily notice expensive watches, chains and rings on his hands and a long earring in the ear of an elegant man in a hat, dressed in a black jacket with a fur collar, a turquoise shirt with a small but provocative neckline on the chest and white trousers with patent leather shoes. In total, all the clothes and trinkets of this person can be compared to the cost of your life. Winning will not matter to him, as losing will not greatly affect the quality of his life, which means he simply enjoys a sense of excitement and superiority, since, according to rumors, he plays very well.

«Well…»

— Oh? I haven't seen you before, — the blond man lowers his glasses on the bridge of his nose, smiling slyly at you as soon as you raise your head.

— I'm sorry, sir, today I'm serving you, because the dealer who is more familiar to you is ill, but I assure you, this will not affect the quality of the time spent in our institution in any way, — you kindly answer with a calm expression on your face, which causes the blonde to chuckle softly.

— How official! Relax, honey, — the man leans lower, slightly tilting his head to one side, carefully watching how the expression on your face changes to a more tense one. — It's a pity that… Oh, what was her name? — the blonde pulls away, thinking for a second, trying to remember the name of your colleague, but in the end only sighs briefly, spreading his hands. — It doesn't matter. You've been brought up to date, that we're going to need a separate room, haven't you?

— Yes, sir. Please follow me.

An unpleasant person. It was clear from afar that it was better to stay as far away from him as possible. These vibes of nauseating self-confidence and narcissism definitely don't bode well, but you still humbly do your duty, pulling on a smile and letting the guests into the VIP-room. Usually this room is rented by companies of influential people whose names are so well known to everyone that such guests don't even bother to introduce themselves, because you always know who they are, but these men… You're seeing them for the first time.

Anyway, a job is a job.

— Have a seat, dear guests. Would you like to see the bar menu?

Men in suits silently take their seats, and only an energetic blonde immediately responds to the sound of your voice, standing in front of the last empty chair.

— We'll order the same as usual,— the stranger says sweetly, spreading into a frighteningly sweet smile that sends chills down my spine.

— I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't know…

— Oh, how could I forget! — the blond man clasps his hands in a gesture of apology. — Whiskey on the rocks.

His theatricality is a little annoying, but that's none of your business.

— As you wish, sir.

The female silhouette peeking out from behind the slightly open door and instantly disappearing after the blonde's words only made your task easier, allowing you not to even leave the room. It seems that this man is really very popular among girls, which, in principle, isn't surprising. A pretty face, a thick purse and a sugary voice, like a demeanor, are the pillars that support the classic image of a heartthrob in the eyes of any woman. It would be fascinating if you hadn't met such people before. This place is teeming with both men and women, sometimes even reasonably believing that the whole world belongs to them. Perhaps you would have bought into his charisma too, if you were as frivolous as a bar employee rushing into a room no more than five minutes after the order was placed.

— Thank you, dear. As always, you help out, otherwise my friends seem to be out of sorts today, — the blond man chuckles melodiously, looking at the other five guests. You can almost see in their stern looks the desire to strangle this talkative flatterer, and you can't help but chuckle to yourself.

— Anything for our beloved visitor! Have a nice game, — your friend blushes, smiling shyly before leaving the room, barely restraining a satisfied squeak.

You modestly clear your throat, drawing the attention of everyone at the table to yourself.

— Well, gentlemen, shall we begin?

You leave the button* in front of the blond man sitting first on your left hand. Early* is the most unfavorable position to start the game, but he should have known about it when he sat down here, or is it just an accident?

After the preflop*, while you were deftly shuffling the deck in your hands, someone had already started emptying their glass of whiskey, someone took out a pair of fragrant chocolate cigars. The blonde just watched carefully how skillfully you dealt the cards, not missing a single movement of your fingers. For a second, you even doubted that he didn't trust the new dealer, but every time you dared to look at him, his lips stretched into an even more sugary smile, and his eyes always found yours. Is he trying to get you into the same emotions as the silly waitresses? You wonder how soon he'll lose interest in your indifferent face?

The game went on quite calmly until three people remained at the table, including a smiling blond man.

— Ace of hearts, two of spades, jack of hearts, ten of clubs, two of hearts. The bets are made, you can open, — you say in a monotone voice, glancing at the cards on the table that turn over one by one.

«Street? Not bad…» — you stop looking at the blond's cards before you hear a thud on the table. After looking at the other hands it became clear that there is nothing on the table stronger than two pairs.

— Oh, don't get mad! We've just started, — the blond man raises his hands in an innocent gesture, chuckling softly, it seems, making the man opposite even angrier.

It seems that now you understand a little what the casino guards were so unhappy about, but the more games passed, the more sad the blonde's position became. The empty glasses were hastily replaced with newly filled ones with a new portion of whiskey, and the concentration of smoke in the small room became more and more suffocating, it seems, only exposing the undisguised glee of the men at the table, allowing themselves to mock the blonde, who was catastrophically unlucky today. A flush* against a royal flush, a pair against a square* and, in the end, his hand could only boast of the highest card*. What a disappointment.

— Here, order yourself one more whiskey, — one of the departing men casually tossed a couple of chips in front of the blond man sprawled on a chair, grinning hoarsely before staggering slightly out of the room after the other four, whose loud voices disappeared into the noise of the casino outside the door.

— Sure, — the man who remained at the table smiled gently at the departing acquaintance before taking a sip from his glass.

You wanted to say something, maybe even encourage him, but it's not your way to mind your own business, so you just silently gathered the cards from the table, about to ask the guest to leave the room, when suddenly he spoke first.

— That's not what you expected, is it? — you turn to the blond man, who is resting his head on his own palm. The same strange smile is still playing on his lips, even despite how much money he left at this institution today. He's really weird.

— I don't know what you mean. I don't know how you play, so I couldn't even try to predict the outcome of the game.

— Come on. You know how I play. That girl from the bar told you about me, didn't she?

Annoy.

— Even so, I'm not used to trust rumors, — you reply indifferently, carefully putting the cards back in the box.

— In that case, now you can conclude that I'm a lousy player? Oh, that would be unfortunate, because everyone has unlucky days.

— I don't think it's about luck, — you wanted to say that someone should just drink less and make less risky bets, but you restrained yourself, maintaining professionalism.

— Ho-oh? Then what is it? — the blond man perked up even more, waiting curiously for your answer.

— It is not appropriate for me to give advice to visitors, because my earnings, among other things, depend on them.

— That's how it is! So I was wrong when I decided that you weren't like the other girls looking at my wallet?

— It turns out that it is. But I'm looking at the wallets of every potentially profitable player for me, — you shrug your shoulders. — And now, if you'll excuse me, you should leave the room, since the game is over.

— How pragmatic, you remind me of someone I know, — the blond man, as if he hadn't heard your last words, gets up from his chair, coming closer. — So you don't believe in luck, huh?

The man leans slightly forward, looking into your eyes from under the half-lowered glasses on the bridge of his nose. The expensive sweet fragrance of the perfume instantly cuts into your nostrils, and you take a small step back.

— It's absurdly to rely only on luck in poker. That's all I wanted to say.

— Hm-m … — the blond man pretends to think. — You're right. Then what about roulette?

— Even roulette has its own patterns, but if we don't go into details, of course, this game revolves exclusively around chance.

— Great! Then can we play? — the man turns towards the roulette table, which has apparently not been used for a long time, in the corner of the room.

— I'm afraid my shift is already over… — you frown, even before you finish, he interrupts you.

— Oh, I was so catastrophically unlucky today that I just want to win back at least another game, otherwise I won't be able to sleep peacefully tonight… Are you really that heartless?

— You can use the services of a croupier and play roulette in the hall.

— It would be sad, because I already liked you, — the blonde smiles, looking into your eyes again.

— If you're trying to flirt with me like that, then I'm in a hurry to upset you — it won't work, — you reply irritably, about to leave, when suddenly a weak grip on your wrist stops you.

— I'm sad to hear that, but what if I make a bet?

You turn around, batting your eyelashes in puzzlement when you meet the sharp gaze of a man's violet-blue eyes.

— You can't play roulette without betting, what's the point of all this?

— Let's say… if my bet plays out, you owe me a kiss, what do you say?

You almost boil with anger, looking at this personification of self-confidence standing in front of you.

— I'm not going to play your games, let go of my hand.

The attempt to pull back your hand was unsuccessful, on the contrary, only forcing the blond to pull you closer.

— It seems that luck isn't on my side today, so if I lose, I'll just leave.

The desire to just slap him in the face is almost impossible to ignore, but you wouldn't be working here if you weren't a gambling person too. Your lips stretch into an arrogant smile as you approach the blond man's face, slightly squinting your eyes.

— In that case, on what number* will you put it on?

The blond man's eyebrows rise, after which a ringing laugh is heard in the room.

— I knew you could entertain me! — the man lets go of your hand, but does not take a step away from you before saying softly. — I'm betting on zero.

«He's crazy!»

You almost laughed at how crazy his bet turned out to be, but it sounds like he's already agreed to leave you alone, so you just smiled, silently retreating to the corner of the dimly lit room. The table has indeed not been used for a long time, having already become covered with a layer of dust, but you take a small ball, gently rolling it in your hand before turning towards the blond man who remains standing at the poker table. He doesn't seem to care at all that he's going to lose now, and the smile doesn't leave his face for a second. It will be all the sweeter to see how the expression on his face will change when he loses.

— Your bet is accepted, — you say loudly before spinning the roulette wheel by throwing a ball at it.

The man doesn't even look at the spinning roulette wheel, instead watching your eyes follow the ball as it slides across the sectors.

12, 35, 3, 26, and finally….

— It can't be… — you whisper, eyes wide open and just looking at how the ball stopped at zero.

— Ho-oh? What's is it? Judging by your reaction, did I win? — the blond man grins, slowly removing his hat from his head and leaving the hat on the edge of the poker table.

This can't be happening. Betting on numbers is always a huge risk, because the chance that the ball will stop at the chosen one is incredibly small. Was he… really just lucky?

You purse your lips, summoning all the self-control you have to turn to the man with an indifferent expression on your face.

— That's right, congratulations on winning, sir.

— M-m… it's not just a win, you remember the conditions, right? — the blond man says playfully, slowly walking towards you, until finally he towers over you, elegantly ripping the glasses off his face.

«This jerk has probably been rehearsing this for years…»

— I didn't have to accept such bets at all, — you mutter irritably.

— I understand your disappointment, but still, you accepted it. Be kind enough to hand me my prize, — you look into the extraordinarily beautiful eyes of a man, trying your best to deny how really attractive he looks without glasses and a hat.

— Ahem… okay. But can I at least get your name? I wouldn't want to kiss a complete stranger.

— Huh? So you don't know who I am? How cute, — the blond man squints, breaking into a smile. — You can call me Aventurine. And you… — the man hooks the badge on your chest with the tip of his finger. — Y/N.

Where have all your old composure gone? They probably got lost somewhere in the midst of this madness, which for some reason you signed up for, following your own excitement. Self-confidence is just as much your enemy as Aventurine, only in this case he is elated with victory, and you are trying to collect your thoughts in order to fulfill the conditions of the game he started.

— Excuse me… — you mumble awkwardly before pressing your lips to the man's cheek, leaving as quick a kiss as possible to hastily turn away, hiding the blush that has appeared on your face.

— Hey! And what was that? — Aventurine says in disappointment, touching the place of your kiss with the tips of his black-gloved fingers.

— You asked for a kiss, but didn't specify which one, — you try to sound confident, but still mentally berate yourself for not being able to look into his eyes right now.

— Oh… — the blond man sighs heavily, pulling away and approaching the roulette table. — I'm not satisfied with such a victory. Let's do it again.

— Huh?! — you cry out indignantly, looking at the back of the impudent man rolling the ball around the zero sector. — I shouldn't be here at all, and neither should you!

— I'm betting on zero again.

You freeze, raising an eyebrow when you turn to Aventurine.

— You're going to lose.

— Maybe, — the man shrugs, turning to face you and leaning on the edge of the table. — But if the bet plays out again, you'll give me a real long kiss.

— I'm not going to waste my time on this madness. The chances of hitting zero a second time are so small that it's easier for you to just leave this room right now, since it's simply impossible to play this bet.

— Let it be so. You don't lose anything if you're so sure of my defeat, do you? Besides, didn't you say that you don't give advice to the players?

It annoys you how logical his words sound. But what's even more annoying is that you really doubt it. It's just not possible. You have to show this arrogant idiot his place.

— Okay, — and here you go back to the roulette table again. — But if you lose, you will never return to this casino again.

Aventurine's purple eyes widen before flashing a gambling spark.

— And you know how to make the game more interesting, — the man grins, picking up the ball from the table, carefully leaving it in your hand. — I agree.

This will be the craziest bet anyone has ever made in the entire existence of this casino. And it only fuels your interest too. You spin the wheel in anticipation by throwing the ball. Your heart is pounding in your chest, as if your own life is at stake. It's been a long time since you've experienced such adrenaline, no matter how absurd what's happening, because it's worth it to win…

— Ha-ha! It seems that today is really my day, — Aventurine grins as the ball slowly rolls and stops at sector zero. Again. — The money I lost in poker was worth spending all my luck on such a tempting prize.

Impossible. He just did the impossible. What were the chances? The mind is so devastated by shock that you can't even approximate the probability, just silently looking at the green sector in amazement.

— You're not… cheating, are you? — you're almost whispering, without opening your eyes from the little ball.

— What cruel accusations! How, tell me, could I cheat at roulette? — the man clicks his tongue in frustration, slowly wrapping his arm around your waist before pulling your body towards his. — If these are just assumptions without any evidence, I think it's time to start awarding the second prize.

The lips open, releasing a soft sigh into the air. You feel the warmth emanating from his body, the smell that his nauseatingly expensive clothes exude, and you feel his measured breathing on the skin of your face when Aventurine bends down, almost touching his lips to yours and freezes.

— I'll make it easier for you this time, — the blond whispers, letting his warm breath caress the delicate skin of your lips.

— What do you mean?.. — the only thing you managed to say right before Aventurine's lips covered yours.

Long fingers dive into your hair, forcing you to tilt your head back, and he deepens the kiss, insistently making his way with his tongue through your lips, which are not too resisting. A soft moan dissolves in Aventurine's mouth, and your fingers desperately cling to the fabric of the shirt on the man's chest, but still you respond to the kiss, allowing your tongue to stick out a little further, slowly waltzing in tandem with his. The shock was instantly replaced by a mixture of embarrassment and a flutter in his chest. It seemed that this kiss lasted forever, so harmonious, gentle, but passionate, as if you have known each other for so long that Aventurine doesn't need much effort to make you melt in his hands, which you allow to touch your body.

Lips gasp for air as soon as Aventurine pulls away, looking at your flushed, relaxed face, which isn't touched by the former cold indifference with which you looked at him all evening.

It's a strange feeling. From the very beginning, when you saw this man, the only thought that you would never in your life become infatuated with just his presence somewhere nearby was ingrained in your head, now fighting for supremacy with the unwillingness that he would let you go. You shouldn't give in to this.

You gently press on Aventurine's chest, shuddering as soon as you feel his warm skin under your fingertips, noticing that you touched this very seductive neckline.

— Is that all? I have to go… — you say softly, trying to get out of Aventurine's hands, but he's not even going to let go of your waist or your cheek, to which his palm is still pressed.

— Really? Well, then I won't hold you back, — the blond man grins, still continuing to prevent your imaginary escape.

— Then let me go. I gave away your winnings and I don't owe you anything else.

— Yes, you did, — the man whispers, gently stroking your cheek with a thumb in a leather glove.

You look at each other without saying a word and freeze like statues. The muffled sounds of slot machines, clinking glasses and laughter come from the hall outside the door, breaking the silence that hangs between the two of you, but you can't hear anything else except your own rapid heartbeat throbbing in your ears. A strange warmth spreads in your chest, gradually sinking down, and a heavy weakness settles in your legs, which doesn't allow you to move from your place.

«What are you doing, Y/N?», — you ask yourself one last time before you swear unintelligibly under your breath, grabbing Aventurine's shirt in order to involve the man in the kiss again. Greedy, careless, but you needed it. The blonde's palm shamelessly moves to your buttocks, covered with black trousers, gently squeezing the elastic flesh, and your fingers slowly slip under the neckline in the shape of an inverted heart, caressing the heated skin of Aventurine's chest.

— W-wait… — you suddenly break off the kiss, breathing heavily and looking at the purple irises covered with long eyelashes.

— What's is it? I won't complain that the dealer is harassing me if you're worried about it, — Aventurine grins, forcing the expression on your face to change to the old irritation.

— This is wrong. I don't have to…

— I don't care about the rules, — the man tilts his head to one side, smiling playfully. — I'm betting on black.

— What? — you ask discouraged, watching the man's fingers hastily undoing the buttons of your white shirt.

— If I win, now you'll be my prize, — Aventurine winks at you before opening the cotton fabric on your chest, noticing you are wearing a black lace bra. — Tsk-tsk, how unlucky you are today. I won again.

✧ ✧ ✧

The button is a special chip marked "D", transmitted clockwise and identifying the dealer (in this case, the dealer is an employee of the casino, so the button only determines who will bet first).

The early position is the player's place at the poker table, located immediately behind the dealer.

Preflop is the initial stage of the poker game, which includes the distribution of cards and the first bets, including blinds.

A straight is a combination of a sequence of five cards.

A hand is a combination of two cards in the player's hands.

A flash combination of five cards of the same suit.

Royal flush is the strongest combination of cards from 10 to ace of the same suit.

A pair is a combination of two cards of the same value (for example, two aces).

A square is a combination of five cards of the same value (for example, four aces).

The highest card is the card of the highest value of all lying on the table.

In roulette, it is possible to bet on one color, on even and odd numbers, and so on, including you can bet on a specific number, which is quite risky due to the reduced chances that such a bet will play, but the winnings from it are multiplied by 35.

#headcanons #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai:star rail #honkai:star rail x reader #hsr drabbles #aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #aventurine smut #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #hsr x you

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magiccath · 25 days

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TARDIS Tricks

Tenth Doctor/Reader (could be any Doctor if you squint)

Summary: In which the TARDIS pulls some matchmaking schemes

The last week had been exhausting. Life with the Doctor usually was, but this week was just a little too much for you. Not just you either, the Doctor was wiped out too.

He pushed the doors of the TARDIS open with a tired sigh, throwing his long brown coat over one of the numerous coral-like branches littered throughout the control room. Then, he made a b-line for his worn-out captain’s chair, slumping into it dramatically. His long, spindly legs stretched out in front of him, making him appear taller than he was - if that was even possible. The way he stretched was more than akin to the characteristics of the cats you had encountered.

You weren’t much more energetic about your entrance, throwing your coat next to his and moving to slump against the circular console.

“Can we please take a break from the running?”

“We haven’t been running that much,” he groaned, though you could tell he was thinking the same thing. He might have ‘superior Time Lord biology’, but he was clearly as tired as you were. Maybe there was a limit to the running he could do.

“Daleks, New New York, then that weird Bio-tech company, followed by the literal end of the universe, and wrap it all up with diamond rain on Saturn.”

“Suppose there has been a lot of running,” the Doctor grumbled again, admitting defeat. “How about a day or two of rest? Get some sleep and relax a bit?”

You nodded, glad he finally understood what you were trying to say. All you wanted was to sleep for at least 8 hours uninterrupted. Ideally, 12 hours.

“Don’t fall asleep in that chair,” you scold, noticing how he already appeared to be half asleep, “you’ll get back pain and then you’ll be insufferable. Go to bed, I know you have one somewhere.”

The Doctor grumbled, not bothering to form a full and coherent sentence. You kicked his leg, not hard enough to truly hurt him, just enough to get him out of the chair. He grumbled again and sat up in the chair, stretching his slender arms above his head.

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

He nodded, already looking slightly more alert. Slightly. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to fall asleep, you decided to head off to your bedroom.

You walked slowly down one of the numerous, winding halls of the TARDIS. You’d walked to your room hundreds, if not thousands, of times by now. You knew exactly where it was, and it wasn’t there. In the space where your door would normally be was… nothing. You tapped around the wall, wondering if perhaps the Doctor replaced your normal door with some kind of seamless door mechanism.

When the wall didn’t yield you let out a frustrated grunt, “What did you do?” you asked the TARDIS, resting your hands on the smooth surface of her walls. The wall was cold to the touch, colder than usual that is. Normally, you felt something when you touched her. The best way you could describe it was a presence. But, at the moment, you felt nothing.

Aggravated, you sulked your way back to the control room.

“Where is my room?” you glared at the Doctor, hands on your hips. Normally, you’d play along. Hide his Sonic Screwdriver or coat somewhere he couldn’t find it. This time, you were far too tired to humor him.

“What d’ya mean?” the Doctor frowned in confusion. “Did you get lost in the hallways again?”

“No, I know where my own room is and it’s not there!”

The Doctor’s frown deepened as he got up from his seat, brushing past you and into the hallway. He took long strides down the corridor, stopping in front of where your room normally was. He slipped his glasses out of his inner pocket, sliding the specs onto the bridge of his nose. His head tilted to the side as his hands ran over the smooth wall, examining the space with his characteristic curiosity.

“Did you do this?”

“What? No, why would I steal your room?” He peered over his shoulder, almost offended that you would suggest such a thing.

“You’ve done weirder things,” you argued, crossing your arms.

“Name one,” the Doctor challenged, mirroring your defensive stance.

“The time you put a pigeon in my shower,” you responded immediately, not needing time to think about weird things the Time Lord had done. It was one of the things you liked best about him, he was constantly strange. It made things fun, but it could also make things incredibly aggravating.

“He needed a bath. Have you met pigeons? They’re filthy.”

“Wash your pigeons in your own shower!”

“That's… that’s not the point here,” he mumbled, clearly deflecting the conversation. “Your room is missing.”

“I noticed,” you deadpanned, not looking away from him. “Can I have it back?”

“I told you, I didn’t take it.” The Doctor threw his hands up defensively.

“Rooms don’t just walk away,” you say, glaring at him. By now, your irritation was bordering on anger. All you wanted to do was fall into your soft bed and not leave until this exhaustion wore off, but you needed a bed to do that.

“Maybe the TARDIS sorted it away,” he shrugged. As if accentuating his point, the TARDIS let out a soft hum. You weren’t even sure it was real at first, maybe it was just the air conditioning kicking on.

“Did she just…?”

The Doctor nodded, confirming your theory that the TARDIS had responded to him. What reason did she have for storing your room away? You were about 98% sure that you still lived on the ship.

“Is this her way of kicking me out?” The TARDIS let out another hum, this one in clear disapproval. Not kicking you out, then.

You let out a small sigh of relief. You’d never admit it, but you had never felt more at home anywhere else in your life. Realistically, that wasn’t because of the TARDIS. It was the Doctor, he could make any place feel like home to you.

“Well then, can I have my room back please?” you asked the TARDIS

The corridor was silent. In fact, the whole ship was silent, if that was even possible.

Something you learned early on in your travels with the Doctor was that the TARDIS was the one really in charge. What she says goes. Always. It doesn’t matter if you were promised a beach vacation and ended up in the middle of winter in Victorian England. And it most certainly didn’t matter if you wanted a bedroom or not. She was a force to be reckoned with, and you respected that.

“I’ll sleep on the couch in the library, we can deal with this in the morning.” You decided it was easier to just let the TARDIS work through whatever tantrum or scheme she was cooking up. Sometimes when traveling with the Doctor it was better to just go with the flow - and that didn’t just apply to ship malfunctions or sleeping arrangements.

You trudged down the corridor, heading for the vast library. It really was an impressive library, even better than the one in Beauty and the Beast. Shelves lined the walls and extended up high for multiple stories. It was easy to get lost in the room because it was so large. Most of the time you just asked the TARDIS for directions if you needed a specific book. Mostly, you just used it as a calm and quiet place to take a break between your chaotic adventures with the Doctor.

Usually, there were at least three couches in the room at a time. Your favorite was a mustard yellow, not a particularly nice color (especially for a couch), but it was beyond comfortable. The issue was that the couch wasn’t there. Furthermore, there wasn’t any couch in the large room.

“Doctor!” you call out loudly, staring blankly at the space where there should be a couch. There were small circles on the wood where the legs of the couch would normally sit, leading you to assume that you weren’t going crazy. The TARDIS had stolen your room and now your favorite couch.

“What’s the issue now?” the Doctor grumbled, rubbing his face tiredly as he strode into the library. He came to a standstill next to you, staring at the empty floor with equal confusion.

“She got rid of the couch.”

“I can see that,” the Doctor said, his eyebrows raising in interest.

“I’m exhausted, I'm grumpy, and I just want to sleep,” you whisper urgently, almost on the verge of tears. It felt silly to be upset over such a small thing, but you were beyond tired. Your brain was functioning on sheer willpower and that was quickly running out.

“I know, I know,” the Doctor whispered sympathetically, gently lifting your face up to look at him. “Look, you can sleep in my room. She hasn’t taken that.”

“That's where you sleep,” you point out, trying not to show how flustered the endearing touch had made you.

“Normally, yes,” the Doctor smiled slightly, finding your response slightly comical. “It’s a nice bed, though I’m not sure it would matter much to you either way at this point.”

“Where would you sleep?” You frown, knowing that he needs the sleep just as much as you do, even if he would never admit it.

“I don’t need to-” he started but cut off once he saw your glare. “I can sleep in the console room, that chair isn’t really that bad,” he amended.

“You’ll hurt your back, I already told you not to fall asleep there.”

“It’s not like we have any other options,” the Doctor shrugged. It wasn’t that big of a deal to him. He would do anything for you, sleeping on a chair that hurt his back was nothing in comparison.

“I’m not letting you sleep in the chair,” you insisted, crossing your arms defensively. “I’ll sleep in the chair.”

“No one is sleeping in the chair!” the Doctor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“I could just sleep on the floor, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“No, I’m not letting you do that,” he said seriously.

“What do you propose then?”

“Well… we could…” the Doctor trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. By now, you knew it as one of his many nervous tics. “We could share the bed,” he finally said, his eyes glued to the floor.

“Share your bed?”

The Doctor nodded, still not fully looking at you. At this point, you were too tired to question it, or even really think about it.

“Can we even do that? Are you ok with that?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t. As you’re comfortable with it,” he said back, his tone only slightly less panicked. He wasn’t even sure when the last time he shared a bed was.

“Alright,” you whisper with a slight blush.

“I’ve never seen your room,” you add after a few seconds.

“You haven’t?”

You shake your head, “it could be a torture dungeon for all I know.”

“It’s- it’s not-” he struggled before realizing you were joking. “It’s a normal bedroom,” he whispered, already walking out of the library.

You smile to yourself and follow him down the hall, the only sound the soft tap of your footsteps. His room wasn’t far from where yours would normally be, just a few turns down the hall and to the left. The door was the same blue as the TARDIS, almost identical to the front doors of the ship.

The Doctor opened the door and slipped inside, leaving it ajar so you could follow.

Whatever you had expected when it came to the Doctor’s room, it wasn’t this. Almost every square inch of the place was covered with things. Gadgets and gizmos, rocks, keys, books, alien-looking things, and-

“Is that Starry Night?” you frown, looking at a framed picture leaning against a corner.

“Oh, yeah, Vincent gave that to me,” the Doctor shrugged like he didn’t have one of the most recognizable paintings in all of history on his bedroom floor.

“Isn’t it supposed to be in the MoMa?”

“That one’s fake. Don't tell anyone though, I’m not really supposed to have this one,” the Doctor shrugged, undoing his tie and slipping it off his neck. You tried to not follow the movement with your eyes, the nimble movement of his hands as he undid the knot capturing your attention.

You looked away embarrassed, turning your attention back to the painting. “Did you steal Starry Night?!”

“No, I told you, Vincent gave it to me,” he frowned at you, wondering if the exhaustion was finally getting to you. He had just told you that.

“And you just… decided to keep it on your bedroom floor? Next to your trash can and first editions of Lord Of The Rings?”

“That’s not a trash can, it’s an artifact from B-739. Priceless, don’t touch it.”

“Right, 'cause that’s the priceless item in here that I’m worried about accidentally defacing.”

“If you’re going to bully my possessions, I’m not gonna let you sleep in here,” he grumbled, a pout barely evident on his face.

“I’ll shut up,” you say, looking around the rest of the room. You kept your comments to yourself, instead taking the time to admire the strange collection of things the Doctor kept in his room. It was like a personal museum of all of time and space. That is if the museum prioritized shiny objects and children’s toys from the early ‘90s.

It was all very him, and you couldn't help but feel safe in the room. Sure, you felt safe everywhere on the TARDIS, but this was different. If you could, you would have spent hours scouring every inch, wanting to learn everything you could about the Doctor.

You tugged your attention the the bed. It wasn’t a small bed, but it also wasn’t ridiculously large for one (albeit, strangely tall) Time Lord. The sheets were dark blue silk with a thick woolen blanket on top, also in a matching blue.

“Do you need PJs?” he asked, poking his head out of the closet he was currently in. The doors were a dark oak with a row of ties hanging on the inside of one. The patterns ranged anywhere from solid colors to cartoon characters from your childhood you had forgotten existed. You smiled as your eyes caught on a brightly colored tie with Winnie the Pooh on it.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” you nod, turning your attention back to him. A few moments later he came back into the main room carrying two sets of PJs. You’d only seen the Doctor out of his trademark suit once or twice, for all you knew he just slept in it. Maybe he invented some kind of sleep suit, like a three-piece made entirely out of comfortable knit fabric.

He handed you one set of PJs, a classic striped set. He held in his hands another set, that one also striped, just in a different colorway. You’d never put much thought into what the Doctor wore to bed, but for some reason, this made sense to you.

“Bathroom’s over there,” he tilted his head in the direction of a door in the corner. You took the clothes and made your way over to the room, closing the door gently behind you, the ‘click’ reverberating through the silent space.

There wasn’t anything spectacular about the bathroom. By most standards, it was a perfectly ordinary bathroom. Even still, it’s clear to you who this bathroom belonged to. Various products (mostly ones for hair styling) were scattered across the countertop, but you didn’t feel like it was a mess.

There was a bright, puffy, flower-shaped rug in front of the sink that reminded you of something you might find in a Barbie Dollhouse circa 2002. In contrast, the shower curtain was a bright striped pattern that reminded you of a beach ball. In any other room, the decorations wouldn’t have matched, but knowing this was the Doctor’s doing made it all make sense to you.

You slipped the pajamas on quickly. You looked a little ridiculous in the Doctor’s clothes, like you were playing dress up in his closet. They didn’t fit you perfectly, but that much was expected. Even still, the fabric smelled like the Doctor, leaving you with the aching feeling that he was hugging you. You pressed your nose against the sleeve, breathing in the familiar smell before realizing you were smelling the Time Lord’s pajamas.

You shook yourself out of it and exited the bathroom, poking your head tentatively into the main room. The Doctor was sitting on the bed, having already changed into his PJs. His head turned at the sound of the door, smiling slightly at the sight of you.

“Do y’a need anything else?” he asked.

You shook your head, standing in the doorway awkwardly. Seeing him sitting there, on the bed, made it all seem real. You couldn’t do this. How could you share a bed with the man you had the biggest crush on ever?

“I- well, I can’t-” you stammered, trying to put your thoughts into words. Your brain was tired and panicking, the combination leaving you unable to fully express anything. “I can just sleep on the floor.”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the floor, just get in the bed.”

You shift anxiously, tugging at the sleeve of the PJs he gave you. There was no way to explain it to him without admitting your feelings. It was a double-edged sword. Or maybe it was paradoxical. It didn’t really matter.

Begrudgingly, you slide under the covers next to him. You lay like a corpse, your hands firmly tucked at your side as you stare up at the ceiling. He had those ridiculous glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. They weren’t even just haphazardly stuck up there, he took the time to form them into actual constellations. The ones that he’d shown you up close.

You felt a twinge in your heart. It took everything in you not to turn to your side and hug him right now. His hugs felt like oxygen to you. You could be having the worst day ever, but a hug from your favorite alien never failed to brighten it.

The Doctor turned the bedside lamp off, sending the room into darkness. Your eyes were still glued to the stars, their soft glow highlighting them against the black of the room. He settled down in the bed next to you. You felt every single shift as he got comfortable, the feeling of him next to you distracting. It was hard not to think about how much you liked the Time Lord when you were literally in his bed. It was impossible not to feel his presence next to you, the weight of another person weighing down your mind.

“You ok?” the Doctor whispered, pulling you out of your spiral.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. Maybe if you said it, it would be true.

You felt his hand slide against yours, his fingers brushing against the back of your hand. You didn’t dare move, you didn’t even pull your gaze from the cluster of glow-in-the-dark stars above your head. Tentatively, he slid his hand into yours.

This wasn’t the first time you had held his hand. Far from it, actually. You held his hand almost every day. It was easy to get lost in space, it was just easier if you held onto each other. But this time was different, the intimacy of it making your heart thunder against your chest.

Neither of you said anything, the silence filling the room. Eventually, your eyes fluttered closed, the fluorescent greenish afterglow of the plastic stars remaining in your mind. It didn’t take long for you to slide out of consciousness, the heavy weight of sleep taking over and dragging you down.

You woke up of your own accord, a pleasantry you couldn’t remember the last time you experienced. No droning alarm, blinding rays of early morning sunshine, dogs barking, or anything else of the sort. Just your mind and body, having decided they were thoroughly rested, arising of their own accord - an internal affair rather than an external one.

After the initial fogginess of waking up after hours of deep sleep, you became quickly aware of your surroundings. Not just the Doctor’s bed or even his bedroom, but the Doctor himself. More specifically, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

At some time during the night, the exact timing unbeknownst to either of you, the two of you had found your way into each other’s arms. The action was seamlessly smooth, so much so that it almost felt rehearsed.

Your legs slotted together like expertly crafted puzzle pieces, fitting together in a way that made more sense than it should have. Could legs even fit together? You suppose they must if you were experiencing it. His chin rested on top of your head, his nose occasionally bumping the crown of your head as he shifted and nuzzled in his sleep. Your own head was tucked against his chest, your ear positioned right between his beating hearts.

The steady thumping of the twin organs pumping blood through his system was mesmerizing, the sound strangely familiar and comforting. You could feel the vibrations through your body, the asynchronous beats reverberating around in your head.

Slowly, the panic started to creep in, invading the sense of calm you had felt seconds before. You were in the Doctor’s arms. You woke up in the Doctor’s arms. Even worse, the Doctor was going to wake up and find you in his arms.

As if on cue, the Doctor started to stir awake. Low grumbles left his mouth as he buried his face further into the pillow beneath him. You stiffened, the change in posture immediately noticeable. You cursed yourself for drawing more attention to the situation.

The Doctor looked down at you, his tired brown eyes boring into yours. You blinked slowly, unsure what else to do.

“Good morning,” he whispered groggily, his voice at least an octave deeper than usual. You felt your cheeks heat up, almost certain that a blush was rapidly spreading across your face. He wasn’t moving you away or screaming in horror. If anything, he was holding you tighter now.

“Good morning,” you patored back, unable to form any words of your own. What was there to say? “Sorry, I’m a compulsive sleep cuddler, this totally isn’t because I have a massive crush on you please don’t read into it.”

The Doctor’s thumb rubbed small, concentric circles on the small of your back, his eyes still hung up on your face. You wished he wouldn’t look at you like that, like the most beautiful thing in the whole galaxy, like it was nothing.

As if suddenly realizing what he was doing, the Doctor stopped immediately. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and released his arms from around you, the sudden loss of contact disjointed. You frowned slightly and scooted to the other side of the bed, sitting up in the process.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hurriedly, his eyes purposefully avoiding you.

“It’s ok, I really don’t mind, I mean honestly it’s probably my fault,” you responded too quickly, your words falling out of you without much thought. “It’s really not that big of a deal,” you lied.

The Doctor finally looked over at you. By now, you were in expert in reading him. The secret was to look in his eyes. It didn’t matter what face he had, his eyes always told you everything you needed to know. You’d never seen them like this, though. An unfamiliar emotion him, a combination of his emotes you were so familiar with creating something you didn’t know. That worried you.

“Yeah,” he whispered, the look gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. He was back to his cheery self in minutes, stretching his body and springing up out of bed. “Let’s get on with it, maybe the TARDIS has found your room. I’d like to go visit The Beatles, what do you think?” he babbled on, striding across his room.

You scrambled out of his bed, almost begrudged to leave the silky warmth of his sheets. You scurried after him, practically running into his back as he came to a sudden stop. An annoyed groan escaped your lips as you peered over him, searching for the cause of the sudden stop.

The Doctor was pulling on his door handle, struggling to get it open.

“Forget how to open a door?”

“I’m over 900, I didn’t forget how to open a door,” he frowned, still tugging on it.

“Let me try,” you pushed him gently out of the way, tugging on the door handle yourself. Sure enough, it refused to budge. You pulled on it again, using both hands this time. Nothing.

Sheepishly, you turn back to the Doctor, ashamed to admit that he was right. “It’s stuck.”

The Doctor crossed his arms and nodded, an ‘I told you so’ look plastered on his face. He swiftly pulls the Sonic Screwdriver out of his pocket, pointing it at the door with his usual flourish. When it does nothing, he presses a few buttons on the device before trying again. After a few minutes of this, he finally gives up and resorts to kicking the door.

“Doctor!” you cry, grabbing his arm and forcibly dragging him away from the door before he can damage it or himself.

“Do you think…” you sigh, feeling guilty for even insinuating such a thing, “that the TARDIS locked us in here?”

“The TARDIS didn’t lock us in my room,” the Doctor says like it’s the most preposterous thing he had ever heard.

In response, the ship lets out a low groan of disagreement. More versed in the language of the ship, the Doctor noticed first. “You locked us in here?!” he hisses at seemingly nothing, but you know who it’s directed at. The TARDIS hums again, this time in a more approving tone.

“Why?” you butt in to ask. You’re met with nothing but silence.

“I don’t think she’s going to answer that,” the Doctor whispers in your general direction. The ship lets out another hum of approval.

You groan loudly, throwing your hands up in defeat. Not knowing what else to do, you slump back down onto the Doctor’s bed. You sit there for a few seconds just staring at the carpet (‘90s arcade patterned, of course) before the mattress dips next to you. You pull your eyes way from the garish carpet to look at the Doctor, his face equally as dejected as yours.

“I suppose there are worse places to be stuck,” you offer, “could be Mars.”

“There’s more to explore on Mars.”

“There aren’t ‘priceless’ artifacts from B-739, a mobile of the solar system that I’m pretty sure is intended for children, a box of Hotwheels cars, and a collection of pirate maps all in the same corner.”

“The mobile was a gift,” the Doctor defended.

“That’s what you got from all of that?” you chuckle. “It’s like the world's most clustered, excentric, space museum in here.”

“I don’t really sleep in here much. I suppose it’s just become a storage room of sorts,” the Doctor says sheepishly, almost embarrassed to be this open with someone. Sharing this much of his life with you felt strangely raw.

“I think it’s perfect,” you smile, the expression lighting up your whole face, “it’s very you. Chaotic, unorganized, other-worldly, and… beautiful,” you whispered, eyes scanning across the room. It didn’t matter how much you looked at it, there always seemed to be something new and fascinating to look at.

The Doctor, on the other hand, was looking at you. He was flabbergasted at how interested you seemed in it all. The tiny twinkle in your eye reminded him of all the stars he had shown you, all of the alien planets and beautiful corners of space. Yet, you weren’t looking at something particularly odd or beautiful, you were looking at his room. His messy, haphazard collection of strange objects and patterns.

Then, you turned that curious gaze in his direction. He felt his hearts speed up, a subtle but noticeable shift within his body. It was a nasty habit, his body getting excited every time you looked at him like that. He was 903, pretty people smiling at him shouldn’t make him react this way. Yet, you did.

Neither of you could figure out what the TARDIS wanted from you, so you eventually gave up trying. There was no point in fighting with the ship, both of you knew that was a losing battle.

You read the Doctor’s first edition of The Hobbit in the comfy warmth of his bed. In that time, the Doctor opted to pace back and forth and fiddle with the door relentlessly. Finally, he gave up and joined you on the bed.

“Do you have any ideas of why we’re in here?” he asked, pulling the book from your hands. You let him slip the paperback from your hands, throwing it on the duvet without bothering to mark your place in the book.

“If I did, we wouldn’t be in here,” you pointed out, looking at the discarded book longingly. The Doctor popped his head back into your field of vision, clearly not taking ‘no’ for an answer.

“It has to do with both of us, otherwise she wouldn’t have hidden your room.”

“Maybe she just thinks we need a few days off.”

The Doctor shakes his head, “She wouldn’t lock us in a room for that, she would just refuse to fly anywhere.”

“Maybe she thinks we’re fighting. Are we fighting?”

“Not that I know of,” he shrugs.

“I didn’t think so. Maybe we pissed her off?”

The Doctor shook his head again, “she doesn’t seem mad.” You didn’t need to question any further, you knew that the Doctor could read the TARDIS’ emotions better than his own sometimes.

“If it’s not anger, what is it?”

“Annoyance?” he said. You couldn’t tell if he was guessing or just generally unsure.

“Has she ever done this before?”

“Once she locked me out of the ship when I complained about her never taking me where I wanted to go, but this is different.”

“Have you said anything mean about her lately?” you asked more out of curiosity than animosity, but the Doctor interpreted it as the latter. He could be quite sensitive.

“No! Have you?”

“I have nothing but love and respect for the ship. She has put up with you longer than any of us ever could.” The TARDIS hummed in agreement while the Doctor scowled.

“I don’t know what we did!” he groans, falling back dramatically on the bed.

“Are you hiding something from me? A big secret?” you say as if you aren’t the one hiding feelings for the other.

The TARDIS lets out a quiet hum that lets you know you’re on the right track and you grin, poking the Doctor.

“I’m not hiding anything!” he swats you away, “maybe you’re the one hiding things away.”

You shake your head. For a second the two of you just look at each other. It’s hard not to get lost in his deep brown eyes, they’re endless pools of wisdom that can only come from centuries of living. Beneath the wary tiredness and stoic armor you can see who he really is, a lost wanderer looking for a place to call home. It was foolish, but you secretly wished you could be that home.

“You have really nice eyes,” the Doctor whispered.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” you whisper back.

“You were also thinking about how nice your eyes are?” he frowns in confusion.

You laugh, a smile taking over your face at his blatant obliviousness. “No, I was thinking your eyes are nice. I like them.”

“Oh… thank you?”

You nod, momentarily getting lost in his eyes again. Your mind was a mess, a kaleidoscope of him, the TARDIS, and your feelings for the former. You wanted so desperately to tell him how you felt, as you often did. Albeit, now was not the opportune moment. If he reacted poorly, you’d still be stuck in the room with him for an unknown amount of time.

And then it hit you. The TARDIS wanted you to admit something. She knew you had a secret, she maybe even knew what the secret was.

“Doctor?” you whisper shakily, surprised to find your voice uncertain and wavy.

“Mhm?” He pulled his attention to you.

“I just wanted to say that I love you.”

The room was silent for a moment. Neither of you moved or said a word, the normally quiet sounds of breathing and movement heightened by the lack of words between you.

“You too,” he finally said, his voice quiet. You knew admitting feelings was hard for him, especially when it came to things like love, so you couldn’t really blame him for the lackluster response.

You nodded, “I mean as more than a friend.”

“I know.”

Now it was your turn to sit in silence, your brain whirling as it tried to process his words. Was it hopeful to assume that he felt the same? That was what he had said, no?

“I’m very fond of you,” he added, sensing your confusion on the matter. “As more than a friend.”

You studied his eyes again. That unfamiliar look was back. For a minute you entertained the thought that it might be a look of admiration, love even.

The Doctor moved his hand into yours, his thumb brushing across the back of your hand. It was a normal action from him, but it still sent your stomach into a frenzy.

“It’s quite an inconvenience, honestly. Makes it hard to get anything properly done when you’re around.”

You chuckle, a small smile forming on your lips.

“You’re my favorite distraction,” he said earnestly. In his own way, it was his way of saying you were the most fascinating, beautiful, unique, and magnificent thing he had ever seen. He’d rather have a day with you than centuries with anyone or anything else.

He leaned closer to you, his face hovering inches away from yours. He waited, giving you time and space to move away or protest. When you didn’t, he slowly closed the gap.

His lips connected with yours, the kiss short and light, but it conveyed the years of affection and yearning. He pulled away, both of you smiling like love sick idiots.

Satisfied, the TARDIS opened the door with a click, the sound echoing around the room.

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wannaeatramyeon · 7 months

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The Crew Heads with Reader: Dinner

G/N. (Jake Kim, Eli Jang, Johan Seong, Samuel Seo).

Bro Code | Dinner | Shopping | Television

The manchildren are ignoring each other.

It's for the better, really, considering their temperaments.

Johan (slouched, head propped up by his palm) and Samuel (straight backed, perfect posture) sit opposite. A worn, beaten dining table separating them. Both deliberately keeping their gaze on their phones, scrolling half-hearted through social media and trivial articles, faces lit up by bluelight.

Anything to try and block out one another.

Occasional sounds ringing out from their devices, joining the backdrop of sizzling and clanging floating out from the kitchen down the hallway.

Dinner shouldn't be too far away, judging by the smells. Even if Jake and Eli are helping, at least with you taking the lead, they won't be able to get away with anything untoward such as adding a hearty dose of cyanide.

If you don't do that first, that is.

Facilitated by your presence, an uneasy, delicate truce hangs in the balance between the Crew Heads. Could be broken by the most miniscule interruption.

Someone breathing too loud.

Someone taking up too much room.

Someone-

"YOU KISSED?!"

Johan and Samuel lift up their heads in unison at your voice.

Followed by a screech (also yours).

Then - BANG!

Something heavy clatters in the kitchen.

The sound of an indignant shout (Eli's), yelping (Jake's), after a resounding smack (likely courtesy of you).

One, or both, of them must have pissed you off.

Nothing new there.

They both return back to their phones, trying to keep the strained peace but-

Eyes lock, long enough to antagonise. Samuel's, full of patronising superiority and Johan's, narrowed with distrust and disdain. True feelings laid bare.

Neither look away.

The seconds tick by. Grows into minutes.

Samuel, always having a complex to soothe, pokes him first. With a smirk, "So you took my advice. Stealing shoes worked out well."

Lips pressed tight and ears burning, Johan glares at him. Taunting tone matching his, "So did being Eugene's dog."

Samuel's expression takes on a dangerous edge, "How's your eyesight-"

Johan clenches his fist, white-knuckled and tense. Prepares to lunge to punch that smug look off his face-

"DINNER!"

You slam down a large pan of kimchi stew in the middle of the table. Breaking the tension and whatever trouble is stirring.

No doubt Samuel is the instigator, and you throw him a dirty look as he holds your gaze for a just moment, before rolling his eyes and looking away, tips of his ears burning red.

Called it.

Johan huffs, small and pleased and victorious. Hand reaching out for a serving-

"Not yet," you chide, slapping his hand away with chopsticks and you are greeted by a look reminiscent of an annoyed cat.

Jake and Eli join soon after, carrying the rice and banchan. Jake gives Eli a grin, looking pleased with himself as the latter pointedly ignores him.

"Seriously, you can join Big Deal. Maybe as No.7. Lua would kill me and I can't bump Lineman."

"I said no." Eli sits down, as far away as possible from the Big Deal boss.

"I heard Jerry and Warren are getting friendly." Jake picks up the pickled radishes. "They would probably like fighting alongside each other.”

Eli pinches the bridge of his nose. Somehow this guy is even more persistent than his own toddler. “For crying out loud-”

"No. How many times! " Your hands dart out to grab Jake's around the wrist. Intercepting him about to add the pickle juice into the stew. Poised to ruin it for the rest of you. Speaking slowly and clearly, you stress, "No. Pickle. Juice."

"It tastes better, trust me." He tries for a winning smile and is met with groans all around the table.

"No."

"It tastes like shit."

"Keep it in your own bowl."

"I don't trust you."

Jake, defeated, clicks his tongue. "Fine. You all have no taste."

"Us?" Eli scrunches his face. Jake opens his mouth, but is cut off before anything comes out, “And no! Stop asking Hostel to join with Big Deal. We are not a family.”

Taking this as an opportunity to get even with Samuel, Johan growls, low and menacing, "What the fuck did you say before?"

Samuel sneers, finding no threat in this boy, "I said-"

You sigh.

So long, pleasant meal.

So long, keeping the peace.

You let the noise and angry voices wash over you, serving yourself a portion. At least it won’t get physical with you around (and you’re proven right when they keep casting shifty looks over, as if waiting for you to tell them off).

Better to let them get it out of their system like this, you think, tucking into your food.

#ended up hating this. oh well #lookism #lookism x reader #lookism fic #jake kim #eli jang #johan seong #samuel seo #jake kim x reader #eli jang x reader #johan seong x reader #samuel seo x reader #wannaeatramyeon

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dailyadventureprompts · 4 months

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Encounter: The Bridgebuilder's Impasse

Frustrated with interruptions to the flow of commerce, a local caravan magnate has hired your party to slay the giant who's repeatedly destroyed the bridge spanning a turbulent river causing delays and costly detours across the realm. The one wrinkle to this otherwise straightforward mission is that the giant is the one who built the bridge in the first place, and rather than hunting a rampaging monster you and your companions have signed on to assassinate a beloved local artisan.

Whoever said “two heads are better than one” never met the giant Gilbult Gultib (or Gultib Gilbult, as he often insists) who far more embodies the adage “Every artist is their own worst critic”. Immensely talented in stonecutting and engineering, Gilbult (or Gultib depending on who you ask) has been building and rebuilding the same bridge for the better part of two centuries, sometimes letting it stand for a generation, sometimes scrapping it and starting over several times over the course of the same month.

With a perfectionist streak as wide as the river he's trying to cross, neither head can agree how, muchless when the bridge should be finished, agreeing only that what came before will be insufficient going forward and that they must return to the drafting board once again.

Adventure Hooks:

The locals are of divided opinion about Gultib Gilbult, most regard him as something of a curiosity, as much a fixture of the landscape as the river itself, while others see him as a gruff but otherwise pleasant neighbour or family friend. There's a very vocal minority that wish that he would get on with building the bridge, or else move and leave the maintenance to someone who won't tear it down on a whim, especially the merchants who end up paying an arm and a leg on unexpected barge fees. There's been an uptick in those actively calling for the giant to be driven off, all of which just so happen to be in the pay of the local quarry owner, who's in talks with the Caravan magnate about the construction of a tollbridge in the near future.

Having reached a new low of indecision, the giant has resulted to gambling with himself to decide the composition of this version of the bridge, anteing particular stones against himself in the hope that luck and strategy will let the superior side of his mind win out. This is just as much a stalemate as any other, but may present an opportunity for the party to resolve the situation without violence.

The tricky thing about accepting adventuring contracts from successful merchants is that they're VERY good at paperwork, and while this one did come with a sizeable advance, the fine print threatens numerous penalties (including debt and possible outlawing) if the party don't fulfill their end of the bargain and take out the giant in a timely manner.

Artist

#giant #random encounter road #random encounter #villain merchant

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cursingtoji · 10 months

Note

I'm crying these cliches are so cute!! I think Denji with kissing under the rain + wet transparent shirt (he'd totally stare) + taking care of him while sick, would be very cute!!

𝑾𝒆𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒕 ✧ 𝑲𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒂𝒊𝒏 ✧ 𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒎 ┊the perfect combo so far?? thank so much for joining 🧡 The Clichés ™

Denji stood outside the Public Safety building where you were supposed to meet him for a mission assigned by your superiors, Denji was totally fine by your delay, it gave him time to psychologically prepare for being alone with his crush.

The forecast said it would rain but Tokyo was under a downpour since morning.

“Denji!” you came running and waving, no umbrella, nothing to cover you except your own hand above your forehead so you could see your path.

Denji waved back but he froze when you got closer and he could see how the white shirt of your uniform was glued to your skin, precisely to your boobs and the way it bounced with your seemly simple pink bra as you jogged in his direction. Did he just die? Are you an angel?

He could hear your voice and something about having your umbrella stolen when you went to a public bathroom, yet he couldn’t take his eyes off your chest, it looked to soft and he wondered what would be like laying down on them.

“…Denji?” you snapped your fingers on his face, “What’s wrong?”

Denji limited himself to just point down at your chest.

“Oh, good thing I’m wearing a bra today” you whispered like a secret and Denji felt steam was about to blow out of his ears like a cartoon, “Let’s go, there’s a convenient store on the other side of the avenue, we just need to cross that bridge. You’re okay with taking some rain, right Denji?” you laced your arm with his and he gasped feeling your plump chest against his arm.

Teasing Denji was very fun, but when you were in the middle of the uncovered bridge drenched to the skin and spotted your superior Kishibe coming from the opposite side you dropped your act.

“Uhm Denji? Maybe we should go back…” you crossed your arms to cover your chest.

Denji got confused at your sudden behaviour change and then he spotted the old man approaching under his umbrella while the two of you looked like abandoned dogs. Denji had more than just hots for you, and that meant he wanted to protect you from embarrassment, so he quickly moved to be in front of you, shielding your body.

“You kids are going to get sick” Kishibe declared looking down at the two of you.

“Her umbrella was stolen” Denji explained and you looked at your superior from above Denji’s shoulder.

“In the metro station toilet” you added.

“What about you, Denji?” Kishibe asked.

“I never had one, I usually just put a jacket on my head” the young boy confessed without any embarrassment scratching his neck.

“Gosh, here” Kishibe pulled his wallet and a thousand yen bill of it handing it to Denji, “Buy yourselves an umbrella and a warm drink” he resumed his path as you thanked him and watched as he disappeared on the corner.

“Hey, wanna buy fried chicken instead?” Denji held the sides of the bill excited, “Oh it’s getting wet” he noticed and put away in his pocket.

You were still at a lost of words for how quick the blond was to read the situation and protect your honour, so you didn’t hesitate in pulling him down by his tie and lock lips.

Denji only realized what was happening when your warm wet lips were already pressing on his cold ones. The rain keep falling around you as you nibbled on his bottom lip.

“Thank you, Denji, you’re really sweet” you whispered with the tips of your noses touching, Denji slowly opened his eyes noticing the droplets sitting on your eyelashes, “Let’s get fried chicken… and a coffee, you could use it” you took his hand holding it in hopes to warm it up a bit.

Maybe he did die and this was what heaven was like.

“We have a problem” Aki said when you answered his call. Twenty minutes later you were in his apartment knocking and asking if everyone was okay since he didn’t give you much information. “He’s your problem now, there’s medicine in the bathroom cabinet” Aki opened the door in his uniform already leaving for work as Power followed him.

“I made soup” she informed.

“That’s boiled egg water, please throw it away” Aki yelled climbing down the stairs.

“Denji?” you called softly finding him in the couch with a heavy blanket and a very red nose.

“I’m dying, help” he mumbled and you leaned to touch his forehead.

“Oh my god, you’re burning” you squatted to be on his eye level, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you walk under the rain with me.”

“It was worth it” he admitted with a nasal voice due to his stuffed nose.

“Come on, let’s remove those blankets before you combust” you started to pull but he held to them whining about feeling cold, “You had the fever meds already?” he nodded, “Then how about that: you lose the blankets and I let you lay down on my chest.” Denji pretended to think, but in reality it took him less than five seconds to kick out his blankets.

“Totally worth it” he murmured having his hair played with on top of the softest pillow ever.

See also: Sexual Tension — Aki 🔞

#denji x reader #csm x reader #denji x you #denji x y/n #chainsaw man x reader #— the cliches ™

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moodymisty · 4 months

Note

Since I remember you saying on a previous post that it would be fun for you to write. I’d like to request a konrad x gn reader.

He’s what the the people on tumblr call a “poor little meow meow”. And I’d just like to see him not only tormented by visions but also by basic human feelings of affection and attraction

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: This was fun to write :> I hope you both enjoy. This is my first real time writing anything for Konrad.

Summary: Konrad searches for you after you refused to listen to him.

Relationships: Konrad Curze/Gn!Reader

Warnings: NIGHT LORDS CONTENT, Blood, Gore mentions, Sevatar bullies you because he can, Abuse probably, Toxic relationship based on fear but also he kinda fine tho, Predator/Prey, It's Night Lords content I don't know what else I can say

Word Count: 1395

You remember the words of Primarch Fulgrim when he’d first cast eyes on you.

‘Truly, he is utterly obsessed with you.’

You hadn't understood what he meant of it at the time. Though as time has gone by, your think back on it now and see what Fulgrim had been referring to.

Konrad speaks of you with a demented sort of worship, like you hold the only key to his ever elusive happiness. He’s obsessed with you, obedient to you, he’ll give you anything you desire no matter what it takes.

But most of all, he wants you to look at him and only him.

"There you are, little toy."

You turn and look to see a familiar set of dark blue armor, marred by smatterings of dried blood and scratches from its many years of dependable use.

You know Sevatar does this because he thinks it's demeaning to not call a superior by their proper title. Especially in a hierarchy as strict as an Astartes legion. You couldn't care less. You call him Jago anyways, and he always gives an odd little smile when you do.

You know more than likely why he's here. Konrad had attempted to summon you somewhere you refused to go- where you'd rather die than go- and now he's sending someone for you. Any other might assume that your living minutes were numbered after such a refusal towards a Primarch, though you think Konrad allows you to do so because he enjoys that you're scared.

"...Jago?"

Sevatar finds the whole thing both amusing and annoying. He has better things to do than fetch his genefather's cute little plaything. Though at least you provide enough amusement for it to be better than some of the other tasks he's been delegated over his years.

He steps into your personal space- not hard given the sheer size of the man- resting a hand on the pommel of his chainsword. He doesn’t grab for you, but you know he wants to.

"If you're not going to come when he calls," Sevatar leans over you, and you can smell the rotten flesh on his armor; See the way his eyes dart over your face. “Then you might want to just run instead and give him something fun."

You can only dare to look him in the eyes, and although he can see right through it, you attempt to not completely shatter under his gaze.

Though right as your hands start to shake Sevatar leans up and chuckles, before walking away.

The Nightfall is astronomical in size, you have no idea where you could possibly go. And getting lost could mean stumbling into Night Lords who care far less than Sevatar does about keeping their Primarch happy.

To them, they’ll taken whatever punishment put upon them if they get a chance to play with something as sweet as you, as Sevatar once said. The thought had made your throat tighten. Especially hearing his tone; That as much as you trust Sevatar- and maybe even Talos- more than the other Night Lords, he was thinking the same as them.

But you only know of a few places on the Gloriana class ship that you can get to without guidance. Konrad has been very deliberate with making sure you stay within his eyeline.

The bridge, which will be swarming with Night Lords and is more than likely where Konrad himself is. Then there is the area of the ship that serves as Konrad's private quarters. It’s familiar to you, he knows you would go there. The only other place is the small librarium that serves as a temporary placement for parchment of value being saved before returning to Nostramo.

It's largely empty. Pskyers in the legion are next to none, and only a few people keep the area from falling into any disrepair.

With Sevatar gone you instantly begin running for it, trying to make your way and avoid the eyes of anyone around.

Any large bang on the walls sounds like his boots, any scrape of machinery against metal sounds like his lightning claws. You keep looking over your shoulder every time.

When you finally reach it you don't even feel relieved; You know Konrad will find you.

You know that even if you had somehow managed to evade him for a moment Sevatar knows where you are- you'd be dumb if you hadn't noticed the feeling of his eyes on you, watching- he would just tell his genefather where you were to get his distraction concluded with faster.

You've never been particularly scared of the dark, but now it feels so enveloping. And while the unknown is terrifying, it also helps you feel small, tucked between shelves. While your heart might have relaxed from pounding against your rib cage from running, it’s still racing as your ears prick to every little sound. You touch old parchment with a fingertip, feeling rough against your skin.

You don't know how long it's been; Your stomach grumbles a bit, but it's hard to tell if it's hunger or nausea.

You can hear the door open, and the sound of boots on the floor. It makes your heart nearly stop for a moment.

You know it's him from the weight of them. You steel yourself back against a shelf and look towards the end where there's still a bit of light and can only wait.

To think, the man you think you love, who professes his obsession with you at every moment, can make you feel like this.

You imagine those moments where his black hair frames his face and his eyes aren’t nearly as dark when he looks at you, as his shadow approaches.

He finally catches sight of you, and his voice softens just a bit. Primarch voices are always so loud, especially when they yell, and he seems to always talk to you like you’re so, so gentle.

"There you are."

His cape brushes against the ground as he comes closer. He overtakes any little amount of light there is, shadowing your body in an even more darkness.

“Your hiding is cute, my love, but you know I'll always find you."

He isn’t wearing his full armor, only some cloth trousers and heavy boots leaving his upper body unclothed. You think they were the ones given to him by Fulgrim. His recent time with his brother has had a noticeable effect, though the smile he gives you is still while endearing- though perhaps that’s just you and your love for him- is still off.

He bows to get just close enough to you to grab your jaw with his right hand, but when that isn't close enough, he takes a knee.

His eyes are like voids as you look into him, his skin is perfect. The smile on his face you'd dare to call handsome of you weren't here; If he didn't have you cornered like a whimpering animal.

Why did it have to be him; Out of everyone in the galaxy, why did it have to be him that saw something in you worth loving. And why do you keep coming back for more.

That evening with Fulgrim had almost made him seem normal, and now you're back here; Back in Hell.

“Are you going to run again? Or just cry?” His fingers touch just below your eye, breaking your waterline and sending a single tear down your cheek. He leans even closer.

“You look so sweet when you cry.” His lips press against the shell of your ear.

"If you ever say his name like that again, I will make you step into that Gallery, my love."

You assume he must mean Jago. You don't know how he heard you, but you know he's obsessive, dominating, all-consuming; That you are his ever so tiny sliver of happiness he won't let go of. He's said before you are the only thing that makes his world not feel like torment, and you'd find almost romantic if it wasn't so suffocating.

His lips leave the shell of your ear and ghost over your own, as they tremble. You'd try and pull away if you weren't so trapped in him. You hate that even with how much he scares you, he has you caught like a fishhook.

"No one gets to hear you say their name but me."

#Konrad Curze x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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sky-kiss · 8 months

Note

Well, since I'm here now, allow me to share a particularly stupid thought.

Imagine the party getting copies of the contract Raphael wants Tav to sign and everyone is just going over it in detail, reading all the fine print. Gale is examining it from his academic perspective. Wyll is looking at it through the lens of his prior experience with infernal dealings. Astarion is finally putting his legal background to use. And just when the gang has the revisions done and are ready to go back with their counteroffer, they find Tav already signed it because "ooo devil man pretty."

A/N: Oh, heck yes. We are pleased to have you. Have some wine. Also. I love this idea. It is glorious.

__________

Tav has enjoyed an unprecedented calm. Baldur’s Gate seems to have taken a breath, setting aside its propensity for careening towards the apocalypse for a single evening. No one is kidnapping their friends. No murder cults have attempted to waylay them in the streets. The Emperor is silent. It’s truly idyllic.

The reason for this peace becomes at least partially evident when three of their companions barge into their half of the room. Wyll, Astarion, and Gale had headed off just after dawn, locking themselves away in one of the Elfsong’s side rooms.

“Darling,” Astarion begins, his tone bright. “We were hoping to catch you before you dipped out for the evening.” Tav has no such plans, but why clarify? The vampire spawn holds out a scroll. “Here. Courtesy of yours truly. And these two.” He makes a vague gesture towards Wyll and Gale.

“What’s this?”

“Your contract, dearest! Well, potential contract.”

Gale holds up a finger, grinning, handsome. “The three of us figured why not put our collective heads together. If two is better than one…”

“Yes, yes,” Astarion cuts him off. “Then three must be superior. The point is, dear, with Gale’s translation, my experience, and Wyll’s…well, debacle, we’ve fashioned terms far superior to what you might have expected.” The former magistrate rocks back on his heels. “Do you know, I even rather enjoyed myself. It’s been centuries since I put my skills to work and…”

“I already signed the contract.”

An uncomfortable silence stretches between the four of them. Gale breaks it. The wizard’s brows pull together. He opens his mouth first and closes it; it takes another two attempts before he can finally stutter his question out. “I…beg pardon, you’ve signed it?”

“Raphael stopped by just before lunch…”

“The devil stopped by? And you didn’t think to tell us?”

Tav purses their lips. In hindsight, it didn’t sound particularly well-advised. They scrub at their knees. “You were busy! You’d all rushed off!”

“To rewrite your contract.”

“You didn’t tell me that!”

Tav wonders if Astarion won’t just combust. The spawn makes a horrible sputtering noise, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh for the gods…why? Why sign it?”

“It’s going to sound silly.”

“Stupid, dear. I’m fairly certain it’s going to sound stupid.”

Tav worries their hands together. “He just seemed so hopeful. And his eyes are such a pretty brown?” At their friend’s collective groan, Tav pushes forward. “Look, I didn’t want him to be disappointed!”

Gales says, “You should! You should feel free to disappoint the devil!”

Astarion is more succinct: “Oh, you’re a fucking dolt.”

#bg3 raphael #bg3 fanfiction #astarion #gale #bg3 tav #asks #my fic #kinda cracky #Tav: sprints towards bad ideas #Raphael: /hold arms out wide

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danibee33 · 6 months

Text

More Simon “Ghost” Riley brain rot because I’ve been in a car for 8 hours 🙃

But this time, make it undercover!Ghost🩶

(inspired by “Billie Bossa Nova” by Billie Eilish - reader goes by callsign: “Hela”)

+++++

•thinking about Ghost being absolutely livid that he’s the one chosen to attend the event- some ritzy, wildly overpriced and stupidly exclusive, art exhibition.

•”You’re the only one that they wouldn’t know- they can’t recognize a face they’ve never seen. We’ve already talked about it-“ Price pinches at the bridge of his nose, sitting behind his desk, sitting in the same exact position he was in an hour ago, trying to convince his lieutenant that it truly was a last resort.

•Ghost huffs out a rumbling sigh, only just barely fighting back the urge to roll his eyes- the military bearing far too engrained in him to disrespect a superior officer. But really, he knows it’s because he respects John too much as a friend.

•and he’s just about close the door behind him when he hears the older man’s voice again, “Hela will be your second.”

•sure, he could try to argue like he so badly wants to, but judging by how far he made it with this, he wouldn’t be getting the answer he wanted either way.

•it’s not that the 141’s newest lieutenant was incompetent or incapable, no, you were far from either of those things.

•you were smart, a great leader, and even better in a team than he could ever dream of being. you had only made them better-

•but you were a fucking pain in his ass, with your annoying and, at times overbearing, sunshine fucking personality. Your habit of wanting to learn things about him and the others just to see them perk up a bit, though you’ve yet to figure out what makes Ghost not look like a walking rain cloud-

•and it had taken them months to figure out how the hell you got such a dark and foreboding callsign such as Hela, Norse fucking goddess of death- it didn’t make any sense, there was no way, right? No way someone so sweet and chipper could be that brutal.

•boy, how wrong they were.

•you were downright certifiable on mission, merciless on the battlefield, with your laughter trickling through the radios after a particularly challenging kill- there was something wrong with you, but he guesses that’s why you fit in so well with the rest of them.

•they were all a little fucked up in the head. You had to be, to do what needs to be done, to do all the terrible things no one in their right mind could do.

+++

•when the night arrives, Ghost is left staring at his own reflection, and it physically pains him to leave the comfort of his balaclava laying on the bathroom counter- even though he knew Price had made sure to limit his exposure to only the bare minimum, it didn’t make it easier.

•”You’ll meet Hela inside the venue, she’s in a black, floor length dress, red purse, hair up.” He nods at his captain’s words, committing the details to memory as he slides into the back seat of the blacked out SUV.

•the ride blurs by, he doesn’t pay attention to anything going on outside, preferring to focus on the parameters of the mission; it would be mostly recon, some light pick-pocketing, a little slight of hand, a cellphone full of intel procured-

•he certainly doesn’t dwell on how excited you were to had been to go undercover, or how you had talked fucking relentlessly about the dress you picked for your “007 moment”, as you so lovingly to referred to the mission- and to his surprise, Johnny had apparently helped you pick it out.

•and there’s no reason whatsoever for that fact to have made him want to wring the Scot’s neck.

•Ghost steps out the car at the curb, straightening and buttoning the fitted, black tuxedo jacket- the grimace on his scarred lips doing a well enough job of carving a path through the sparse crowd.

• “C’mon, LT- ye could try ta’look like ye spent an obscene amount o’money ta be here.” Johnny playfully drawls through the ear piece, “and lemme tell you-“ he pauses to give a quiet whistle for effect, and this time Ghost doesn’t stop his eyes from rolling back, “Hela is lookin’ real bonnie, aren’t ye, lil’ LT?”

•”Keep it tactical, Sergeant.” Ghost grunts back, eyeing the upper windows of the surrounding buildings before waltzing through the grandiose entrance-

• “Hm, I thought it was nice.. thank you, Soap.” You say, and he swears he can hear the smile in your sultry tone. The one that you just love to use on comms.

•Johnny gives a low chuckle, “Ye’re very welcome, ma’am.”

•Christ fucking alive. Ghost is in hell, he’s sure of it.

•but then, he sees you. And at first, he’s not entirely sure he’s even looking at the right person- because, of course he’s seen you in civilian clothes, even some more form fitted PT gear; and he’s always had a hard time dragging his eyes away from you even then. Right now, though?

•right now, he’s ardently staring at your profile, studying the lines of your face under the soft glow of the museum lighting- the way your glossy pink lips are parted just slightly as you look up at the painting in front of you, your fingers daintily clasped around a flute of champagne, a deep red leather clutch in your other hand.

•something compels him to blend back into the crowd, silently moving to take you in from all angles, his eyes roaming and lingering all the same-

•and it’s at that moment he realizes Price severely understated your “black, floor length dress”. Yes, it was all those things, but fuck.. a warning would’ve been nice-

•he also decides then that he will wring Johnny’s neck- because if he helped you pick this? well that means he’s already seen too much. And Ghost couldn’t have that-

•the dress you chose is fitted like a second skin, high neck and long sleeves, entirely modest and yet.. it manages to leave so, so little to the imagination with the way it hugs every single curve- but it’s the back that causes an awful flicker of arousal to make his cock twitch.

•the back is completely, and gloriously, exposed- from the petite span of your shoulders, all the way down to the godforsken pair of dimples that decorate the lowest curve of your spine before the fabric meets together again right above the delicious swell of your ass-

•it takes everything in him to stay on track, to keep aware of his surroundings as he makes his way to your other side. It’s only then that you finally turn towards him, certainly having felt the weight of his gaze. But by the time you crane your neck to search the crowd, he’s already out of sight.

+++

•you scan over the strange and unfamiliar faces, unable to shake that feeling of being watched- it was probably just nerves, you knew Ghost would be with you on this, which means you’re well aware that he would be maskless tonight.

•and you really should not be so excited- this was still a mission, you shouldn’t be thinking about him.. shouldn’t be imagining what hides beneath the balaclavas-

•you’re so lost in the thought you can’t help to but gasp when you hear the familiar, brassy voice in your ear, “Spotted the target.”

•you barely stifle another gasp when you feel the sweltering heat of his palm suddenly pressed against your lower back- and you don’t know why the touch sends a rush of chills down your spine. Maybe it’s just knowing you’re finally about to see the ever enigmatic man’s face, or it could just be how comfortable he seems putting his hand on you like that.

•but when you try to turn, he holds you in place, the hand that was at the small of your back, moving to the gently hold the nape of your neck,

• “Wait..” He whispers, an odd mixture of authority and desperation in his tone.

• “Why?” You ask just as quietly, your eyes fixed ahead, but the beautiful art is lost on you now, too consumed by his proximity- by the standoffish brute of a man who had only looked at you like a nuisance for months. It’s ridiculous, what you should really be asking is why you care so much-

•but you don’t think you would know the answer to that, not for sure anyway; maybe it was that you craved his approval- you had earned it from literally everyone else by this point, but his had alluded you. And you couldn’t fucking stand it.

• “Ghost?” You try to pry a little further, his callsign coming out a bit breathier than you meant for it to, but the way his thumb is rubbing back and forth, back and forth, so softly, so slowly.. it’s enough to drive you crazy.

• “Target’s directly to your left- cellphone in his right jacket pocket.” Without warning he removes his hand and brushes past you, taking with him the chance to see any of his features apart from the head of wavy, honey blonde hair that’s been messily swept back.

•and it’s the purposely careless movement that causes you to stumble, your crystal flute knocking right against the sturdy chest of the man that had just approached the painting,

• “Oh! Oh, my god- I am so-“, you slip the device from his pocket almost too easily, “so, sorry, sir.”

•it’s easy to distract him, flashing a bright, slightly nervous smile- bat your pretty lashes up at him, maybe let your hand linger a bit too long on his bicep..

• “‘M sorry, sweetheart-“ Ghost is back, and you have to force yourself not to immediately focus on his presence, instead noticing how he efficiently leans around you to slip the bugged phone into the target’s pocket.

•and again, it’s unsettling how natural it feels for him to snake a muscular arm around your waist, and god, the way he settles his big hand possessively over your lower stomach has your knees weak and an uncomfortable pressure building between your legs.

• “Just saw an old friend, and he wants to meet you, love.” He says it like it was the most normal night in the world, holding you like you could’ve been a couple- but, he’s just playing his part, right?

•after another round of apologies, Ghost promptly leads you away, your hand held firmly in his as he weaves through and around the small groups of people who couldn’t care less about you.

“Riley- hang on.” You hiss just as he turns a corner, finally far enough way to give the all clear to Price and Soap without concern of being overheard, but he’s still just ahead of you, his face still just out of view.

•you struggle to keep up with his monstrous strides in your outrageous heels, “That excited to get away from me, huh?”

•no, you don’t mean for it to sound so bitter, it was suppose to be a joke, but maybe it’s a little more honest than you care to dive into right now. But, it does finally get his attention, his feet coming to such an abrupt halt that you stumble right into the thick, solid mass of his back.

•he opens a door, quickly turning to walk you backwards into the dark room- slamming the heavy wood shut as soon as you’re both inside.

•with effortless speed, he pulls your earpieces out, shoving them him in his pocket, “what. the. fuck, Ghost? What are you doing?!”

• “Fucking hell, do you ever shut up?”

•you scoff into the darkness, his giant silhouette still looming over you- and with your curiosity too quickly turned to rage, you shove him backwards,

• “What’s your problem with me?” You have to stop yourself from shouting, you know you’re away from the party, but there could still be staff close by, “Well?! What did I do tonight except everything I was suppose to? Please, tell me what I did wrong, because I am so fuckin-“

•the last thing you expect is to feel his hands grasp either side of your face, and it’s completely unfathomable what happens after-

•Ghost’s lips collide with yours in a rough, hungry kiss, one that leaves you to stunned to do anything but let your body do what you’ve fantasized about one too many times.

•but too soon, he pulls away, out of breath and still gripping your face, “No, sweet girl, no. You’ve been perfect tonight, and you look..”

•you reel at his praise, your lungs seizing at the sound of the pet name on his tongue- internally cursing the lack of light for depriving you of getting to see his expression.

•Because you so desperately wanted to know what the actual fuck was going on and why it was happening right now.

• “-so bloody beautiful.. you’re fucking stunning, y’know that?”

•he kisses you again before you can even attempt to think of an answer, but this time you’re ready, turning your head to deepen the gesture into something dangerously close to sinful. Heated and passionate, you cling to him, letting your purse drop to the floor so you could wrap your arms around his neck.

•his hands wander, needy, yet so languid, you feel him trace the lines of your back, every touch delicately ravenous. And the fire you feel spread through your entire body at the simple skin to skin contact threatens your already very thinly tethered control-

•you take a step, then another, your hands now splayed out over his broad chest- pushing him until you both feel his back make contact with the door, his lips moving lower now, hands pulling you closer.

•the old light fixture crackles to life when you flip the switch, effectively freezing you both in this moment- crossing boundaries that could never be uncrossed, seeing each other in a way that couldn’t be forgotten.

•and you don’t know exactly why you keep your eyes clamped shut, even when you feel him lean back just slightly, though his nose still grazes across your cheekbone, and his fingertips are still dug into the flesh of your hips.

•your breath stutters when he presses a single kiss to your lips, the taste of champagne mixing with a hint of tobacco and peppermint, it was an odd combination, but you find yourself craving it already- what a terrible drug he is.

•without pulling away, he speaks against your lips, and you can feel the smile on his, hear the timbre in his voice, “It’s all right, love.. you can look. I know you want to..”

++++

>>>> {Part II}

PLS DONT HATE ME. I never meant for it to be this long, so I’m splitting it into two parts 😬 (unless I shouldn’t??)

#bee writes #call of duty #cod fandom #simon ghost riley #reader #I think about ghost in a tux waaay too often #cod fanfic #cod #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #john price #simon riley x reader #part one

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mlm-writer · 4 months

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Chocolate Milk (GN!Reader)

Pairing: Spock (AOS) x Gender Neutral Ensign Reader (platonic) Rating: General Audience Words: 1320 POV: Second Summary: Your childhood trauma left you near-emotionless. While most find it unsettling, there are some crew members appreciating you just the way you are. Note: Trauma not described, reader's physical traits also not described. I want to say ft. my OC, but he is deadass more present than Spock in this so ft. Spock I guess. Tags: mentioned trauma, platonic/professional appreciation, Ensign Michael Gabe the empath, alcohol mentions but no consumption, red alert and Kirk & Bones have a cameo

One moment the white hallways were too bright for the early hour and the next they were bathed in crimson. ‘Red Alert again?’ You wondered as you broke into a sprint. Red Alert happened at least once a month with captain Kirk looking for trouble left and right, but as far as times of crisis went, you had experienced far more distressing situations in your youth. At least, they felt more distressing as a child still figuring out who you are and why you were put into a world that was described as a utopia and yet so so full of suffering.

You arrived at your station not a moment too soon. You were gasping for air, just like your colleagues at the stations adjacent to you. Michael’s fingers trembled with every jolt of the ship. “Ensign Gabe, we need a read on their defences. Any weak spot would be appreciated,” the captain urged the man next to you. His blond hair started sticking to his forehead as he calibrated the scanners to adjust for the shields. You focused on your own task, but from the corners of your vision, you could see Michael making mistakes that were uncharacteristic to his intelligence.

You placed a hand on his shoulder. “Michael, deep breaths. You got this.” You spoke softly to him, trying to make sure he was the only one hearing your reassurance. You felt him inhale deeply, holding the air for a few seconds and then releasing it evenly. You were aware the empath could feel everyone's distress. With the physical contact you hoped your calmness stood out in the ocean of unease. The blond muttered a brief expression of gratitude. You occasionally touched his shoulder again, trying to focus his gifts on you so he could stay level-headed. Sure, you could die today, but you knew your task like the back of your hand and you knew Michael did as well, in spite of his nerves giving the wrong idea and his abilities nearly crippling him.

Things looked dire for a second, but hardly an hour later, you were at warp 4 en route to a space station for repairs. You stayed at your station monitoring repairs to the systems, while Michael left to get a ‘stiff drink’ as he called it. He could probably use it. You noticed how even lieutenant Chua seemed tense as he checked upon the injured on the bridge, calling over the CMO when he thought they might need a trip to sick bay. You watched how he carried the yeoman with a possible broken leg out to the turbolifts. “Ensign?” You realised you had been daydreaming a little. You whipped your head around, worried the SIC was about to scold you.

“Yes, commander?” Spock was the ever-intimidating presence on the bridge. Very little scared you, but the idea of disappointing your superiors and commander Spock particularly “All repairs are going as expected. We will make it to Sindku station in three hours at our current velocity.” You added your status report after a short pause, hoping that was what commander Spock wanted to hear.

He did not seem pleased with the answer. Some people would argue there was not a single expression to read on that half-Vulcan face, but you would disagree. You knew the subtle changes too well, have seen them in the mirror plenty of times to recognise them on another. You watched his thought progress, then breathed out a small sigh of relief when Spock seemed to have calculated his next words. “I am aware you have been called to duty during your leisure time. I will assign an on-duty officer to relieve you shortly.” You gave him a curt nod of comprehension. He then left.

And just as foretold, on-duty officers arrived to relieve the bridge staff that had their leisure time interrupted by the red alert. You decided to check on Michael. He was in the lounge, as expected. You had expected him to be drinking alcohol, but spotted him with a big glass of chocolate milk. “Is that your stiff drink?” You greeted him with those words when you stood next to him.

Michael looked up at you, a friendly smile plastered on his face. “What can I say? I prefer calories over alcohol.” He raised his half-empty glass as if he was toasting. “By the way, thanks for getting me through that red alert today. I…” he let out a breathy chuckle, “I really don’t get how you can always keep your cool, but I’m really glad to have someone like you around when all I am feeling from everyone else is the looming dread of death.” You gave him a nod and patted him on the back.

What you wanted to say was ‘you’re welcome, it’s the trauma’, but those jokes have not been funny since the early 21st century, so you opted for a more modern response. “We all have our virtues.” Michael raised his glass again, as if saying ‘I’ll drink to that’. You decided to join him with a chocolate milk of your own. Michael always knew how to get the small talk going. He started off with the latest gossip, then asked your opinion on a personal or a ship matter and after some time, you always ended up talking mathematics. You seemed like total opposites at the bar, one person emoting like a cartoon character, the other virtually a statue. If Michael was not an empath, he would probably assume you never felt a thing in your life, just like everyone else.

The doors behind you slid open and you noticed the surprise on Michael’s face. He tried to hide it, but was doing a piss poor job at it. You turned to see what got him worked up, only to see commander Spock waltz in. The man was only here when he wished to speak to someone privately and he was heading straight for your chocolate milk hang out. Michael whispered he was worried Spock noticed his small panic today, but then you were the one requested to follow him to a less populated corner of the lounge.

You had no idea what you did, but you left your chocolate milk at the bar and joined Spock near the windows. “I meant to say this on the bridge, but it seemed inappropriate with the company present,” Spock started. You hummed, eyes locked together like you were having a stare-down. “I would like to commemorate you for your attitude during crisis response, both on the bridge as we have seen today and in the field as we have seen last week on Unico IV. I will put in a request to have you promoted to lieutenant junior grade. Should you remain equally level headed with more responsibilities thrust upon you, I believe you will, in time, make an excellent captain.”

You were quiet for a moment, trying to take in the unexpected compliments. “Thank you, sir.” It was all you could really say. Spock responded with a polite nod and then made his leave. You blinked as you stood there momentarily. When you were ready, you returned to Michael at the bar. He was chatting up one of the red shirts again, the ever sucker for muscular men. When he saw you though, he slipped off his seat, taking the two glasses with him.

“What did he say?” Michael asked as soon as he was in front of you, handing you your leftover chocolate milk. You paraphrased Spock’s words, leaving Michael gasping and squealing. “That is so amazing! Slay mama!” He somehow managed to make air come out of your nose at a high velocity. You tapped your glasses together. He seemed happier than you, but you let him celebrate for you. Captain? You? You could hardly imagine it right now. Meanwhile Michael was already planning on being your SIC.

—————

REBLOG TO SUPPORT YOUR FANFIC WRITERS

Likes do not help exposure!A comment in tags or replies can sustain a writer for months!

#star trek #gender neutral reader #male reader #star trek x reader #spock x reader #spock #s'chn t'gai spock #spock x male reader #spock x gender neutral reader #star trek x male reader #star trek x gender neutral reader #aos #aos x reader #aos x male reader #aos x gender neutral reader

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norahastuff · 1 year

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There’s a lot to like about The Winchesters, but I think one of the reasons it hits so hard for me is that it solves my biggest problem with the finale. Personally, I don’t have a problem with tragic endings. The season 5 finale of Spn has a tragic ending, and I think it’s a wonderful feat of storytelling. Aside from the fact that 15x20 tried to pretend it wasn’t tragic and tried to make it seem like Sam and Dean standing alone on a bridge in Heaven was a happy ending, what I hated most about the finale was they had to flatten Dean into a two-dimensional caricature of himself to do it. Aside from maybe the revelation that Dean stood outside Sam’s apartment at Stanford for hours trying to psych himself up to go in because he was nervous Sam would turn him away, there was no moment in the episode that Dean felt like the complex, nuanced character we had come to know and love over the past 15 seasons. He had no desires or characterisation beyond pie, car and Sammy. There was no sign of all the growth we’ve seen from him, no hint of his own needs, wants or sense of self. I mean, he wasn’t even allowed to interact with his own heaven before Sam showed up. Even after his death, he was never allowed to have anything that was just his.

Look, I’ve said all this a hundred times before – if you look at my 15x20 tag, it’s basically just this sentiment repeated over and over again – so why am I saying it again now? Well, because The Winchesters is fixing that. The mission Dean is on is all his. It’s not about Sam, or pie or whatever surface level bullshit that finale tried to boil Dean down to. He’s going back to the past, he’s meddling in something insane because he sees value in it, and in the process going on a journey to understand himself better. His narration makes it pretty clear that through this quest he’s learning to contextualise his own life and feelings better. The past presents the future, after all (full disclosure, that’s an Ugly Betty episode title that I just really loved and use far too often in casual conversation), and one of the biggest hang ups in Dean’s life was that he was given this mythologised version of events and expected to believe them. Mary was this perfect saintly mother who sat at home baking cookies all day before she was brutally, and through no fault of her own, ripped away from them. John was the perfect mild-mannered husband and father who only slid into anger and obsession after he lost his perfect wife.

Eventually Dean realises that none of that is true. Mary couldn’t cook. She was a hunter. She was involved in the circumstances that brought about her own death. She was a complicated person, and in the end he got the chance to see that knowing the real her, flaws and all, was infinitely superior to believing the white-washed fairytale about the perfect martyr that John created after she died. There’s also the fact that John was never the perfect husband or father, even before Mary’s death. We get maybe one reference to that in Spn, how in Dean’s heaven in season 5 he remembers John and Mary fighting and John moving out for a few days, but not much else. The focus is very much on how John turned into a neglectful parent and an angry man after Mary’s death. But The Winchesters is working hard to dispel that lie. John always had this anger in him. Mary even calls him out multiple times on how he’s using her and their relationship as an excuse to avoid his issues. She straight up uses those words. There are also references to how raising your kids to be soldiers and being their drill sergeant rather than their parent is one of the worst things a parent can do to their child.

Anyway, as interesting as it is to see all these things addressed in the Spn universe, what’s so damn satisfying is seeing Dean realise it. Dean’s on a mission to learn more about his past. To understand that our parents and where we come from shapes and moulds the people we become, but it doesn’t have to define us forever if we don’t let it. By accepting his past and finding out the truth about who his parents truly were, he can accept himself and move forward, free of whatever baggage that had been dragging him down for so much of his life.

And the greatest part about all of this, is that Dean’s the one driving this story. It’s not God, or his father or even his duty to take care of Sam which dictated so much of his life and his choices before. This is about Dean’s choices and who he is as a person and what he wants. It’s funny because as little as we saw John Winchester in season 1 of Spn, he was very much the spectre hanging over the story, and the search to find him is what drove much of the plot throughout the season. Much of what his sons were doing was in reaction to him. And now in The Winchesters, Dean himself is the spectre that’s been hanging over the season. He’s the one making the big moves and steering the action. He’s the one everyone, friend and foe alike, is looking for. He’s the one who gave John the note and put this whole thing into motion. After the ending of Spn took away so much of his agency and everything that makes Dean Dean, he’s finally getting it back and then some.

I’m excited to see how the season’s going to end, but I’ll forever be happy that this show gave us Dean being his own person again. He’s the one picking the music this time.

#the winchesters #spnwin #my spn thoughts

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marsbutterfly · 9 months

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Final Mission - Remastered

Summary: The rumbling begins to close in on you and your friends. With very few choices remaining, you have to watch as Hanji makes a decision that will alter the course of your life forever.

a/n: hello hello!! So ever since part 3 part 1 came out, I decided to start working on rewriting my very first work, for Hanji and for Attack On Titan. This piece has always meant so much to me as it was written with lol sm grief? anyway, I know it's been a while but Hanji pls come back, the kids and I miss you babes.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: attack on titan season 4 part 3 (part 1) spoilers if you haven't watched it yet, angst, blood, established relationship, soulmate loss, a bit of resentment towards tbh everyone if you squint. | ao3 | wattpad | the original | wc: 3.3k

“You could break my heart in two

But when it heals, it beats for you”

“I’m the one who brought everyone here. I killed my comrades to come this far. I’ll take responsibility for it all,” Hanji says, her hands trembling while grasping the thunder spears firmly, eyes filled with terror while a shallow breath fights to leave her lungs. The ground shakes beneath you and a chilling sensation courses down your spine.

You finally find the courage to turn around to face her as she approaches the group, words dying and being reborn in your throat as you struggle to find just the right thing to say, eventually landing on the bleakest yet most desperate request, “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Her footsteps are heavy, contrasting clearly with those of the colossal titans as they march towards you. Her vision is focused on the young, blonde boy ahead of you and you can tell she is trying with all her might to avoid your eyes, afraid of the reaction you might have.

“Armin Arlert,” her voice is gentle, gentler than it has been in a while, almost as if the heavy burden of the world inside the walls has finally lifted from her shoulders and she could actually think straight, “I hereby designate you the 15th Commander of the Scout Regiment.”

The remainder of the words exchanged between the two of them simply echoes in your brain, going from one ear to the other, almost as if they were speaking sheer gibberish. It doesn’t make sense, none of it does. Why is she making him commander when she is still standing right there? Hopefully not for the reasons you are expecting, right? Your thoughts move a thousand times faster than the actual conversation flows.

Your eyes are fixated on the scenery before you, a mixture of feelings coursing through your veins and your heart feels like it has been missing a few beats as an intense void begins to creep from deep inside of you. The situation is not ideal: the colossal titans get closer by the second, the atmosphere becomes hotter with their steam clouding the air and an overwhelming feeling of despair grows in your chest.

You focus on the sound of her voice, the same sound that has brought you so much comfort in the most trying of times now makes no sense, no matter how you look at it. Her face, which has always been your absolute favorite piece of art to ever exist, now contorted into a pained and saddened expression. In fact, it reminded of the way she looked when Erwin announced she would be taking over the Scouts in case he didn’t make it through Shiganshina.

You are finally pulled out of this trance once she begins to move again, this time towards Levi, confused and worrying eyes following her every move carefully as she moves across the brick bridge. From where you stand, you can see the black haired man tightening his left fist, the breeze hitting every so lightly, just barely enough for it to lift his hair and show you that he is sharing a quick glance with you before returning to Hanji.

“Hey, four-eyes,” he says. That’s the first time you have heard him call her those two words since she became commander. He had told you once before he did it out of respect, seeing that she was now his superior, so for him to say it now, in a moment like this, that is when the realization and truth of the moment finally began to dawn on you.

“You understand, right, Levi?” Her voice trembles in the slightest, in a manner that would be unnoticeable to anyone else but you and the man she is speaking to, “my turn has come at last.”

Hanji raises her hands, fingertips trembling and causing the thunder spears to shake, the sweat glistening on her face as her pupils twitch, it’s a sight you hoped to never see. She tries to play her nervousness off, “I’m giddy with the desire to make a supremely cool exit. Don’t stop what I’ve got going.”

For the first time, her eyes meet yours and you realize only then how many tears she was holding back, a quiet sob dying in your throat as you yelp, your body rejecting your brain’s commands to move, legs stuck in place and swallowing has never been this hard.

With a sigh, you hear those three words out of Levi’s mouth, the same words that are now only chanted by a ghost or a distant memory, “Dedicate your heart.” It feels like a punch to the stomach, air can no longer find its way inside your lungs and you choke on your own saliva, there is no denying what is about to happen anymore and the overwhelming sensation that there is nothing you can do to change it overwhelms you.

She smiles and lets out a gentle giggle, “That’s the first time I’ve heard you say that.”

Lastly, she makes her way towards you. The need for oxygen is intense but the very second that her gentle fingertips touch your face, the world seems to stop for a moment and every worry you have ever had dissipates into the feeling.

“I truly hope that you can forgive me one day,” she says and the tears that dangled from her eyes were finally allowed to fall. With a smirk on her lips, she blew on your face so that your hair would move from one spot to the other and the smell of her breath fills you with a sense of nostalgia and despair.

“Please don’t say that,” you whisper, bringing your body closer to hers, “you are the only family I have left. I don’t know where to go without you,” your voice trembles, your throat is as dry as the deserts you’ve heard Armin talk so much about. The tips of your fingers gently twirl a loose strand of hair that falls on her face.

Hanji turns her face at a precise 90 degree angle to look at Levi, a stoic expression on his face though his eyes tell you everything you need to know about his feelings. A tear runs down Hanji’s face, but only one as she won’t allow herself to fully break down until you are out of sight, “Will you take care of her for me?” He doesn’t respond with words, the only thing he does is nod his head in agreement.

Her eyes make their way back to you as she uses both of her hands to carefully cup your face, lips meeting yours with a desperation you had never seen before, almost as if she is trying to engrave you on her own body. Her tongue glides with yours for a couple of seconds and you feel the butterflies rising in your stomach as if it were the first time you have kissed her.

The moment couldn’t have been longer than a few seconds but it felt like forever and a day, your body nearly melting in contact with her touch. For a split moment, you forgot about the rumbling, about Eren, about the sacrifice she was about to make, nothing mattered anymore. Nothing but this very moment the two of you share.

Everything feels ok for a little while, the warmth of her brown eyes reminds you of the many cups of tea you have shared in the barricades, the softness of her touch bringing up memories of times you’ve met under the apple tree in the courtyard, and the gentleness on her lips stirring butterflies in your stomach, much like the very first time you’d seen her.

However it does not last long. You are brought back to reality by the sound of her ODM gear going off, the hook gripping onto the wall and the cold feeling her lips leave behind. Hanji doesn’t give you enough time to stop her, she simply pulls away before you could even react.

She doesn’t say anything. In the years that passed since she became commander, Hanji had been preparing you for the inevitable moment when she passes away, when her turn to make a sacrifice to save your life would come. In that time, you let your guard down, you had convinced yourself something like that would never happen, not to the both of you.

Your eyes are fixated on her every move, every swing of her blade, every flicker of her cape, and there is nothing you can do. Frozen in place, you watch in horror as she manages to take down a few of the colossal titans on their path of destruction. It wasn’t enough. The engineers still need more time.

Trembling hands struggle to find a way onto your blades as a thought goes through your brain, “How can I help her?” By the time you manage to look back up, you catch a glance of a scene that could only be described as your worst nightmare: your beloved’s body, the person you’ve loved most for the past few years, catching on fire as a result of the bodily heat of the colossal titans.

Your heart sinks in your stomach and all you can do is scream. Your feet begin to move as you make up your mind to run and assist them but a pair of strong hands get a hold of your waist before you have time to move forward.

“Reiner, let me go,” you demand, in vain. No matter just how much you kick, or scream, or scratch him, his grip will not loosen and a sense of utter despair fills you. Your throat burns and your vision is blurred out by all the tears, your hands are shaking and there is nothing more you can do.

The last drop was the moment you caught a glimpse of her lifeless, burned to a crisp body falling from the sky like a meteor ready to destroy your life. You had no more fight left in you, no more strength remaining to try and free yourself from Reiner’s arms.

Something inside of your brain begins to slip away, was it your sanity? Or something more personal, like your spirit? No, this was a feeling you had encountered time and time again, expedition after expedition, titan kill after titan kill, hopelessness. Except this time, the feeling was a thousand times worse.

Without her, how would you be able to find Eren and stop the rumbling once and for all? Not only that, but for the first time, probably ever, you questioned her judgment, after all, how could Armin be commander? The boy who was chosen over Erwin, part of the reason why you found yourself in this situation in the first place.

No, there was no use in pointing fingers at each other. If in a situation like this, where life and death walked hand in hand, she chose him, then you would trust her judgment, even if you didn’t agree with it, even if you believed it to be the wrong choice.

Your eyelids grow heavier the closer you get to the plane, the tears have yet to stop running down your face and a full body spread of goosebumps has taken hold of your skin. You manage to take a deep breath before allowing your exhausted body to slip into unconsciousness and, for the last time, you hear her voice.

“I love you.”

The pounding sensation in your head is nearly too much to bear. You squint through closed eyes, slowly using whatever little strength you have left to raise your arm, shielding your face from the far too close sun rays. The atmosphere surrounding the area is so heavy you could cut it with a knife, but a determined Armin breaks free from the awkwardness. “Listen up,” he says, the confidence is his voice masking his true emotions, “Let’s go over the plan.”

Their voices are now a bit louder, the slight turbulence you come across every so often causes the plane to shake and every last bit of metal to scrape against one another. You can hear the sound of a pencil scribbling on the metal floor, but whether it is writing or drawing, you are unable to realize.

As the conversation goes by, your ears begin to ring and your mind can’t help but wonder how long it has been. You take your hand up to your chest, clutching tightly to the fabric that covers the area above your heart, it feels empty, like it has been broken in two and the pieces have been flung out into space.

Has it been seconds? Has it been days? No, while it feels like an eternity has passed, deep down you know that it has only been somewhere between fifteen to thirty minutes. Tears begin to pool up in your eyes once more, that emptiness eating away at your stomach while you choke down a desolate sob. You don’t want to draw attention towards yourself but yet somehow, you find yourself as the center of everyone’s concern.

For a while, no one dares to move, speak or even breathe. You can’t be bothered by their reactions or lack thereof, the pressure on your chest desperately needs to be released. The tears won’t stop flowing, air fails to enter your lungs as heavy hiccups erupt from deep within your soul. The void you feel could only be compared to a bottomless abyss, not knowing when it will end.

Once you have no more tears left, you try your best to use your arms to sit up, cursing yourself for being so weak in the face of such immediate danger. Footsteps approach you and a helping hand finds a comfortable spot on your lower back, gently assisting you in your attempt to sit. You don’t need to see the person’s face to know exactly who it is.

“Mikasa,” you say, not quite sure if it is a question or if anything else is going to follow.

“How are you feeling?” She asks, her voice is raspy and gentle, like she has been doing some crying of her own. You can’t help but smirk, not out of happiness, but because you know they all already have an idea of what your answer is going to be.

“It feels like my heart has just been ripped out of my chest and I had to watch as it burned,” you say and they all immediately understand that you are referring to the condition you were forced to leave Hanji’s body in. It is a stupid question but, for some reason, it does make the aching a tad bit more tolerable.

“Your hand is bleeding,” Armin points out in a serene voice as he walks towards you, his footsteps seem lighter than a feather in an attempt to not spook you away, as if you were a wild, injured little animal, “How did that happen?”

“I cut it,” You respond, dryly. Your lower lip quivers as you open your palm, revealing the smallest piece of green fabric. It is clear from the patter and the design that it came from one of the cloaks owned by the Survey Corps, no extra words are needed for all present to understand that it belonged to their fallen Commander. Though no one desires to talk about it, Reiner decides to take the fall.

“I may not have been so gentle when we were boarding the flying boat,” he says, using his left hand to scratch the back of his neck while the right one holds onto the rail above his head, “I’m sorry, y/n. I should have been more careful.”

You know what he is trying to do. It is clearly a lie and there is no denying any of it, but you appreciate his efforts to remove the attention from the sore subject. You purse your lips in what could be considered a small smile while quietly nodding your head.

“Would you mind if I took a look at it?” Armin asks, kneeling beside you while reaching his hand underneath your own. Perhaps he was right to treat you like a spooked animal, seeing as your immediate reaction was to move your hand far away from him, clinging onto the fabric for dear life as you push your body towards the back of the ship until you collide with the metal wall. “Please.” He begs.

“No,” you cower away, “This is the last part of me to have ever touched her. It doesn’t hurt, in fact, I can barely feel anything anymore.”

Once more he asks, “Please,” and you realize he isn't going to let the subject go. So before too much of your blood has a chance to soak the bit of cloth, you switch it towards your other hand, extending your injured arm until it touches the top of his thighs.

You whimper as a stream of clean water comes in contact with your open skin, dirt debris being washed away by the contents as best as possible. Your eyes never leave his face, the now 15th Commander of the Survey Corps taking care of you, your heart gets heavier the more you think of him in such a manner. His shoulders are slumped forward, as if there is a “not so fictional” weight on them. It doesn’t take long before he is finished bandaging you up.

“I am fully aware it is not the same but,” a masculine voice comes from the front half of the ship, “you still have us.”

Your eyes now meet Levi, whose crossed arms and stern face somehow brings you the slightest amount of comfort. With a helping hand from Connie, you make your way towards him, gently placing yourself between Pieck and the black-haired man, who ever so gently places a comforting hand behind your back. It is rare for him to demonstrate any sort of affection, so by the way his fingers feel against your clothes, you can nearly feel his own grief. Another lump forms in your throat, but you swallowed it this time.

“We’ll make sure that Hanji’s death wasn’t in vain,” Mikasa swears, false determination taking over her words, “We’ll return Eren into his old self, I know he is still in there somewhere, just waiting for us.”

Any sort of emotion gets drained from your face as you stare deep into her eyes, gray orbs looking deeply at you in hopes of any approval of her message. You raise your chin as you cross your legs, bringing your body forward, closer to her. You don’t want to be mean, nor do you want to make her feel like her attempt at comforting you fell into deaf ears, but all present right now know that what she has said is bullshit.

“Mikasa,” your voice is stern, “do you remember what Annie asked you once in the forest and then again after we attempted to communicate with Floch?” She doesn’t respond but, by the expression on her face, you realize that she knows exactly what you are talking about. With no indication that she plans on acknowledging the subject, you continue, “She asked you if you would ever be able to kill Eren.”

She looks away, gripping her knees tightly. “That won’t be necessary!” Armin says, the nervousness in his voice is palpable as he desperately tries to change the subject while still hoping to provide you with the comfort he knows you need at this moment.

You sigh before continuing, “I know you want to bring him back. I may know that better than anyone else at the moment. But I need you to listen closely as I tell you this,” Your voice is louder than the engines, the tears begin pooling in your eyes once more, you bring the small piece of Hanji’s cloak towards your chest, a determined expression on your face, “There is no bringing him back at this point. He has gone too far. Even if you did bring him back, the remaining world population would kill him with their bare hands.”

“Why are you saying all of this?” Someone asks, though your mind has become nothing but fog so you can’t quite tell whose voice it is at the moment. You take a deep breath, allowing the cold air to fill your burning lungs.

“Because no matter what you all say,” any emotion is drained from your voice, “my final mission is to kill Eren Yeager.”

“If I could do it all again

I know I'd go back to you”

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missbunnybunny · 10 months

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🫧『𝕺𝖍 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖎𝖘 𝖘𝖍𝖊? 𝕬 𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞 𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖞』🫧

Tw: dark kink, unprotected sex, non-con, dark content, rough sex, bondage, kinky, breeding, praise, degradation.

A/n: If something is incorrect, please let me know. using Google Translate for Russian words. I simply put down what came to me and spell-checked it. I'm not sure whether it even makes sense or not but enjoy!

Note: I'm interested in seeing how good my writing is, therefore I'm giving it my all. I have high hopes, for this one. This is a long boy. Your meal has been served, it was my pleasure serving you all 🍽️🤵🏽‍♀️.

🎐𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝟐🎐

Oh, Who is she...

-Russia, Kubinka.-

The sky was a never-ending sea of white and grey, with no sight of the sun to sprinkle a sliver of sunshine as the snow gently fell to the earth, painting everything white as far as the eyes could see. People were spotted marching up and down with their warm jackets and hats, guns in hand, flawlessly matching one stride at a time. Not one man, hair, or step out of line, just as they were trained.

An automobile stopped in front of a large structure, the driver's door opened, and a hefty man crouched down and carefully exited the vehicle. Soon after, three more doors opened, and three guys came out of the car, closely followed by a lady. Her e/c eyes surveyed her surroundings as she expelled a little puff of air and watched it develop and dissipate, demonstrating how chilly it was outdoors.

The group entered the building and proceeded to a table; the woman sat on a couch a few meters away from the table, setting her weapon down. Her colleagues each pulled out a chair and sat. You gazed at them silently as you picked up the riffle you had placed down as you walked in, taking it into your hands and starting to disassemble it. You were cleaning the scope aimlessly when you were dragged out of your thoughts by someone calling out to you.

" Rusalka." He exclaimed. Rusalka a water spirit or a water fairy. She was frequently linked to the mythological concepts of a nymph or a mermaid. The term "Deadly but Beautiful" was given to you by your superiors. You liked the name Rusalki because she was a deadly dead creature and cursed ghost that resembled a young woman. Your countless enemies would hear your name before being struck down.

timid, helpless, and frail, some would say she was. But even the most beautiful flower may be toxic when needed. Judging a book by its cover would get you killed. You were nothing but skilled, powerful, and lethal.

"Yes, Captain Azhdaya." It signified dragon. He had a bulky physique. His face is studded with minor battle scars, except for the bigger ones. One on his left cheek a few meters from his lips and concluding just shy of his ear, a scar at the bridge of his nose, and a split on his lip. "Your location will be here," he says, pointing to a map as you stand to investigate.

"You will cover the team from this distance." He ended by tugging his finger in a direction. It was an excellent location with lots of trees and tall grass; blending in with an all-white outfit in an unending field of white snow would make it simple to conceal from the adversary and get a vantage point at the same time.

A misty memory

Leshy, the forest's guardian. His honey-brown eyes examined the chart, humming a tune under his breath as he took everything in. At 5"8, he was a few inches shorter than the captain.

Vodyanoy was discussing options that they might take advantage of. The hues of the woodland were reflected in the eyes. They were two colors, yet they were as enthralling as an unending expanse of trees and flowers. He was 3 inches shorter and had less muscular mass than Azhdaya, yet he was still a terrifying opponent to face in a fight.

Chuma and Leshy were the same height. He was a man with few words. But he was always in the mood for black humor jokes, making you both laugh and smile as the captain gazed on in fear. His eyes were clear and wonderfully polished blue proportions. He was a lovely soul, like your brother, even though you threatened to slam your foot up his ass for nearly getting killed.

You made your way to the table while reassembling your riffle. As you read the orders, your pupils narrowed. Objectives Destroy the English task force and safeguard the nuclear weapons in the ware home. Your hand reached for your hat, pulling it down slightly and readjusting it.

" Put on your armor and prepare your weapons. We depart at 0800 and expect to arrive by 1000." Azhdaya spoke up, dismissing you all from the briefing to prepare for the upcoming expedition.

You all walked out of the room and into your individual rooms. There would be no time to waste. Blood would be spilled tonight, and your squad would either win or die at the hands of the enemy.

A haunting face

The trip was uneventful. You all sat in the rear of the armored truck, silently double-checking your coms, gear, and weapons. Your seat was at the rear, and you were staring out the window idly. Watching as the colors of the night and the red glimmer of the tailgate blended together in one fast move before disappearing into the darkness. Only to pick up again.

You'd lost count of time, your attention only on the glittering lights in the night. It was lovely. Azhdaya was checking in with everyone to ensure that everything was in order. The squad represented family to him. The boys were like the sons had never had, and Rusalka, like the youngest, leave her alone, and she was going to destroy the world.

His gaze was drawn to the short figure in the rear, and he made a mental note to ensure she was mentally sound. She was threatening the guys, telling them she'd stick her pistol up their asses if they died on her.

The car came to a complete halt. "Rusalka, we're here." The person next to you spoke, Chuma patted your shoulder and stated. You blink and glance up at him, then nod your head, rise up, and grip the firearm close to your chest.

The expedition had begun; for better or worse, may you all return home.

Is she a lost embrace?

You and your riffle were hiding on a hill. A light coat of snow covered your body from head to toe. If someone looked in your direction, all they'd see is a mound of snow, plants, and trees.

They might see the glimmer of scope if they looked carefully enough.

Do you copy, Rusalka?- As a voice spoke up to you, you heard the communication link come alive. That was your captain - Yes, over. -You talked quietly and quietly so as not to draw attention to yourself.

If you detect any activity, alert us - He said, staring out the window, his figure masked by the night's darkness. The others wait in their respective holdings for any others to either fire or rethink their future movements.

It was completely quiet. You had no idea how much time had passed. More snow blanketed your body like a giant chilly blanket, completely immersing you beneath it. Your hands were numb from the cold, and you had to push yourself to remain motionless as little shivers and trembles brushed your skin.

Am I in love with just a theme?

From the looks of things, tonight was going to be unremarkable. Until you heard it, that is. Your ears picked up on the faint crunching sound. It was too big for a cat, too quiet for a fox, and too tall for a dog. It was a person, but you had to make certain it wasn't a civilian.

You adjusted your riffle slightly and focused your attention on the shadows you saw slipping away in the darkness. When you saw it, they were holding firearms and wearing protective gear. -Humans- were the words that came out of your mouth as you turned on the coms connection.

You observed three towering people headed toward the structure. One taller than the other, he wore a hood, another wore what seemed to be a skull mask, and finally, a man with a Mohawk? You hesitated briefly, resisting the impulse to chuckle quietly. You had to admit it suited him. Oh well, He was still the enemy.

Static came from your coms, and it quickly came back to life to instruct you. -headcount?- he gruffly asked you. - 3, sir.- You hurriedly spoke. - Keep a lookout two missing people. He advised you that there should be 5. You dropped your sight and examined your scope.

You gazed about the area for a while before seeing it. A person towards the front of the building, next to a shrub. - 4 shrubs at the entrance - You spoke as you gazed at the man you would have missed if you hadn't seen his little movement.

Or is Ayesha just a dream?

You were told to shoot as soon as they broke through the door. The instruction was to shoot to injure and, if necessary, to kill.

Something caught your attention. You didn't know what it was, but something was awry on the opposite side of the field. Was it the stillness, the swearing misleading figures appearing in your vision?

You couldn't rely on your vision. The darkness and shadows might generate illusions that will stymie your enthusiasm and your team's life. The door to the building burst open while your attention was elsewhere. It caught you off guard. You looked up immediately to see that they were entering the building.

They entered the building, permission to shoot.- You talked softly but rapidly. As you waited, your finger slowly fell to the trigger. - Granted-, that was all you needed to shoot at the figure as it slowly made its way inside.

You kept an eye out for any opportunities. You pulled the trigger when you saw it. The bullet sliced through the air as it approach its victim. His leg was struck. His blood had stained the snow underneath him.

A mystery

From then on, all hell had broken loose. Ghost talked on the coms after Soap was shot. When he informed his crew that bullets had been fired, their senses went into overdrive. König was ahead of the group, gun lifted, trigger finger on the trigger, ready to fire on the suspicious enemy.

Ghost was on the right, Soap was on the left, and Price was just behind them. Soap was hobbling a little, but the gunshot had not killed him. Ghost unlocked the doors and searched the rooms for any indication or sight of someone. The weapons were reported to be at the far end of the facility, according to the information.

A gunshot struck the side of König's skull, missing him by an inch. As soon as the doors leading to the weapon room opened. He and his men retreated hastily behind the door and the walls, firing back at the culprits.

Both sides were heavily armed. It could be heard over the coms as the sound of gunfire broke out in the air. Making the night more silent, quiet, and foreboding. After a while, everything was silent; neither the wind nor the crickets wanted to make an appearance. Sometimes silence was never a good thing.

Oh, who is she?

You waited with bated breath - Leshy and Chuma were shot - a voice came through. Vodyanoy was there. You exhaled a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding. You stood there watching as the man who had entered the building burst out the door.

You watched as the man with the Mohawk was assisted by a man wearing a helmet. The tallest of them all had the arm of the man in a skull mask over his shoulder. Their blood stained the snow with a brilliant scarlet tint.

That's when something occurred to you. - Vodyanoy, tell me where Azhdaya is. Unlike your normal calm and collected manner, you raised your voice. -The captain was shot in the abdomen.- As you received the news, your heart fell, throbbing and hurting. - I've already made the decision. But I require your presence.- You entered the building without hesitation, without caring if it would get you killed or if it was irresponsible.

The mission was successful, but at a high cost: everyone was severely hurt. The cost was cleared when the medical team came. Unfortunately, someone had to remain behind. You offered to remain behind because there wasn't much room in the truck, don't know how but it happened. Your team was against it, but you shot them down. You were the least harmed and would be hiding in one of the nearby hideouts.

Oh, who is she?

You arrived at one of the hideouts, an abandoned structure by a river. Your firearm was never far from your side or in your hands. Even though it was familiar ground, you could never relax your guard.

As you got closer to the building, you noticed a towering person. You'd seen him before. If you recall, he was the colonel on the other side of this combat field. You knew you could play the helpless citizen if you were simply charming to him. You could at the very least eliminate him and his squad.

You took a gamble knowing you were about to collide in this combat field unknown to him but not to you. He was tall, far taller than you would have anticipated. He towered over your commander. You choose to have some fun. You taunted him by messing with his thoughts. You become the night's shadow, the illusion that swirled in his unfocused eyes.

You observed him as he twisted and turned. Look to the right and left, up ahead and below. You chuckled a little, watching him feverishly search for you like a lost puppy. But you were disappointed since your spot had been snatched from you; you heard shouts and froze. The man in the skull mask exited the building beside the colonel. You made the decision to walk away from him. You locked eyes with him as he lifted his firearm and spoke harshly. " Get her."

A misty memory

You rushed out of there on your heels, seeking for a new hiding spot. You rushed through the deep forest, crouching low to avoid hitting a tree. You made the mistake of looking back and confronting death.

He was swiftly catching up with you. You ran and ran, and you appeared to have lost track of time, but one thing bothered you: they were both following after you, but when you looked around, you noticed the one with the skull mask.

You inhaled the frigid air, allowing it to enter your aching, anxious lungs. You proceeded to the abandoned building, taking in as much air as you could and watching for a while to be sure it was clear. You seek refuge in a dark area with access to the entrance and window.

You closed your eyes and lay back against the corner, rifle in hand, succumbing to tiredness and allowing sleep to overtake you. You were too sleepy to notice that your safe way was going to be your undoing.

A haunting face

As Ghost and König stood in front of the building König had seen you walk onto, it was late. Ghost had lost track of you, and the snow had made everything appear so familiar that he couldn't tell right from left. He waited until König returned, informing Ghost that he had discovered where you were hiding.

Now when they were standing in front of the building, Ghost crept inside quietly, not wanting you to flee. You being valuable to them since you know the ins and outs of the building. He creeps closer to the room, discovering you in a corner with a riffle in hand. Your head hung down, hiding your features. He eased you out of the corner.

He straddled your lap and took a knife from his thigh strap, pressing it to your throat. " You know, that's not nice. Everyone told you, you have a sexy waist." You voiced to him, as you looked him up and down, making eye contact, a little grin tugged at your lips.

Ghost's eyes narrow as he looks at you, moving his knife closer to your throat, a line of scarlet slipping from your slashed flesh. "I'm the one who asks the questions here." His tone was harsh and low. Sending shivers down your spine as his icy, almost lifeless eyes glared down at you.

You can feel his breath fan your face as he leans forward. You feel your cheeks get hot and flushed. Were you indeed roused by a masked guy riding your lap? Perhaps nothing is impossible in love and war.

Is she a lost embrace?

You heard a stir from behind you and tilted your head to see a tall man towering over the two of you. The moonlight behind him accentuated his silhouette. Huh? The lost puppy returned in search of his owner, you guessed. König kept staring into you quietly, observing your very move.

"as much as I would enjoy having you in my lap," you said to the masked man, carefully moving your hand, not revealing your plans for the following few seconds. "You've never said your name." You sweetly spoke, but they couldn't see it anyhow. Finally, make contact with your riffle and grip it tightly.

You heard him say, "König." His voice is deep and low, and just hearing it makes your stomach twist and spin. "Ghost," remarked the man next to you. "Rusalka," you say, raising your arm and smacking the riffle's bud into the ghost's face. Making him lose his equilibrium somewhat, providing you exactly the right amount of change.

König charged at you as Ghost was cradling his bloody nose. You couldn't feel his body as much as you wanted to. You turned and hurried out of the room you were in and into another. Will the mouse escape or will the cat devour the mouse?

I call her name

As you approached the front of the building, you could see the light at the end of the corridor. It was probably time to look for a new home, but unfortunately, like the cat that ate the canary, you were apprehended before you could safely fly away. Something heavy smacked your back, forcing the breath from your lungs in a huge gasp.

You're not sure how long you were out, but when you awoke, your wrists were bound behind your back and you were tied to a chair, your legs connected to the leg chair. "Well, aren't Kinky?" you said, glancing up at the two guys looking down at you. They look at you. Ghost approached you, his hands resting on your thighs. You could feel the marks framing the outline of his hands as he squeezed so hard.

"Since you don't want to behave, I'll teach you manners." Ghost spoke, harshly grading your chin. You felt hands on your legs before Ghost shoved it away. König knelt down and unfastened your legs. As König rose up and came to Ghost's side, you maintained eye contact with him.

Know that your thoughts were not going in circles. You noticed that it was cooler than usual. Looking down, you noticed your gear and jacket had vanished. Ghost came up behind you, untying your hands from the chair just to re-tie them. So you're not going to attempt anything.

Across an endless plain

Your face was smashed against the dirt floor in the blink of an eye, and your pants and underwear ripped off your waist as though a wild beast desired something more. Your cunt has been exposed to the stranger, Ghost. "You may scream all you want. It's just three of us here." As you felt something hard push against you, he groaned. "You want me to behave," you exhale, shifting your face to face him. "Make me," you spat in his face, you weren't going down that easy.

His cock pounding pierces your pussy lips and presses deep inside of you. Your eyes roll into your skull, erupting in a whining moan. You wept and pleaded in a high you'd never known, with each thrust driving your face further and harder into the floor, yet he never yielded. Instead, his muscular arms just held you in place until release arrived in the form of his sperm blasting forcefully into your womb. " Should've behaved." He talked as he stood, leaving your ass up on the floor, his cum flowing out of your pussy onto the floor.

In your haze, you noticed boots in front of you and looked up to see König staring down at you; you blinked up at him, blinking away the tears that had gathered in your eyes. From the fuck Ghost had given you. He lowered himself, stroking your cheek and brushing away some stray tears with his thumb. "We might let you go if you give us what we want." You forced your lips together tightly, not making a single sound. Looking him straight in the eyes.

She'll answer me

"She's a lot more stubborn than we thought, König." Ghost declared as he picked you up by your tide hands and watched your legs try to remain erect. Ghost's knife ripped your shirt, tearing it apart in front of their greedy gaze. His left hand touched your face as he raised his mask, tilting it so he could passionately kiss you. You trembled as an enormous chilly hand clutched your chest, his right hand still firmly gripping your roped-tied hands.

Squeezing and licking your nipples like a ravenous starving man. König sucked and bit, leaving a trail of vibrant markings from your chest to your stomach and then to your core. While pounding two of his enormous thick fingers into you, he spreads your lips while kissing and relentlessly sucking your clit.

Your thoughts were racing with pleasure and overstimulation. Your lips were still being taken. You fell undone under them, Ghost's ravenous lips snatched the chances to breathe. König sipped your juices, humming to himself as if it were his sole source of relief for his parched throat. As he drank his fill, you felt the vibration against your pussy, and he drew away, licking his lips and letting his hood fall back down his face. His gaze fixed on your crumbling body.

Ghost, you let go, and you fall to the floor, your legs too weak to support you." It appears that we will have to break her." You didn't know who said it since you were too fucked up to notice or care, "Bite me." Your response was more of a drunken rambling than confidently articulated.

Wherever she may be

You became crushed between Ghost and König, and König pulled his hood up and pushed your chin up for him, tenderly kissing you and caressing your hair. While ghosts' hands raced across your body, searching every inch until nothing remained untouched by his fingers.

You could feel König's cock throbbing and dripping little pearls of cum against your tummy. Your body was drawn up until you were hovering above his quivering, gushing tip. As he split you in two, your arms swiftly curled around his neck, covering your face in his chest.

König drove himself more and deeper inside you, and with each inch, you gasped for breath. "That's a good girl…" He praised you, and you let out a tiny curse in your native tongue, feeling as though his words had kindled a fire within you. Soon after, his base kissed your cunt's lips. He let you relax for a few moments before grabbing your supple hips. It began slowly and steadily until you felt something hard press against your ass.

You totally filled König and Ghost in one fast motion. They began to thrust; being full of könig was one thing. But being filled by them both over and over again had you groaning and moaning like the slut you were for them. Every vein pressed against your walls as they gently stretched you out, shaping you to the shape of their dicks with each deep push. Bouncing you up and down, hitting every deep area that had you seeing stars. Fuck, the entire cosmos.

Oh, who is she?

König was concerned that he would inflict too much harm on you. After all, you were so little compared to him and Ghost. Nevertheless, he was losing control of himself, his eyesight obscured by the need to fill you with his seed. His head and judgment, his cock longing for release. König held you to his chest. Something about the whole event you excited in a deep primal lust, a never-ending hunger.

The only thing your lust-filled thoughts wanted right now was to be taken from behind and in front by two huge beasts like them. The lack of König's cock was already causing your insides to ache for him, and you whined for him. König whispered into your ear as he gripped a fistful of your hair, his hot breath thick on your neck. "mine! your fucking mine." He hissed low and commandingly. how you loved it, squeezing them tighter.

In one seamless stroke, könig sheathed himself into you up to the hilt, one hand on your neck and the other securely gripping your hip. The loud yell that the movement elicited from you was addictive in and of itself. They couldn't get enough of you, making an obscene squelching sound as König and Ghost brutally pounded their big cock as if you'd vanish if they didn't.

They grunted deep animalistic grunts as they pushed into your swelling pussy and ass, and you swallowed them in and contracted around them like there was no tomorrow. Not wanting to give up the mind-bending bliss.

A misty memory

"дa да да да" [yes⁴] You screamed in pleasure, feeling your body tense and quiver every time König's balls made contact with your clit and his head pressed against your womb. " я кончу! чувствую себя так хорошо. заполните меня, пожалуйста." [am gonna cum! feel so good. fill me up, please.] You mumbled in your native tongue, head clouded with pure raw lust.

Their ears were filled with your moans. They totally engulfed themselves in you, with König pushing all of himself past your lips and his head pressing against your cervix. They didn't care about the lew sounds, popping in and out of you. Not with them making you feel so amazing. " I'm-A-AHHHHH!" You could feel his cock's head pushing in and out faster and harder, a couple of thrusts of their hips. With a loud cry that tore itself straight out of your lungs, you spammed and squeezed around them.

You'd never experienced anything like this in your life, and it rocked you to your core. Underneath them, you were a trembling mess. Squeezing around them, feeling you tighten and flutter, was enough to induce them to cum inside you.

His hips were forced against you, and his cock was shoved in as far as it could go. As he poured hot ropes of sperm into your womb, his veins surged and his skull flashed. They were coming inside of you in ropes and ropes, and you were breathing heavily. Their cocks beat rhythmically with your constrictions, their testicles contracting with each spurt of come blasted into your small pussy and tight ass. There was so much of it that it started to pour out of you and onto the floor.

A haunting face

You were in ecstasy. You were warm, full, secure, and safe. You'd just had the most exquisite fuck of your life by the same enemy you were supposed to kill, and they were remaining inside of you as if they'd die pulled out of you. You've never felt more at home than right now, beneath both of them. You turned your head and kissed his cheek, despite his hood covering it.

You awoke in the middle of them, it was still dark, König's hand was wrapped around your waist, while Ghost's hand was wrapped around your thigh. You gradually broke free from their grip. You discovered your gun and jacket. You hand no pants or underwear, much to your dismay. Just a jacket, some equipment, boots, a hat, and socks. You gazed at the two men, your hat partially covering your face, but it wasn't gonna work. Ghost wouldn't mind if you searched through his belongings; after some searching, you discovered what you were seeking.

You discovered his balaclava. It was just like his. Everything was painted on the skull. His eyelashes were virtually white, and it was rather sad that your enjoyment had come to an end while admiring their loveliness. Because of obvious reasons,-Rusalka, why is your line off?- The person on the other end of the telephone chastises you. - ну да xpн, Vodyanoy.- [oh fuck off].

Vodyanoy placed his palm over his heart and added, -The love, am touched. I got you what you asked for.- He chuckled, knowing you had a scowl on your face. He was the one person you could contact and ask him to deliver your clothing with no questions asked.

Is she a lost embrace?

You did take some Vodyanoy and Leshy, as well as Chuma on occasion. They accompanied you when you went shopping for new clothing and even underwear; someone had to carry your luggage, and it wasn't going to be you. Vodyanoy was the only one who knew your exact measurements; it was actually rather amusing. He looked like a lost child the first time he went to the store to assist you pick out new clothes.

You could hear tires crunching on the snow as you walked away from the building. " I finally tracked you down. Get your ass in the car before you freeze. Short bitch." He chastised you like a child caught sneaking a cookie when they weren't meant to. As you move to the rear, you give him the middle finger.

You were finally warmed up again after changing your clothing. "Sooo… What fucked you over?" said Vodyanoy as he drove in silence. He wonders if the cold has finally caused you to lose it and go around nude. "As if you'd know." If only he knew, you retorted cynically. You snicker that he could be having a heart attack.

Somewhere across the sea of time

It was approximately 0700 when you arrived at the base. You could still feel hot ropes trickling down your leg. You were sore. Your entire body felt like it was made of cement, weighing you down. You were about to walk into your room, but life doesn't work that way.

The captain wanted to visit you in order to obtain an incident report. "Rusalka, what has happened to your face?" He inquired. Remembering the vivid moment when Ghost slutted you out on his dick and banged your face into the floor."Nothing, sir," you say as you avoid eye contact, "are your injuries better?" You shifted the topic on which he indulged.

You were surprised to learn that the higher-ups were relocating the nuclear weapons and reassigning the personnel in charge of them. You were disappointed, which meant you wouldn't be seeing them again.

"Rusalka, I was wondering where you found that?" Azhdaya inquired, pointing to his face to indicate what he meant. Oh, you reasoned. Ghost's balaclava, which you stole. "In an abandoned building. I like it," you stated casually while caressing it. It was silky and smelled like tea and dark wood. You were reminded of him, but you wouldn't tell them the truth. A tiny white lie will not harm.

You were curious whether Ghost had worn it before you stole it from him. You miss his touch, and you consider yourself addicted to them.

A love immortal such as mine

Ghost and König awoke at 0800 in the morning. He gazed about, feeling the lack of warm skin underneath him. König sprung to his feet, having awoken from an abrupt shift next to his body. He two saw someone was missing, and you were no longer there.

Everything about you had vanished, even your weapon and ripped clothes. It was almost as if you were a ghost that appeared for one night of pleasure just to vanish into the darkness. They went around the building but couldn't find anything, which is when he discovered it.

There was something in his thigh pocket, where his regular skull balaclava would be. It was a white hat. The hat that you wore when they discovered you sleeping in the corner. He investigated for any other missing items and discovered that his knife had also vanished.

As König and Ghost stood there grabbing and repairing their equipment, Ghost stated, " Clever girl." His dark eyes narrowed as he glanced at the hat he clutched in his fingers. If he gets his hands on you again, he'll tie you up and imprison you in his house like an animal.

Will come to me

Soon after, König and Ghost were picked up and joined the others. Price enquired as to why they had split up, but Ghost disregarded the question by adding, "We were surveying that area when a storm caught us." He side-eyed könig who nodded in agreement.

When they landed in England, the Price informed them that their plans had been altered by higher-ups. Laswell informed them that the weapons had been relocated to an unidentified location. And that, for the time being, they would do other things until they figured out where.

König's shoulders fell, and Ghost remained cool on the outside, but he was in turmoil on the inside. It suggested that there was a little chance they'd stumble across you on the battlefield. König hoped to see you again, to feel your delicate skin, and to hear your whimper as you unraveled. He urgently needed you, your cunt, all of you.

Ghost was disappointed because he hadn't completed educating you who was in control. And that you were nothing more than his to break and train as he saw fit.

Eternally

You'd met the two men a month ago. To say you missed them would be an understatement; you were ravenous for them to break you, make you their slave for their cock, to give you pleasure. But you'd never say it to their faces. You enjoyed the sight in their eyes when they believed they could control you, and you liked being controlled by them. win-win.

You submitted to training, gaining new skills and experiences. You even earned your nursing license. You had a good time mocking Chuma for getting into problems due to Leshy and Vodyanoy. He was like the group's older brother… getting hurt for the stupid things his younger siblings did.

Azhdaya summoned you to his office. You were aware of the situation. You submitted your application for a move in two years. You adored your team, but you felt it was time to go out to new waters.

"Are you sure?" Azhdaya asks, setting the papers down and staring at you. looking for any signs of unpleasant emotion on your face. "Yes, Sir." You formed a little smile on your face and nodded. " Alright. " He sighed and continued to talk to you.

Immortal she

It had taken two years, but the day had finally come. Tomorrow was your departure day from Russia for your new home base. The crew surprised you with a farewell party. Providing you with goodies that you may not find in your new home.

Leshy and Vodyanoy were sobbing uncontrollably. Leshy shakes you back and forth, imploring you, or rather pleading with you, to stay with him. Vodyanoy clutched your leg as if he were a kid, imploring you not to leave him alone with Leshy, and explaining that Leshy was this and that. You stroked his hair. You could have been the one who lost a screw, but Leshy was missing the box and the lock that held it in place.

You ate and drank as if there was no tomorrow. They dropped you off at the airport the following day. giving you a hugs and best wishes. - The flight from Moscow, Russia, to London, England, is about to board.- The announcement was made over the speakers.

König tapped his foot nervously. Ghost stared at him as he waited in line with his other 141 task members, giving him a supportive nod. They didn't know anything about the newcomer. They were meeting them for the first time today.

A vehicle was spotted approaching the base and slowing down before completely halting. The door opens, and a figure walks out, their h/c hair gently swinging in the breeze that blows past the base. They exchanged handshakes with Price.

When könig and Ghost turned around, they could only gaze as your s/c skin sparkled in the sunshine. The way your h/c hair complemented and framed your face, making you appear ethereal. Most importantly, the sunbeams in your eyes, causing them to glitter like a Dimond on exhibit for its beauty.

Return to me

"прывітaнне, я Русалка. It's a pleasure to meet you, " [Hello, my name is Rusalka.] You spoke quietly, offering your hand, never breaking eye contact with Ghost and König as you smiled at them. They knew, and you knew it wasn’t your first encounter with them.

To be continued......Maybe, if people like it.

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bleachification · 2 years

Text

tell me pretty lies

pairing: chuuya x reader

notes: this is actually a part two to this: <3

author’s notes: this is incredibly rushed so please ignore the weird ass pacing near the end ok ty mwah

Kunikida is glaring at Dazai. The latter does not acknowledge the former. In fact, he can't, given that he’s currently curled up into a fetal position and dead asleep on top of Kunikida’s desk.

“Oh my god,” Atsushi whispers.

You nod solemnly. “He’s gonna kill him.”

You and the white-haired boy are currently crouched down behind a bookshelf at the agency, peeking through the gaps at the Shakespearean tragedy unfolding before you.

Atsushi leans over and whispers again: “Should we call the police?”

“We are the police,” you hiss.

“The normal police!”

“What, and have them arrest Kunikida for second-degree murder? The agency would fall to shambles!”

Atsushi opens his mouth to retort, only to be interrupted by a sudden piercing screech.

Atsushi stares at you. You stare back. Both of you share the same expression.

Oh shit.

You both burst from your hiding space and sprint towards the noise, fully ready to stop Kunikida from committing bloody murder. The sight that greets you halts both you and Atsushi in your tracks.

The scream did not come from Dazai.

Your eyes widen, and you’re sure Atsushi’s follow suit. It is the only appropriate reaction to the scene before you. Dazai is wide awake now, backed up against the wall in terror and amusement, and has his arms outstretched in what can only be described as a defensive stance. Clenched tight in Dazai’s bandaged hands is the instrument of Kunikida’s anger—although anger doesn’t quite encompass the extent of emotions that have taken over Kunikida. The man is furious. His face is so red you’re afraid he’s going to faint—or explode. What's even more terrifying is the look in his eyes—one of a crazed person blind to reason.

Atsushi backs away until he’s on the opposite side of the room and as far away from his superiors as possible.

Traitor.

You, on the other hand, slowly inch between the two men and hold out your hands in a placating gesture—as if trying to ward off a predator who has locked onto its prey.

“Kunikida, calm down. We can talk this out. It was just an accident, right, Dazai? You signal at him with a tight smile, silently indicating for him to nod his head and agree.

Instead, Dazai does what he always does: open his big, fat mouth.

“I did him a favour!”

Kunikida’s eye twitches… and then he charges.

“Atsushi!” You yelp.

The boy leaps from his spot and full-force tackles Kunikida to the floor as you grab Dazai by the ear and aggressively yank him out the door and into the buzzing streets of Yokohama, hoping the presence of witnesses will be an effective deterrent to Kunikida’s killing intent.

Dazai is still protesting when you drag him to a quiet bar snuggled into the corner of a practically desolate street. It’s a familiar place—one that ignites a spark of nostalgia within you. You used to frequent this place quite often with a certain short-tempered redhead.

Once inside, you sit Dazai at the bar and raise a questioning brow. “Did you have to provoke him like that?”

Dazai just shrugs and orders a few drinks, shamelessly flirting with the waitress while doing so.

“There’s a lovely bridge down by the city that we could throw ourselves—“ His words turn muffled as you shove a hand to his mouth and politely send the waitress away, apologizing as she leaves with the order.

He finally wrenches free from your grip. “Hey!”

You turn your gaze back towards him, a warning in your eyes.

He clears his throat. “So…”

“You’re going to regret that, you know,” you sigh.

Dazai sits back, relaxed. “He was overdue for a haircut anyway.”

You groan and drop your head into your hands, actively willing the oncoming headache away. You can still vividly picture the long bundle of blonde hair lying on the floor, frayed at the ends where Dazai snipped it off with a pair of office scissors.

He is so screwed.

“Enough about that bore. I needed to talk to you anyway; I got a mission for you,” Dazai interrupts your thoughts, a small smile on his lips. He always manages to exude an air of nonchalance, even when he’s anything but.

“What is it?”

He flashes a smile at the waitress as she sets down your drinks, and you thank her before turning your attention back to the man opposite you.

“There’s an event—a charity ball. One Port Mafia executive and a few of his subordinates are slated to attend. I need you to infiltrate the party as a guest and gather information from our high-ranked target,” he explains.

You narrow your eyes. There’s something Dazai isn’t telling you. You can tell by the way he’s fiddling with the drink coaster.

“Why me? I’m a doctor. My undercover days are long over,” you prod. There were much younger, active field agents that would be better suited to the job. So why you?

Dazai hesitates. That’s never a good sign.

“The… agency believes you are uniquely qualified for this role.”

“Who’s the target?” You push him for a better answer. There’s something else—-something bigger he’s hiding.

Dazai murmurs.

“What?”

“I said it’s Chuuya.” Dazai rushes the words out so quickly that you can’t comprehend what he says at first.

And then it clicks.

“Absolutely not!” Your glass clatters as you shoot up in your seat.

It has been three months since you patched up Chuuya in that abandoned tunnel, and you haven’t seen him since. You don’t plan on breaking that streak.

“Hear me out—“

“I said no,” you snap.

Now it’s Dazai’s turn to sigh. “Please. Just sit and listen.”

Against all rationale, you do. Although you’re visibly irritated—a fact Dazai takes into consideration as he broaches the topic once more.

“The mission is more of a… peace negotiation? We need you to set up a meeting with their executives as the agency requires to speak with them about sensitive matters,” he explains. Dazai takes a sip of whiskey as he lets the information sink in.

“You want me to set up a meeting between the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia?”

“Exactly.”

“Through Chuuya?”

“Yup.”

“Have you hit your head again?” You think he must have if he’s asking such a ridiculous thing from you.

Another Dazai sigh.

“I think you are our best chance at getting near Chuuya without inciting bloodshed or conflict.”

You’re staring at the table, a maelstrom of thoughts swirling through your head like a disaster-level hurricane.

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me?” Your voice comes out low with the slightest tremble. You bite your lip as you await his answer.

Dazai drums his fingers on the bartop and lowers his head into his palm. “I know Chuuya. And I know you. Talk to him; it’s the only way things can be fixed.”

You swallow. Trying to fix things between you and Chuuya is like trying to reconstruct a glass vase dropped from a thousand feet onto concrete. Whatever he felt for you has been viscerally tainted by your betrayal.

“That’s a nice little fantasy. Sadly, real life doesn’t work that way. I refuse,” you reply.

You drain your glass, and the scotch burns as it slides down your throat. You almost relish the pain—maybe because you believe it’s deserved.

“You’ve been mopey as hell these last few months. Even more so than before. It’s depressing—even for me,” Dazai snorts.

You roll your eyes. The past few weeks haven’t been the best, but it’s not like you’re drowning in tears, ice cream, and shitty rom-coms.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Dazai ignores you. “Talk to him. It’ll be good for both of you. I’m sure he’s just as mopey over at that garbage dump they call an organization.”

Are you going to do this? Are you really going to put yourself through all this again?

Dazai hits the final nail in the coffin. “Plus, the agency’s counting on you.”

Yes. Yes, you are.

Fuck.

“Fine. One hour. If I can’t convince him in one hour, I’m walking my ass right out the door.”

Dazai smiles, and his entire face brightens up. “Deal!”

You reluctantly shake his hand, already bracing for what’s going to be one of the worst nights of your life.

“Oh, and [Y/N]?”

“Yeah?”

“Chuuya—not that he’ll ever admit it—needs you,” Dazai squeezes your shoulder. “And I think you need him too.”

—

“This is a tremendously bad idea!” You hiss into the microphone as you’re let into the lavish venue.

All you get in response is Dazai’s infuriating giggles as you make your way down the hall, being extra careful not to trip over the formal attire you’re adorned in.

The night of the event comes a week after your talk with Dazai. After a whirlwind day of pampering and tailoring, you finally make your debut at the party.

A set of platinum-gilded doors greet you alongside a server as you near the end of the hall. He checks over your ticket and, once satisfied, allows you into the incredibly spacious ballroom.

Massive ivory pillars stand firm along the north and south ends, only partially hidden behind the tens of tables piled high with delicacies and wine. Classical music ebbs and flows throughout the room, courtesy of the musicians nestled in the far back. Servers with platters of champagne flutes whisk around the considerable venue like bees in a hive. You snatch one off of a passing waitress and down it in one go.

You’ll need much more of that to get through the night.

You make your way through the crowd, dodging as a couple swaying to the music veers into your path.

Where is he? One part of you dreads the sight of Chuuya, but another part—the less logical part—aches in his absence.

“I don’t see him,” you murmur to Dazai.

“Just keep a lookout,” Dazai replies.

Another twenty minutes go by. You’re four drinks in by now.

“He hasn’t shown up. I’m going to get some air.” You breeze past the throes of partygoers and make your way down a quiet hallway that leads to an open balcony.

The cool night air is a welcome reprieve on your warm skin. You close your eyes and let the silence take over, tuning out the buzz of the party behind you.

A shuffling noise behind you snaps you from your haze. It’s followed by a thumping noise and a few curses from the person behind you.

You slowly turn around to see what’s happening as he apologizes.

“Crap, sorry. I didn’t realize anyone would be—“

The man stops mid-sentence. You stop breathing altogether.

“Chuuya.”

“What?! He’s there?” Dazai exclaims into your ear. You ignore him, too preoccupied with the thundering in your chest and the cause of it—the man in front of you.

He looks stricken. It makes your heart sink.

“Why are you here?”

You gulp. He’s right; you shouldn’t be here. You have no right to be here. You’re not brave enough for this. Not brave enough to face and hurt him once more—-not when you know your mere presence causes him agony.

“I’m here to talk. Can we just talk? Please?” You’re terrified he will turn his back and leave—which would be a horrible, cruel irony.

Chuuya locks eyes with you, but there’s none of the kindness he used to reserve for you there. Ice-cold.

“We have nothing to talk about. You’re an enemy [Y/N], don’t you get that? One of your detective buddies is probably listening in on this conversation right now,” Chuuya spits.

Each word is a knife to your chest. Partially because he’s right, and you hate yourself for it, and partially because the person in front of you is nothing like the Chuuya you used to know. The Chuuya who demanded medical attention for paper cuts just so he could spend time with you, who threw away all his favourite snacks because you mentioned you were mildly allergic, who once memorized your favourite song so he could sing it with you at karaoke without embarrassing you. That sweet, gentle man is gone and in his place is a hardened shell of his former self.

You consider leaving. You consider lying to him, tell him he’s wrong, that he can trust you. But none of that’s going to piece together your fractured relationship. So instead, you look him dead in the eye and remove your earpiece. Once it’s off, you drop it to the ground and crush the device under your heel.

“Will you listen to what I have to say now?”

Chuuya says nothing, so you take his silence as a yes.

“I want to apologize,” you begin.

He scoffs and shoves his hands into his pockets. A nervous tic. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

You swallow again. The lump in your throat is making it hard to breathe.

“Not for… what happened. I know you won’t believe me about that. I’m sorry I said you were just a job. You weren’t. Not in the slightest.”

He laughs, though it’s void of humour. Chuuya steps forward, closer and closer, until he’s only inches away. You can make out the dark circles under his eyes and the bitterness in his gaze.

You suck in a sharp breath at his proximity. His cologne is making your head spin.

“Liar,” he seethes.

You shift. You’re even closer now, but your expression has changed. “Believe what you want, but that’s the truth. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you; I still don’t want that.”

“Then why the hell did you leave?” He’s almost shouting now.

You anxiously run a hand through your hair. “I had to. I couldn’t face you knowing you saw me as your enemy.” The last word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“You could have stayed. We could have worked it out, somehow,” he argues.

You shake your head. “I was a spy. You wouldn’t have wanted—“

“You have no idea what I wanted! I didn’t care, [Y/N]. All I wanted was you. But you didn’t even stick around long enough to find that out.”

You’re tearing up now. The burning sensation in your eyes is at its peak as a tear rolls down your cheek. You can barely make out Chuuya behind such watery lenses.

“Damn it, why are you—“ He’s panicking now. Chuuya always freaks out when you cry. It’s comforting to know some things haven’t changed.

He yanks out something from his pocket and awkwardly tries to hand it to you. You start full-on sobbing once you realize what he’s given you—the embroidered silk handkerchief you got him for his birthday. You blame the alcohol for the sensitiveness you've experienced tonight.

A few minutes later and you’re still a mess, but a much less weepy mess than before. You’re leaning against the stone balcony, and Chuuya’s sitting across from you, much like that night in the tunnel.

“Thank you.” Your voice comes out weak—-strained.

“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles. He’s supposed to be angry at you, but you’ve put him in an awkward situation. The moment he saw tears in your eyes, all logical thought flew out of his mind. At that moment, his only goal was to find a way to stop you from crying.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” you murmur as you fold the cloth into a tidy square. You try to hand it back to Chuuya, but instead, he briefly glances at it and pushes your hand away.

“Keep it.”

The knot in your chest tightens.

Silence fills the space once again. The party is still alive and electric, but it seems miles away from the pit of misery you’ve found yourself in.

Chuuya stares up—toward the glittering black mass above that’s decorated with thousands and thousands of stars. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. He has nothing more to say to you.

Chuuya’s going to leave.

That sudden petrifying thought sends you into a panic.

All at once, the sky tilts, and it takes your ability to breathe with it. Your lungs are screaming—begging for air, and your head feels like it has lifted from your shoulders and begun floating away. The world is distorted… warping… shit.

Everything is wrong.

Someone’s calling for you—crying out your name. They sound scared. Why are they scared?

Amidst the chaos, something soft is draped around your shoulders. A jacket. It’s warm. And it smells familiar—like cedarwood and nutmeg and—

“It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. Can you hear me, [Y/N]? You’re safe, I promise.”

Chuuya.

He’s here. He didn’t leave. He’s right in front of you, holding your face in his hands so gently that one might think you were made of glass. Your hands dig into his suit as you clench your fists around the fabric. He is the only thing anchoring you to reality right now.

You draw in a deep breath. The dizziness is slowly fading. A few minutes of breathing exercises later, you’re no longer in hysterics, and the world is clear again.

Chuuya hasn’t moved, his hands still cup your head, and the worry in his expression doesn’t wane. He’s wiping your tears away, but you didn’t even know you were crying—and you definitely don’t care once you realize Chuuya’s eyes are shiny with his own tears.

Now you’re filled with a sense of concern. Automatically, your hands reach for his face, doing the same for him as he’s been doing for you. It must look ridiculous, but you don’t particularly care.

“Why are you crying?” You whisper.

Chuuya drops his hands from your face and clutches onto your wrists instead. “You scared me. You started heaving and sobbing, and I didn’t know what to do. I tried calling for you, and when you didn’t answer, I just—I didn’t….”

Chuuya grips you harder—as if making sure you're real. Like he‘s afraid you’d disappear again if he let go.

“I was fucking terrified, okay?”

You thumb away another droplet as he closes his eyes and leans into your touch.

“You’re supposed to hate me,” you note.

“I know,” he breathes.

The silence drags on for a few minutes as you let him gather his composure. Chuuya’s tears have stopped, but he doesn’t lean away from your touch like you thought he would.

“Do you?”

You’re not so sure you want to hear the answer. In fact, you’re not sure you can survive it.

Chuuya tilts his head until you see your reflection in his eyes. “I wanted to marry you. Had the ring ready and everything.”

You freeze. That is not the answer you expected. But you shake off the shock and give him a small smile.

“I would’ve said yes.”

Chuuya sucks in a sharp breath and pulls back—only a little. “Don’t…don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Lie. You think you’re making it better, but it just hurts more. I beg of you, no more lies—even the pretty ones.”

Another blade to the heart. It feels like you’re dying from the inside out. You’ve got nothing to lose at this point, so you say the one thing you’ve wanted to tell him for the past few months.

“I love you.”

Chuuya’s expression morphs into one of pure anguish. He doesn’t believe you.

“Stop,” he rasps.

But you don’t. You stare him dead in the eyes as you tell him again.

He’s shaking his head, silently pleading for you to stop. You ignore him. You have to do this. You have to convince him.

“I love you. I loved you then, and I love you now—that has never changed. And I know you won’t believe me, but if you asked me again, right now, I would say yes.”

You half-expect him to walk away and half-expect him to reject you. To your utter surprise, Chuuya does neither. Instead, he drops his head to your shoulder and mumbles something you can’t quite make out.

“Hm?”

“Marry me.”

You almost keel over from the shock. You didn’t think he’d actually ask you again.

“Chuuya, you’re not thinking straight—“

“You said you’d marry me if I asked again, so here I am: asking again.”

You’re trembling. “But you don’t believe me.”

“If that’s all it takes to have you again, I’ll believe anything you tell me. I’ll believe the Earth circles the sun, that Bigfoot is real, and gravity doesn’t exist. I don’t care. I’ll make a fool out of myself if it means you’ll laugh for me again. I’ll defect if you want me to, just… stay. Marry me and stay.”

Chuuya’s voice is breaking, but his gaze is steady as it awaits your answer.

You nod. “Absolutely ye—“

You’re interrupted by the press of Chuuya’s lips against your own. You melt against him as his hand comes up to cup the base of your neck.

Chuuya groans. He’s died and gone to heaven. He forgot how good you tasted: like home. It’s dangerous how addicting you are—he could get drunk on your lips alone.

A sudden thought pokes into the corner of your mind as Chuuya pulls you closer.

“Wait!” You force him back with a palm to his chest.

He glares at your hand, annoyed that it’s pushing him away from you. “What?”

“Both the agency and the mafia will want to come, so I guess they got their neutral meeting ground, but who specifically do we invite?”

Chuuya makes a face. “Anyone but Dazai.”

You burst out laughing—partially because of the joke, but mainly because of how elated you are to be back in Chuuya’s arms.

#x reader #angst #but theyre soulmates #enemies to lovers #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya #chuuya fic #chuuya angst #chuuya nakahara #nakahara chuuya #bungoustraydogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd oneshot #bsd angst #bsd #dazai osamu #part two

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