#I know she wears gloves but I’m being scandalous and making her show skin

[barbelzoa]

wip of HER

edit: What if the many phalanges and metacarpals of 200 dead children were always hanging around your neck what if

#she is everything #the locked tomb #tlt #harrowhark nonagesimus #harrow the ninth #my art #I know she wears gloves but I’m being scandalous and making her show skin

[kiribaku-queen]

Hiii congratulation for 1000 followers! U deserve it! So i was thinking of bakugou!prohero a reader where he's always busy and always hv this photoshoot with these hot models or hot pro hero that made reader feel left out. And the last straw was when a newly magazine publish of him kissing other girls cheek (or mouth) (u do u;)) and thats when they had a bad fight that caused reader to run away. I would like it to be heavy angst with a happy ending. I love angst but after a heavy angst i like a happy ending to soothe my heart 😂 if u do choose this, gudluck!

Blinded by the Fame

Angst

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Word Count: 3.5K

A/N: Thank you so so much for this request! I was actually so excited to do this piece because I already had an idea I wanted to use and this scenario was PERFECTO~! So painful yet so good!

Thank you for the congratulations and I hope this request met your needs! Please let me know your thoughts!

Who said dating an upcoming hero was going to be easy? It certainly wasn’t easy, not in the slightest. You definitely had hard days. There were times when it got so difficult that you wanted to quit. But was loving the hero worth it and fulfilling? Absolutely.

Bakugou Katsuki was the love of your life. Relationships were never easy. Couples always have obstacles and challenges they have to overcome. Even when you were in tears, screaming at each other at the top of your lungs, even if you gave each other the cold shoulder the entire week, nothing could replace the warmth that was Bakugou’s arms. You would never much refuse his touch every tine, but that wouldn’t stop Bakugou from having you in his arms every night, whispering sweet nothings in your ears despite all the things he said prior. And you would forgive him. Of course you would. How could you not?

But being with a rising hero came with bearing a lot of burden that you had to keep to yourself. You didn’t like how he was working all the time. You didn’t like how he came home bruised up, sometimes not even going to the hospital if it means not being able to see you for the night. You couldn’t bare seeing him like that. But that was part of his job and that was never going to change. So no matter how much you absolutely hated the sight, you let him do his hero work because that was what he loved to do. You couldn’t interfere with his dreams of becoming the number one hero.

But the thing that itched you the most was when Bakugou was forced to promotional shoots to get his name out there. The memory of when he first started made you laugh. Being the Bakugou that he was, he flat-out refused to do it. He didn’t like getting his picture taken. He’ll dress up once in a while, and when he does it’s real clean, but he wasn’t a fan of constantly dressing up. But when he finally let go and tried it once, he saw how much fan votes and popularity he was getting and eventually, would do more here and there.

And you didn’t mind if the shoots were by himself, but most of the time, they were with other pro-heroes or very attractive models. And that you feel insecure. How could it not? Your boyfriend getting close to other women while you looked nothing like these women? You didn’t have the body, the face, the money, or the fame these women brought to the table. You would never admit it, but you hated when other women were in the picture. And you hated when one of the women would be touching him. It left a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach. You were so sure that he was going to leave you for one of them. But he proved his love by dropping down on one knee with the most gorgeous ring.

“Come with me to the shoot,” Bakugou proposed but you hesitated.

“I can just meet you at the restaurant,” you decided. The mention of being on set for one of his photoshoots seemed like a bad idea.

“I want to go together. It won’t even take long. One hour tops,” he swore and brought you by the waist, your body flushed against him. He takes your face in his hands and gently puts your foreheads together.

“I know you’ve been wanting to go to this restaurant forever. Let’s go together,” he whispers and you couldn’t help but fall for that voice over and over again.

“Okay,” you whispered back. He smiles at you, places a small kiss to your forehead, then your lips, before taking your hand to lead you to the car.

The set of the shoot was intimidating. People were running around everywhere, cameras were set in all positions, lights were blinding and hot, the space just looked so busy. And you felt like you didn’t belong. But Bakugou was so used to this kind of scene. He leads you to where the photographer and the director were talking.

“Ah, Pro-Hero Dynamite, you made it!” the director greeted your boyfriend. “Your stylist is in the next room. Go ahead and get changed and we’ll get started.” Bakugou nodded and turned to you.

“I’ll be right back,” Bakugou said and kissed you on the forehead. You watched as your boyfriend disappeared in the sea of people and then you were left all alone.

This was fine. You would just wait in the back patiently for him to be done. And then you two could enjoy a nice evening out at that fancy restaurant you’ve always been wanting to try. Just relax. You closed your eyes and took deep, but slow breaths. There was nothing to get worked up over. Afterall, it looked like Bakugou was doing this shoot by himself.

But you spoke too soon. Bakugou had appeared from the dressing room, looking all dashing and handsome. You felt your heart skip again. He was wearing a red shirt that was unbuttoned to the third button, exposing his broad and muscular chest. Over, he wore a black jacket with leather gloves and pants. His hair was styled slightly back, forehead showing. He was mesmerizing to look at. But shortly after his appearance, two women walked out behind him. Two gorgeous, fit, and slim women who wore skin tight, elegant dresses were doing the shoot with him. And for some reason, your heart began to hurt. The pang in your heart was constant that you had to beat at your chest to calm yourself down.

They were beautiful. And you had recognized one of the women: Pro-hero Miruko. You knew their history together. Bakugou had worked under Miruko during his school days and eventually worked along side with her after he graduated. You knew she was a flirt. She flirted with everybody. And that was fine, until she got alittle too touchy with your boyfriend. And that bothered you. But Bakugou was so used to her behavior that he didn’t even notice.

You couldn’t say anything. They are old time friends and co-workers. What? Are you supposed to say that he can’t be friends with her anymore just because you didn’t like it? And then you would look like the possessive girlfriend? You were fine with him being friends with other women, but they did make you nervous. Nervous because all the women he’s surrounded by are so unbelievably good looking, it put you to shame. Why would he want to be with you when he could have all these women to choose from?

But you tried to shake these negative thoughts away and playfully tugged at the ring on your ringer. There was a reason why he chose you. There was a reason why he gave you this ring. You shouldn’t think this way. But you couldn’t help it. You tried not to let it bother you, but in the end, it did. It really did. It bothered you so much that you couldn’t stop fidgeting.

You watched at Bakugou sat on the couch with both women on each side of him. His arms were lounging on the back of the couch while one girl sat next to him and Miruko stood behind him. Looking at his facial expressions, he didn’t seem interested in any of the girls. Which is a good sign?

And so the shoot started. Nothing else could be heard besides music playing in the background and the loud click of the camera. Everyone else was watching the shoot take place. Everything looked okay so far. Their outfits were scandalous but nothing scandalous was happening. The only directions the models were given was to look sexily at the camera. Bakugou delivered that perfectly with his go-to signature look. But now the photographer wanted more.

“Can the two women get a little closer, please?” the photographer asked and put his camera up to his face once more. The girls did what they were told and Bakugou didn’t even flinch. But you were growing nervous. There was more skin happening, more touching and it was making you uncomfortable. You gasped when you saw Miruko grab Bakugou by his chin to lift to towards her direction. Then she leans in, her lips ghosting over his ever so slightly, like they were about to kiss. Tears were spilling out and your cheeks heated up in anger until you finally exploded.

“Stop!” you yelled, stopping all production. Heads from all around turned to you. Mirko looked at you shocked and Bakugou was wide eyed with curiosity and concern. You gripped the handle of the purse that was slung around your shoulder, feeling anxious now that everyone was looking at you.

“Sorry, give me one moment,” Bakugou apologized to the staff. He got up, rushing towards you. He takes your hand and brings you in the dressing room. The door slammed shut and Bakugou turns to you in a huff.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he hissed. With tears streaming down your face, you were shocked by his reaction. But you were going to stand your ground.

“I don’t like how she was touching you,” you say.

“It’s my job,” he sighs in exasperation.

“Well she should learn her boundaries, whether it’s a job or not. And if you respected me at all, you would tell her no,” you stated firmly. But all Bakugou did was roll his eyes.

“You’re overreacting.” You scoff and it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“Oh, I’m overreacting? Is it wrong that I don’t like when other women are touching you?” you started to raise your voice and talk back.

“Do I have to say it again? It’s my job. If I’m going to make it big, I have to do it. What? You think I like her? You think I was going to let her kiss me? It’s just for the pictures. Geez, how sensitive can you get?” he stabbed you right in a sensitive topic. You stayed silent because you weren’t expecting him to say that. The moment you think he’s going to stop there, he keeps going.

“I might need to save lots of women who are in danger. What? You don’t want me touching them? You’re going to get jealous because I’ll have some stranger in my arms? You’re afraid that she’s going to cling to me for dear life because I’m saving her? You don’t like that?!” he was practically screaming now.

“No! I don’t like that!” you screamed right back, giving back the same amount of energy. The tension in the air was so thick, anyone could feel it. Hell, they were all listening from outside and they felt uncomfortable with the ambiance of the situation. Both parties’ chests were heaving up and down from the labored breathing. And you just glared at each other. Bakugou turns away from you, breaking the ice.

“Fine. If you’re going to be this jealous, then maybe… maybe we shouldn’t be together,” he said. That was it. That was when your heart broke into a million pieces. You felt like if you stood there any longer, you would have suffocated.

“Fine,” you whisper. He doesn’t even spare you a glance. With teary eyes and a heavy heart, you tighten your jaw as you take off your engagement ring, wiggling it off your finger and then setting it down on the counter beside you. The sound of the metal hitting the hard desk was loud enough for Bakugou to hear, but he still chose not to turn to you. You thought that maybe, just maybe, if he turned around and said he didn’t mean it, then you would have been okay. You would have forgave him for those mean things he said. And then you would have apologized to him. But he looked set on his decision.

Without another word, you turned around and sped out of that building, tears never stopping. Everyone saw you go. Miruko laid her sad eyes on you and her broke for you. Shortly after, Bakugou walks back to the couch, plopping down with a huff.

“Let’s continue,” he says begrudgingly. But nobody moves, still shell-shocked about yousr argument. But this causes Bakugou to explode.

“Are you not going to start? Let’s get on with it!!” he hollers and everyone rushes like mice to get back to production. Bakugou lets out a long sigh, face in a permanent frown.

Miruko sits on the back of the couch and looks down at her old friend. She could tell that he was hurting just as much as you, if not more.

“Idiot~” Miruko sang.

“Ha?” Bakugou glared up at his past mentor. Mirko looked at her nails, not paying mind to the hot head who was on the verge of exploding.

“You need to go apologize,” she told him, more like ordered him to.

“Like it’s my fault.”

“You didn’t take her feelings into consideration,” Miruko pointed out, silencing Bakugou on the spot. “If she was feeling a little jealous, then her feelings are totally valid. You need to do something about it and make her feel like she doesn’t need to worry about anything.” Bakugou was only getting more annoyed.

“Whatever. It’s just business. If she can’t understand that, then we don’t need to be together,” he tried to convince himself. But that only hurt himself more.

“Whatever my ass. Then if you can’t be a good boyfriend and comfort her instead of making her feel insecure, then she doesn’t need you. She can find a better man who treats her good.”

“I do treat her good,” Right?

“Oh yes, I can tell,” Miruko said sarcastically. But in all seriousness, she knew he was hurting and she was trying to give advice from a woman’s perspective, but he is so stubborn and hard-headed that he doesn’t want to admit that he was in the wrong.

“Look, you let her go home like that right now, you’re not going to get her back. Go after her,” she advices on a serious note. Bakugou takes a moment to think but it’s all too much. He ruffles his hair and shoots up from the couch.

“Fuck this shit. I’m not doing this anymore,” he announces and storms out of the building. But not before shoving the metal jewelry in his pant pocket.

You didn’t know where you were going. You just walked and walked until you wind up somewhere. And god, you were so hungry. But you couldn’t go to that fancy restaurant that Bakugou had already made reservations for. God forbid he walks in while you were eating. And with another woman? How embarrassing. You couldn’t use his name or his fame anymore. You didn’t want to go back home. What if he shows up at your place? It probably wasn’t likely. He said he was done with you. You left the ring back with him. You guys were over. He wouldn’t show up uninvited. He has no reason to. You didn’t have money on you. You didn’t have any mode of transportation. The only think you had was your phone but the battery can only last so long. So you continued on walking until you hit a park and sat down on one of the benches. You were left alone to bathe in your thoughts until the set sun.

“Where the fuck did she go?” Bakugou mumbled to himself. He checked all the alleyways, in between streets, high and low, but he couldn’t spot you. No matter how he was frustrated he was feeling, he started to get nervous. He wondered if you were okay and safe right now. You hadn’t eaten all day. Wait. There’s no way…

“Hi. Reservation for 2. Under Bakugou,” Bakugou told the hostess. He arrived at the restaurant, in hopes that you came in. But when the hostess said that you hadn’t shown up, his shoulders deflated. Back to square one. So if you weren’t here, then where were you? Had you eaten yet?

Trying his luck, he went to your apartment, but after many attempts, you didn’t open the door. You could either by ignoring him or you weren’t home yet. Knowing you, you probably weren’t home. Then he was going to wait until you came home. Taking a seat next to your door, Bakugou waited. And he was going to wait until he could see your face.

You watched as happy couples and families walked by you, having the time of their lives. You smiled sadly seeing all their smiles and laughter. How you wish you could be like that. But now you don’t even know if or when that was going to be possible. That was all you wanted. Was to be happy. You didn’t want to be in this rabbit hole of sadness. You didn’t want anybody to pity you just because you were crying. But you did long for somebody to listen to you. For somebody to tell you that it was going to be okay and that you are loved. Love… You wanted someone to love you. He just wasn’t the one for you. Then who is? Will you ever find it? Was this your only chance and you ruined it all just because you couldn’t help but feel jealous?

Stupid.

Stupid (y/n).

You always ruin everything in your life. The one time you got something good, it’s gone in an instant. You knew it was too good to be true. But there’s no going back now. It already happened and now you have to move on.

By the time you noticed, the sun had already set and darkness fell upon you. You wanted to stay longer. You debated whether or not you were going to sleep on the park bench. But after recalling new articles of kidnappings happening around the country recently, you decided to go home.

It took you a while to go home. You walked as slow as you could, taking your sweet time returning back to your apartment. All you want to do is snuggle up in bed and go to sleep. You were so exhausted. Mentally, physically and emotionally. You just needed some rest and then you can worry more in the morning. You were coming up to your apartment and saw a person sitting on the floor what looked like in front of your apartment door. No. But there’s no way.

Blonde hair.

That was all it took for you to turn back, go down those stairs and back to the park. You couldn’t face him right now. You were already broken up so why was he there? He said all he needed to say so why was he there?

You thought you were being sneaky but Bakugou caught you. He saw you going back down those stairs and he immediately got up and chased after you.

“(y/n)!” he called out to you but you ignored him. The sound of his voice made your heart clench.

“(y/n)!” he called again, but louder. Again, you continued to ignore him.

“(y/n)!” he called for the last time, this time grabbing your arm. But you shook him as fast as he grabbed you.

“No, leave me alone,” you managed to say. Just keep on walking. Maybe if you walk long and far enough, he’ll give up. But he wasn’t giving up.

“(y/n), stop!” he grabbed you again, yet this time tighter so you couldn’t escape. Then he traps you in between him and the wall, forcing you to face him.

“Stop! Let me go! Leave me alone!” you cry. Your tear stained face and puffy eyes broke Bakugou’s heart. He did this to you. Fuck. He was the worst. You thrashed around, forcing him to let go, hitting him to push him away. Anything so he could get away from you.

Bakugou let you hit him. He deserved it. Every hit that you take at him, he deserved. Slowly but surely, he pulled you in for a hug. You were so drained that you let him. And as soon as you were in his embrace and your cheek hit his chest, you cried. You let it all out and didn’t stop. Bakugou didn’t say anything. He just held you, patting your head until you calmed down.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He kissed the top of your head and rested his head there. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He continued to say. Your cries were muffled by being buried in his chest.

You held onto him tight, continuing to cry your heart out. You thought you were never going to see him again. You thought you were never going to hold him again. Or smell him. You world was crashing down on you but was slowly being put together again.

“Do you want to go inside?” he asks you softly. Your voice was too hoarse and sore from all the crying, so you nodded your head, not letting go of him. Bakugou got the hint and picked you up princess style and led you into the house. There was going to be a lot of talking happening soon in that tiny apartment. It was going to be a long night.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou imagine #bnha imagine #bakugou angst #1000+ follower event

[yesimwriting]

Falling Angels

A/n this literally poureddd from me, might be bad bc recently i’ve hated everything i’ve written (my drafts are full lol)

--

Series Summary: Y/n is a rising star in the most famous circus in Ketterdam because of her ability to see the future. Unfortunately for her, Kaz Brekker knows more of her backstory than he should, and he’s willing to use that to his advantage. The one thing he’s not betting on? That he doesn’t know her entire story

Chapter summary: Y/n gets a visitor before getting tricked into the most dangerous show of her life. 

Pairing: SOC x reader, Kaz Brekker x psychic! sunshine-y! reader

Warning: mentions of sexual harassment, slight cursing, near death experience 

--

Enjoy it, because it doesn’t last. That’s what the older girls whisper, mock casualness attempting to disguise bitter undertones as I walk past them. They say this, sharp nails ready to be covered in blood as red as their lipstick, because the pile of gifts from my ‘admirers’ keep coming. Circus hands keep approaching the long vanity in the dressing room tent, tapping me on the shoulder politely to shove cards and bouquets of flowers in my lap. They don’t understand that the praise isn’t because the patrons of our performances find me more beautiful--they’re desperate for my favor. They’re desperate to know their future.

Looking at myself in the mirror, the pageantry of it all has not yet grown old to me. My hair is still in the process of being styled, my stage makeup is half done, and I am not yet coated in that golden shimmer Senia always dusts across my cheeks and shoulders. But I am more enhanced than I normally am, eyes made bright by thick coats of mascara, cupid's bow made prominent by ruby lipstick. The lip look is more daring than I’ve been before, but there can’t be much harm in change. Not when half the women here keep looking at me like I’m the saint of virginity. 

It’s not my fault that the Ringmaster thought an angelic aesthetic would work best for the fortune teller who walks around before the show, reading palms so that people can have their pockets picked. It’s not my fault people want an angel to take the stage and call people down from the audience to get a detailed reading around the crowded circus tent. I don’t pick the costumes, and while I acknowledge that mine shows the least amount of skin, the Ringmaster found a way to dress me as suggestively as possible without ruining the illusion of innocence. 

At least the flowing tulle wings that are stitched into the back of my costume are beautiful. It’s easier when I enjoy the good. 

“Y/n!” The familiar call of Senia. I turn my head, beaming. “You’re a vision, and all of those jealous girls--you can tell them to take their wrinkling faces and--” 

“Seria.” For someone so much like a mother, she often needs to be reminded that not everything needs an aggressive rebuttal. “Think about it from their perspectives--their entire existence is dependent on how sellable they are, how attractive they are to men who only want to use them. If that makes them mad at me because they feel like my youth and novelty is taking from them, then that’s okay.” She raises a fine eyebrow. “I can take a few mean words.” 

Seria purses her lips. “Okay, but I’m just as old and tired and you don’t see me trying to poison you.” 

I roll my eyes. 

“Look, it's our very own saint.” I roll my eyes, Via’s shrill voice piercing through me like an annoying papercut. “And in such a scandalous lip color--has the Ringmaster finally taken you to the ivory tent?” 

Ivory tent. It’s been mentioned to me before and always in jest. “Where he takes me is none of your business, if not being the favorite hurts you so badly ju--” 

She laughs, the sound is pure vile. “Being the favorite is the worst thing you could be in a place like this. You’re shiny and new and soon you’ll be as used as the rest of us--Seria’s use is waning, what happened to her today is proof of that. Soon you’ll have no one to protect you.” 

When she looks at me I see more pain than hatred. “I think we’d get along better if I had it in me to hate you.” 

She raises an eyebrow before shaking a cigarette from a small box into her palm. “You’ll get there, princess.” 

The nickname leaves me burning. There’s nothing more consuming than fire. “You better pray to the real Saints I don’t.” 

via laughs, lifting the cigarette to her lips and lighting it with her abilities. She walks away, turning my threat into that of a child’s. 

“She’s right on two accounts.” Seria hums, “The Ringmaster will kill you if you wear that lipstick and Ketterdam turns people like you into people like me. We could save up, pay off your indenture--get you out.” 

Seria doesn’t need to make sacrifices like that. Not for me. Besides, there’s no leaving Ketterdam for me. Not anymore. “Being like you wouldn’t be a bad thing.” I scratch my arm, see through material wrinkling as a result. “And I can’t--I can’t just leave. I’m a psychic, no Grisha can see the future. I need the facelessness of Ketterdam.” Her lips thin in protest. “And don’t think I didn’t hear what she said about you--what happened to your foot, and what’s in the ivory tent? People keep saying it, whispering it like there’s--” 

“That tent is nothing that will ever concern you. I’ve given you my guidance, and the one thing I ask is that you never ask or go to the ivory tent.” 

I swallow once, the intensity in her eyes leaving me raw. “What if he tells me to?” 

“He won’t.” Seria breathes. “He doesn’t like that for you.” 

This isn’t an argument I can have now, not with two minutes until the show starts. “And your foot?” 

She shrugs, holding up a bandaged ankle. “You get older, your ligaments like the tightrope walk less and less. I’ll be fine.” 

“You’re not tightrope walking like that--” 

“Yes, I am. The Ringmaster doesn’t know and he can’t--if I start giving him performance trouble--you don’t know what happens to the girls who can’t pay off their indenture by performing.” 

I swallow once. “You’ll be careful?” 

“Always,” she grins, “Besides--one day you’ll know enough about tightrope walking to help me on days like this.” 

The last time I trained on the mini-tightrope had proven me to be a disappointment. Still, I smile at her softly. I open my mouth to respond, but a quick tap to my shoulder silences me. 

“Miss,” a circus hand I recognize begins.

I smile politely. “Please leave any gifts on my vanity--” 

“It’s not a gift,” he mumbles, voice taut, “You have visitors.” 

Something solid pushes itself into my chest, wedging itself between my lungs. Have they found me? “I-I don’t take visitors. Not before shows, if someone wants a private reading they’re to go to my tent at the front--” 

“We’re not here for readings or any of the other lies you sell.” 

...Surprising. I let my gaze move from the face of the circus hand and towards the individuals behind him. A man, tall and dressed in business attire--hat and all. His face is all sharp angles and his eyes are emotionless. His leather-gloved hands grip the head of an intricate cane. Next to him is another tall man, dressed a little more casually, with dark curls. Lastly, there’s a girl, with oil-black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. 

“Then what are you here for?” 

Seria, never one to leave me unattended around strange men, takes a step in front of me. “I know who you are, Dirtyhands, and I know there’s no business you could find with her.” 

What? Dirtyhands? Can people in Ketterdam ever just be normal? 

“I wouldn’t speak so certainly.” I don’t like the way his eyes narrow at Seria or the way his grip on the cane tightens. 

Thoughtlessly, I stick a hand between them, forcing Seria back slightly. “I apologize, she’s protective--always assuming the worst in people. Though considering she called you ‘Dirtyhands’, maybe that’s what you want.” 

Ugh. All I do is ramble when I most definitely shouldn’t. “Want what?” 

Eyebrows drawing together, I force myself to hold his gaze. “For people to assume the worst.” 

The response seems to confuse him. That’s okay--I’ll take anything over aggressive. “The only people I want to assume the worst are those I want to be right.” 

Okay. Dramatic was a fair assumption. 

“Seria.” Oh no. I know that voice. I know that voice too well. “They tell me you're injured.”

Seria stiffens, as does every performer when he addresses them. “Not too injured to perform, sir.” 

The Ringmaster sneers. “I can’t risk you falling and embarrassing me. Perhaps tonight you’ll make your money by spending the entire show in the ivory tent.” 

The way she hardens wrenches my gut. I press my hands to avoid reaching out for her. “I can do the tightrope.” The Ringmaster’s gaze shifts towards me. “I can do it--and I can do it well and I’ll give the profit to Seria.”

He tilts his chin, regarding me in a way a woman should never be regarded. He’s a predator and I’m a lamb that’s lost its way. Still, I hold his gaze. I don’t flinch, even when he moves to brush his knuckles along my cheek. His touch is acid. Pure, burning acid. “The wings I placed on your back are decorative.”

“I don’t need them.” Total bullshit. 

“Hm,” he breathes, letting the smell of alcohol fill the space between us, “I’ll allow it.” The Ringmaster drops his hand to his side. “Wipe that lipstick off your face before someone mistakes you for one of these common whores.” 

How I don’t throw up at the sight of him is a miracle in itself. By some small mercy, he turns and walks away before I have to respond. 

“You’re an idiot--you know you’re not ready for the tightrope.” 

“There’s a net,” I try to keep my voice light, dismissive. She remains tense. “Seria, I had to.” 

“No, you could have--” 

“It’s not fair that you’re always a shield for me. When the opportunity to shield you for once comes, I’ll take it.” Turning before she can protest, I try to walk forward. The stranger places his cane where I intend to walk, intentionally warning me that he decides when our conversation is over. Unfortunately, I used up all my patience with the Ringmaster. “130 kruge.” He raises an eyebrow. “That’s the estimated amount I’ll make tonight, unless I’m late and excluded from the show. Either make up the deficit you’ll be costing me or let me go.” 

His eyebrows draw together, shifting his expression from neutrally calloused to something much darker. “Kaz.” This comes from the girl. She takes a step forward. “Look one step ahead.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Everyone thinks you’re not supposed to look down, but looking up is just as impractical.” She pauses, expression strangely mesmerized, “Look one step ahead--not at your feet.” 

My genuine smile shocks me. “Thank you.” 

“I should be thanking you, Sankta y/n.” Her head bows, hands held together as if in prayer. 

Oh. She’s one of the religious that believes me an actual Saint. “I appreciate the sentiment, but if I was a Saint I’d be able to help people.” No matter what I do, no matter how much blood I offer, I can never help people. “And as you’ve seen--I can’t.” 

--

The crowd’s roaring is a different world to me. On the platform, feet away from the other wooden structure acting as solid ground, everything is different. I am now in a world where the only thing to believe in is a taut rope. The net is beneath me. I’ve seen it--I’ve checked it. 

“And for our grand finale!” The Ringmaster calls, voice billowing over an excited crowd. “Our very own angel defies death!” 

An odd way to phrase the tightrope walk. It’s never called ‘defying death’.  I had been surprised when I was told that tonight the tightrope walk would be the grand finale--I assumed it was because it featured me. I’m always the finale now. I try to move my foot off the platform but it’s planted firmly. No. I need to see Seria--I need to see who I’m doing this for. I force my gaze to the ground, panic rising in my chest. 

Instead of Seria, I see Via--her smirk apparent even from here. Spite’s a decent motivator. My foot descends off the platform, touching the tightrope cautiously. And then I move my other foot. All of me is now on this damn rope. I hadn’t been unforgivably horrible during practice, but I hadn’t been graceful either. 

Don’t look down, don’t look up--only look one step ahead. One step ahead--one step at a time. Balance. I take another step. The room is so silent there’s no doubt in my mind the sound of my bones cracking would be heard from the back row. But there’s the net. There’s always the net. I take a second step. And then a third--eyes focused on only one step ahead. 

And then the phantom of flame comes to claim me. Fire. The world around me is burning. Damning the consequences, I let my gaze fall to the world beneath me. The net--the Ringmaster had an Inferni light the net on fire. Via--that explains the look. 

I can’t fall--the guilt would kill Seria. 

Panic twists my stomach as I continue forward. One step ahead. One step ahead--the flames lick upwards, promising pain and grief all over again. One step ahead. One step--that’s all there is to it. The warmth of the fire calls to me. Burning. Burning--and one more step. This isn’t forever. This isn’t permanent--either way this will soon be over. 

There’s no miracle for me. No good grace, no wings that would let me save myself. There is only balance. 

One step ahead. And then another step. And then I see the other wooden platform. Thank the Saints. I grip the ladder of the platform as quickly as possible. The cheers mean nothing to me as I scurry down the ladder. 

I feel a sharp breeze, a Grisha putting out the flames. Anger pools in my chest as I move towards the exit of the tent. 

“Y/n.” No. Not him again. That man--Kaz, Dirtyhands, whoever he is--needs to go away. “Y/n.” I turn sharply, anger pulsing through me. My expression must be feral, because he stalls. “They didn’t tell you that they were going to burn the net.” 

The fact that he can tell--that he can see my panic and how close I came to death twists my anger into something more fragile. “No.” My posture straightens. “I need to go now, I do--I do readings after shows.”

“Y/n.” He repeats, firmer. 

My nails dig into my palms. “I’m going--” 

“I know what you are.” 

Tensing, my breathing stalls. “What?”

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kazz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #six of crows x reader #six of crows x you #soc imagine #six of crows imagine #my works #series #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #grishaverse #grishaverse x reader #sab netflix #grishaverse imagine

[musical-shit-show]

could have danced all night

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader Inspiration: Prompts #2 (“apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”) #14 (“when i’m not with you, it’s almost like…i can’t breathe.”) and #41 (“i may or may not have left some…marks.”) Warnings: sexual references, kissing, meddling siblings, fluffy fluff Word Count: 3,733 Author’s Note: This is my first request! Big shout out to @acmbooksandfilm​ for sending this in, I had a lot of fun writing it. Also, apologies on it taking a bit to get out, writing has gotten difficult as my real adult job has slowly turned my brain to mush. But, if you would still like to send in a request, feel free! My DMs and Askbox is always open, even though it may take a little longer to complete requests. And as always, check out my Masterlist, About Me page, and Prompt Lists. Thanks for all the love on my other one shots and enjoy!

“Colin, enough,” Benedict huffed as he threw on his shiny black tailcoat, “Surely you have better things to do than pester me about my love life.” Anthony, Benedict, and Colin often crossed paths when getting ready for the numerous events of the season, and now the younger Bridgerton brother was doing everything to get on his elder sibling’s last nerve.

“I’m merely pointing out the obvious, Benedict,” Colin said smugly, straightening his cravat as he looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t help but flash a mischievous smile at his reflection, “Practically everyone in the ton knows about you two, what’s the harm in proposing?”

“What on God’s green earth are you two talking about?” Anthony strode into the room, closing the door in the likely event that Colin said something inappropriate and scandalized one of their younger sisters or, heaven forbid, their mother.

Benedict couldn’t help but flush. Yes, he was close enough with his brothers to discuss all matters surrounding women, but it felt wrong for him to talk about you. Especially when your relationship wasn’t meant to be any sort of relationship whatsoever.

It had started out innocently enough; you had been close with his younger sister Eloise and Penelope Featherington for years, acting as surrogate older sister on account of you being several years older than them. You were also friendly with Daphne and Simon Bassett, and often had tea with the pair when they weren’t off performing their duties as the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.

In truth, you knew Benedict the least out of the Bridgertons who had or were close to coming of age, and was shocked when he requested to have his name written on your dance card at the first ball of the season. When it came time to dance, you had expected Benedict to act shy at first; but after some coaxing from you, he won you over almost instantly with his wit and humor.

He only asked to dance with you once more at that particular event, not wanting to be improper. However, it was clear from the way the two of you looked at each other that there was a spark.

“No one,” Benedict said, almost too quickly, “Our brother is just sticking his nose into affairs that aren’t his own, as usual.” Anthony rolled his eyes, thoroughly unamused by his younger siblings’ bickering. The three of them strode down the stairs of their home and seized a carriage so that the conversation could continue in private.

“So…” Colin drawled, “It is an affair, then?”

“You know that’s not what I meant at all.”

“A slip of the tongue, perhaps? You know, brother, you must choose your words more carefully—"

“Mark my words, Colin Bridgerton; I will kill you in this very carriage if—”

“Will the two of you, please,” Anthony huffed, feeling a migraine coming on, “Benedict, is this about who I think it is about…?” Colin nodded fervently, but Benedict remained stone-faced. He hated keeping things from his family, especially his brothers. But he couldn’t risk tarnishing your name, not after what had transpired between you two.

It wasn’t meant to happen. When Benedict had snuck off one night to another one of Sir Granville’s soirées, he was shocked to see you there, wearing a tightly-laced corset, undergarments, and practically nothing else. As soon as you saw him, your eyes widened to the size of your mother’s best teacup saucers. Without thinking, you grabbed him and pulled him into the nearest empty room.

“Benedict, wha—what are you doing here?!” he remembered you asking him, utterly flustered. His eyes drifted to the sheer robe draped over your shoulders, the fabric floating gently with your every movement.

“I could very well ask you the same question!” he attempted to whisper, now distracted by how your corset pushed up your bosom considerably, “How do you even know about these, um, parties?” For a moment, you hesitated, unsure of what to say as Benedict’s pale blue eyes bore into yours.

You sighed, resigning to come clean, “Genevieve—Madame Delacroix—she told me about them. I confided in her about my father’s money troubles,” you felt the tears start to well up, but could not bear to cry in front of Benedict in the state you found yourself in, “I barely have any money for a dowry to find a suitable husband, and Genevieve and Sir Granville are familiar so…I work when I can and just make the guests feel comfortable—you know, offer them drinks, tobacco, the like—but I provide nothing more than hospitality.”

You felt that you needed to make that distinction to Benedict. Though you suspected that any chance with him was gone now that he had discovered your secret, you wanted to at least maintain part of your reputation, “Granville is generous enough and I could not be more grateful,” you continued, pulling the nearly translucent robe tightly around your body, “And these parties are so secretive that I thought, perhaps, I could scrounge enough money together before the end of the season before I was discovered. Clearly not.”

You couldn’t help but laugh dryly, but Benedict stared at you, his expression earnest, “You need not worry about that,” he breathed, “I won’t tell a soul.” You absentmindedly bit your bottom lip, chewing nervously on a bit of broken skin. Could he really be trusted? Yes, you had crossed paths over the last few weeks, exchanging pleasantries and the occasional flirtatious glance, but would Benedict be able to keep your secret?

“Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton,” you replied coyly, deciding that you didn’t have a choice in the matter, “Perhaps I will be able to repay you one day.” A sly smile spread across Benedict’s face, his eyes flickering to the locked door. Though the party was continuing on the other side, you two had remained virtually undisturbed.

Feeling bold, he traced his fingers over your collarbone, instantly sending a chill down your spine, “Perhaps…you could repay me now?” he posited, trying his best not to sound like a complete and utter rake, “Only if you wish to, of course.” Despite your best efforts, you could feel a palpable spark that had been building between the two of you over the past few weeks. And you had grown tired of restraining your impulses any longer.

Gently, you placed a soft kiss on his lips. Your eyes fluttered shut and Benedict cupped your face with his hand, his grip surprisingly tender. His free arm wrapped around your body smoothly, pulling you flush against him. You frantically thought through the consequences of someone discovering you with a Bridgerton, but you were too preoccupied with removing Benedict’s clothing to pay much mind…

“Benedict!” Anthony snapped his younger brother out of his reverie as the carriage slowed to a stop, “Would you get your head out of the clouds and tell me what’s going on?” Benedict stared at him, utterly panic stricken. He had kept your secret for nearly a month now, and during that time the two of you had gotten even closer, both in the eyes of the ton and after nightfall in your bedchamber.

Benedict’s mind almost drifted to the night he had shared with you only hours before, but focused on the task at hand, “You needn’t worry your pretty little head, brother,” he said coolly, “I have it all under control.” Anthony looked as if he were going to be sick, and Colin smiled with devilish glee. The three brothers clamored out of the carriage and made their way into the bustling ballroom, more of their family trailing close behind.

Benedict could hear Eloise whine as Lady Bridgerton attempted to smooth down her hair, and he felt a small pang of guilt for not coming to his sister’s aid against their mother’s incessant prodding. But now, he had more pressing matters at hand; namely, what in the hell he was going to say to you now that his brothers were onto him.

He spotted you from across the hall, his heart fluttering with every step he took in your direction. He noticed that you were wearing an intricately laced shawl that was tied tightly across your chest, completely covering your collarbone and much of your breast. Benedict felt himself frown slightly, then immediately scold himself for being improper at a society function; surely, you need not show your bosom to the entire ton in order to draw the eye of him and a number of other suitors.

You were conversing with Penelope and Lady Featherington when he finally approached you, eyes wide with fear, “Hello,” he said politely, giving a slight nod to Penelope and her mother, “Is there a spot open for my name on your card?” You quirked an eyebrow, giving him a smirk as you removed the card from your wrist.

“Why of course, Mr. Bridgerton,” you replied in an equally cordial manner. Heaven forbid Portia Featherington get a whiff of your affair; you’d be certain your name would be splashed across Lady Whistledown’s pamphlet before you’d wake the next morning, “In fact, you are the first gentleman to ask, so you may have the first dance. If you are not otherwise engaged, that is.” He shook his head and his eyes gleamed as he returned your card to your delicately gloved hand.

Despite his anxiety being astronomically high, Benedict was delighted that he was able to dance with you so early in the evening. He always thought of you as a fluid dancer, light on your feet as the two of you would glide across the ballroom. He often found himself not being able to take his eyes off you, the lively music and judgmental crowd fading away the moment he embraced you.

More importantly, he wanted to speak to you about the precarious situation you found yourselves in. It was only a matter of time until either Anthony or Colin pried the truth out of him, and he wouldn’t let the news spread across all of London society, besmirching your good name. He cared about you too much to allow such a wretched thing to happen.  

A few moments later, all of the couples were signaled that the first dance was to begin. Benedict shot a glance to Colin, who had been talking Anthony’s ear off since they arrived. Now, the two of them were staring him down, whispering like schoolboys. He refrained from scoffing and instead took your hand gently, pulling you into his tall frame as the music began.

You instantly noticed the nervous and almost pained expression splashed across Benedict’s face, and you furrowed your brow in worry. However, you decided your best course of action was to try and alleviate the tension he must’ve been feeling, “I see you haven’t taken a liking to my shawl,” you remarked, a sly smile dancing on your lips, “I will have to tell my sister she has dreadful taste.”

Benedict ripped his eyes from his brothers’ stares and produced a small chuckle at your teasing. He realized he’d much rather converse with you than worry about what Anthony and Colin were up to, “No, it’s uh—it is, quite lovely,” he countered, lowering his voice, “Though I would prefer to see more of you, of course.” You raised an eyebrow, impressed by his boldness.

“I believe you saw plenty last night, Mr. Bridgerton,” you posited, weaponizing his own name against him, “In fact, I suppose you could blame yourself for my more…conservative attire, wouldn’t you agree?”

Benedict couldn’t help but flush, but cleared his throat to attempt to keep up with your rather scandalous banter, “Yes, well…I suppose…” he stuttered, “I may or may not have left some…marks.” He spun you, watching as your dress moved gracefully around your body and fluttered behind you as you gripped his arm once more.

You searched the panicked expression on his face. Surely, he only knew you were teasing, so why did he look like he was on the brink of sickness? “Benedict, why are you acting so strange?” you asked, attempting to keep the mood light while searching for information, “You’re not falling in love with me, are you?”

Benedict swallowed, attempting to maintain his composure. Besides the looming threat of every affluent family in Mayfair uncovering your secret, he was also painfully aware of how nervous you had been making him over the past weeks. The way your smile lit up every room, the way your eyes sparkled playfully, the way your laugh made his heart do a somersault.

“It’s just as well,” you continued, not waiting for him to answer your rhetorical question, “I overheard Colin and Pen whispering earlier, and Simon and Daphne as well. Apparently, all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.” He sighed, a little relieved that you had caught onto his family’s shenanigans before he worried you unnecessarily. He couldn’t help but appreciate your perceptive nature.

“Believe me, Colin and Daphne may be my siblings, but they are not my friends right now,” he joked nervously, only half-kidding, “And Anthony is on dangerously thin ice. It appears my family can’t help but get involved in matters that do not concern them.” You giggled, causing Benedict’s heart to swell. He was growing more infatuated with you by the second.

“I wish my family cared half as much as yours does,” you say, a twinge of sadness in your voice, “They are all so wonderful, and I’m sure they are just being protective.” Benedict nodded, heartened by the kindness and understanding you were showing to his siblings. You already got along quite well with Eloise and Daphne, and you were always courteous to his mother while still being able to hold your own when conversing with Anthony or Colin.

As the dance came to an end, Benedict had begun to realize his affection for you. Not just physically; yes, your first encounter at Sir Granville’s had brought you two together faster than he had ever expected. It was reckless, intimate, and completely wonderful, but getting to know you, without dozens of uppity members of high society leering at your every move, was more valuable than any nights you had spent together.

And he decided in that moment, as your hand released from his and you both bowed respectfully, that he could not bear to spend one more day without you by his side. But he could not profess his love in front of God and everyone, least of all his family; he quickly surmised that he must wait until a moment presented itself.

You were quickly whisked away by your mother, unable to even say a proper thank you and goodbye. But as your eyes met his blue ones, you couldn’t help but notice how they were sparkling in the candlelight, and you felt a twinge of melancholy. You cared for Benedict, but feared it was only a matter of time before your affair ended and he was married to another disgustingly wealthy aristocrat. You gave him a fleeting smile before getting dragged to the other side of the ballroom.

As you turned away from him, Benedict felt two hands grasping each of his arms, one hand belonging to each of his meddling brothers, “I knew it!” Colin whisper-yelled as he and Anthony pulled their love-struck sibling into a secluded corner of the lavish hall, “You know, you really aren’t fooling anyone, Ben.”

“How do you mean?” Benedict asked nervously in one last ditch effort to conceal the truth. He shouldn’t have bothered; his brothers had seen how smitten he was with you, and soon the entire ton would be abuzz with salacious gossip if he did not make his move that very evening.

“Benedict,” Anthony chided sternly, clapping him on the shoulder, “Please, do not deny it any longer. You’re clearly bewitched.” The eldest Bridgerton child could not help but smirk; it was almost entertaining to see his usually guarded brother so obviously in love.

Benedict sighed, defeated, “Alright,” he whispered, his face flush with embarrassment, “I apologize for thinking I could ever keep a secret from you two.” Colin smirked proudly, feeling as if he were London’s greatest detective, “I’ll tell you everything if you want, but for the love of Christ, it cannot be here.” He gestured to the room, which was growing more crowded with preening mamas, hunting for the slightest whiff of a scandal.

While Benedict and his brothers searched for a private room for him to regale your escapades, your night flew by, and hours later you found yourself chatting with Daphne and Simon on the gorgeously decorated outdoor terrace. The night was perfectly temperate, and although the noise had died down significantly as many guests had departed for the evening, your head was still swimming in thought. Specifically, you were overwhelmed by the thought of Benedict.

He was quite kind to you, and a very smart, charming gentleman, but you felt your heart lurch as you recalled the intimate nights you had shared over the last few weeks. Men of Benedict’s status would not wed a tainted woman, no matter how much you wished he would. It was only a matter of time before Lady Whistledown revealed your transgressions, and you would be marked as an undesirable to the entire upper echelon of society.

You shuddered at the thought. “Chilly, dear?” Daphne asked sweetly, noticing the unsettled look on your face, “I would think you’d be more protected from the elements with that beautiful shawl on.” Your heart jumped to your throat before you could cover for yourself; Benedict had appeared on the terrace, looking absolutely petrified. Simon and Daphne exchanged glances.

“Darling,” Simon said, turning to his wife, “It is quite crisp out here, don’t you think? Perhaps we should—”

“Go inside to warm up?” Daphne finished his sentence, that unmistakably mischievous glint in her eye that all Bridgerton children possessed, “Why yes, I think that is a fantastic idea, Simon.” She hooked her arm under her husband’s, and the two of them bid you and Benedict adieu, much to your dismay. You were certain he had been found out by his family and was here to end your affair before word reached the rest of the ton.

Still, you managed to smile politely. Simon was right, there was a slight chill that pervaded the terrace, mostly due to the lack of company that had populated the space only hours before, “Hello, Benedict,” you mutter, shifting your weight from one heeled foot to the other, “Will you be departing soon or—?”

“Erm, yes,” he answered a bit too quickly, and you raised an eyebrow. His strange behavior all night was another indicator that ending things was clearly as difficult for him to initiate as it would be for you to accept, “But first, I, well, I need to tell you something. Something I probably should have told you weeks ago.”

You felt a lump in your throat almost instantaneously. ‘Here it comes,’ you thought, more distressed than you hoped you would be. Benedict took your gloved hand, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. If it were not slightly improper, you would almost find it comforting; his touch always seemed to soothe you, ever since your first night together.

“I never expected to…for us to become so close in such a short period of time,” he began, wondering at what point in this silly speech he would make a royal ass out of himself. Though he had gained a little brotherly insight from Anthony and Colin, he still felt as though he could vomit at any second, “And, well, truth be told, I have enjoyed every moment we have spent together.”

You smiled, pleased by his kind words, “Truthfully, I have felt the same,” you remarked, “But it’s quite alright, Ben, I understand—”

“You do?” he cut you off again, a bead of sweat forming on his brow, “Am I really so obvious about my affection for you?” You stared at him, confused. Was this not him ending whatever…relationship the two of you shared? Now you felt like the fool.

“Affection?” you repeated, your mouth twitching, “I thought you did not want to see me anymore.” Benedict’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but laugh dryly. You had mistaken his jittery behavior as a bad omen, when that could not be further from reality.

He shook his head, and you felt the pace of your heartbeat quicken, “My dear, I think there’s been a slight misunderstanding,” he joked, clearing his throat, “I know that our relationship has been a secret for some time, but I cannot hide how I feel for you any longer. You are kind, and witty, and strong, and incredibly adventurous, and when our dance came to an end earlier this evening, I…I felt like there was a part of me missing as soon as you left. I…when I’m not with you, it’s almost like…I can’t breathe.”

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, taken aback by his doting and earnest words. “And it would be my honor,” he smiled, his gaze intense and impassioned, “If I could ask for your hand.” Your eyes sparkled back at his, and you nodded silently, attempting to conceal a squeal of girlish glee. You two were still, unfortunately, in public.

“Yes,” you exhaled, feeling foolish from your assumptions about Benedict only minutes before, “I would be equally honored to be your wife, Benedict Bridgerton.” You snuck him a quick kiss on his cheek, causing him to flush for what was probably the hundredth time that night, “I see our friends were right after all, weren’t they?”

“Yes, yes they were, and I doubt I will ever hear the end of it from Anthony and Colin,” Benedict mused, smiling sweetly as the corners of his eyes crinkled happily, “I’ll see to a proper visit first thing tomorrow morning, I promise.” He studied you, doing all he could to absorb the joyous look etched upon your radiant face. You smirked, turning in the direction of your family’s carriage.

“I shall hold you to that,” you said, pulling him towards the exit, “But don’t think this night is over, Mr. Bridgerton. I’m not done with you quite yet.”

-----------

I hope you enjoyed reading! As always I would love to hear any comments or feedback! Like/comment/reblog, all that good stuff :)

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[twstoric]

sugar & spice, just one more slice

500+ Followers Special!

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: vil schoenheit x f!reader

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: too much sugar is never good but for vil schoenheit, when it comes to you, he’ll take another slice everytime

𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘(𝕤): sugar mommy!reader, dom!reader, marking (faint), office sex, cockwarming (minor), hair pulling/tugging, mommy kink (minor)

𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2.7k

𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: this is definitely not an excuse to write this concept nope thank you for all the interests in what this blog can offer!! a lot of coincidences transpired that made this fic happen but wellーthank you my babes and i hope you’ll enjoy! 💞

“Vil~!” loud taps of heels ring above the tiled floor at a consistent pace. The rhythmic clack, clack, clack of sharp heels bounces off the walls before it slows and replaced by pretty giggles. 

You held onto Vil’s shoulders, hands wrapped around his neck and rubbing your face to his hair like an affectionate puppy. “My pretty Vil! How are you? Are you doing fine?” Your voice holds all the sweetness in the world; light, airy, kind—it’s as if you embody the meaning of pure delicacy itself. 

The blond model lets out a small sigh, tuning out the onlookers watching the display as he wraps an arm around you. You’re basically dangling on his neck, stubbornly holding onto him and Vil wraps his arms around your waist to make sure you’re comfortable.

“Who’s that?” the new intern whispers to his senior. His mouth parts when you press a kiss to the model’s cheek as if he had witnessed a crime scene. “Does Mister Schoenheit have um..” he doesn’t think he’s allowed to assume things—it feels almost too scandalous to voice his thoughts about such a top tier influencer. 

The older of the two laughs heartily, patting the younger one on the back. His hits are a lot rougher than necessary but he’s smiling when he gestures at the couple: Vil seemingly scolding the pretty woman with the bright smile on her lips. “You wouldn’t know, huh, kiddo?” He laughs, eyes wrinkling and the intern hears you laugh before you’re placed on the ground. “She’s the boss around here.”

Eh?

Your fingers clasp around Vil’s like a perfect puzzle, bringing his gloved hands to your lips and kissing it with a small wink. Vil rolls his eyes but you catch the embarrassed twitch on his lips as you turn to your employees strewn around the room. “If anyone needs us, please make sure it’s after hours! I’ll be with Vil in my office,” you sing-song, tugging at the blond’s hands towards the elevator. “Work hard everyone!”

The elevator closes with a resounding ding as your secretary moves your schedule to the next day.

‎ﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌﻌ

“Tell me what you’ve been up to lately,” the soft dips of your fingers on his skin spreads burning heat over the arch of his back. Your mouth murmurs sugary words against his skin, sucking marks in places only you’ll be able to see. “My pretty Vil.” You sigh dreamily, hands moving to cup your cheeks in a display of a daydreaming schoolgirl. 

Vil kisses the expense of your breasts, breath fanning against your skin hotly. His hands settle on the edge of the table you’re leaning against; trapping you between his arms. “It’s rare for you to want to hear about my work,” Vil points out, his hand moves to cup your face, brushing your hands away. The glove he’s wearing  glides smoothly against your skin, his thumb swiping over the underside of your lips before you tilt your head down.

Your lips sucks his thumb into your mouth, tongue swiping over the smooth silk of gloves before you’re grinning, teeth clenched on Vil’s thumb but not biting. He pulls his finger away, enough for you to catch the edge of the glove and the material slides off of Vil’s hands in a smooth motion. 

The glove in your mouth is instantly discarded, flicking it away as you wrap your arms around Vil’s neck. Your mouth slants with beautifully shaped lips, soft moans leaving your mouth without shame. “I’m just curious,” you start, panting lightly as Vil attaches his mouth to your neck. “I wanna take good care of my baby, you know~ Gotta make sure he’s happy and all that.”

You feel Vil frowns against your neck and you hug him tighter like an overbearing parent. “Your manner of speech doesn’t match your appearance,” the complaint is said with a small huff, quiet enough as if he’s musing to himself but loud enough to make sure you heard him. He resumes mouthing at your neck, smearing fruity lip gloss on your skin. “I was offered another sponsor from a brand that was recently published.”

As a loving person in general, your desire to take care of your precious belongings is buried deep inside your core. Being neglectful makes you uneasy and you appreciate the satisfaction that comes with knowing you’re able to take care of something well. So hearing the supposedly good news, you can’t help but frown at the implication. 

Your fingers tangle in blond locks, pulling Vil away from your neck gently to face him. “Did you accept? Is your allowance not enough? Or..? Ah, do you want me to make you my official brand ambassador? I offered before but well..” you frown, head tilted when remembering how Vil had always declined whenever you offered. 

“No, it’s fine. I didn’t accept the offer and you’re more than enough,” the kiss he presses to your lips is gentle, handling you with careful fingers. When he pulls away, you take the time to appreciate the flutter of his lashes, eyes slanted like a cat drawing you in. The smile he gives you makes fondness swell in your heart. It’s almost like restating a fact you know by heart: even if you can’t offer him all the riches you can give, you’ll still gladly offer him your heartーand Vil will accept without hesitance.

You nod your head, cupping his cheeks in return. “You’ve gotten more natural at fanservice, I see.” 

The blond rolls his eyes at that and he steps back when you get off the table. Your heels are thrown somewhere across the room, stockings the only layer between your bare feet and soft carpet. Vil takes a seat on your chair as you rummage through your bag. It doesn’t take long before you turn to him again, a satisfied smile on your lips when you see that Vil has already unbuttoned his shirt. 

The blond eyes the small box in your hands, the smooth surface of a dark coloured cover clasped securely between your hands. You take quick strides over to him, legs swinging over his lap and straddling his thighs. You’re placed higher in this position, legs spread and skirt riding up your thigh. You place the box between the two of you, eyes twinkling in mischief as you offer your baby his new present. 

“Should I be concerned with what you’re offering?” Despite the remark, he’s taking the small gift in his hands, eyeing the box skeptically and waiting for you to let him open it. 

“You know,” you smile, leaning over him and rolling your shoulders back. It doesn’t escape you how Vil eyes the swell of your breast along your movements. “Just a little gift. It’s nothing dangerous this time.” The term danger perhaps overused with your more intimate giftsーyou can still hear the breathy moans of Vil overstimulated by the dildo you’ve given him that one time...

When he opens the box, you tilt your head when he takes in a sharp breath; watching his reaction. Vil visibly gulps, adam's apple bobbing when he takes out the choker; embedded with small gemstones with light carving over smooth leather. The inside is made of a soft material to ensure comfortable usage. It’s not too thick nor too thinーjust perfectly shaped.

“Custom made,” you whisper into his ear and Vil freezes. Your cold fingertips trace small circles over his nipple, not quite touching but it’s enough to make him shudder. “I needed something pretty for my pretty Vil.” It’s a statement he’s heard many times in various forms and situations but when it leaves your lips, it’s an absolute ruleーwritten down as a fact stated by your mere belief; a form of blessing when passing your lips and into his ears. 

You take Vil’s silence as appreciation for your present with the way his eyes stay glued on the gift. When you take the choker out of the box does Vil finally look at you, a smile on his lips. He stays silent when tilting his head back, baring his neck for you; veins protruding from his skin in a sexy line. The dip to his collarbones is satisfyingly painted with your marks; both faint and new.

Your fingers easily clasp the choker around his neck, wrapped perfectly around him and it makes you vibrate with excitement at how well it fits him. Vil’s eyes cloud over when he looks at you again, smile replaced by the faint tugs of a smirk and you feel the growing bulge of his hardness pressing against you. 

“You spoil me too much,” he whispers, head craned to look at you but it seems like a deliberate move to show off his gift. 

“Not enough, I would think.” As if reaching an invisible peak, the bubbling desire in your core pops and you’re crashing your lips to the blond’s. The messy sound of kissing and moans spills from both your lips; greedily sucked into the other’s mouth as you start grinding down on the clothed dick under you. “Patience, baby,” you breathe into his ear, fingers tugging his hair in warning. “I’ve got you. Just be good for me, hm?”

Vil lets out a shuddering breath, breathing harshly through his nose and watching with hooded eyes the way you’re unbuttoning his pants. When your fingers curl around his cock, the moan that spills out of Vil’s mouth is sinful. A sound that blesses your ears and stirs you to squeeze him harder. 

Each flick of your wrist has Vil’s thighs jumping, head thrown back and choker glinting under the lights. His hands impatiently push your skirt further up your thighs, the material pooling around your hips and in a movement much too practiced, Vil’s fingers rip the dark stockings you’re wearing. 

“Patience,” your eyes narrow in warning, fingers tugging at the back of his head and your other hand squeezes his cock in an almost painful grip. Vil pauses at that, blinking at you like a lost child and you ease your hold on him. “Don’t be impatient, Vil,” you coo; smile back on your face. 

The hole in your stockings grows larger when you tug at the thin elastis, ripping it down your legs and kicking it away as if it offended you. You stand up from Vil’s lap, giving him a teasing smile as you turn your chair to face your desk. 

Vil scoots the chair back to allow you to wiggle in between, sitting back again on his lap and pressing your ass snugly against his cock. Precum smears over the curve of your bottom, skin painted with Vil’s desperation as he digs his face in the crook of your neck, latching his mouth to your skin. 

It’s a race against time now; the silent game of which you would provide your attention with between him or your work. The invisible time starts when you pick up your pen. 

“It slipped my mind earlier,” soft drags of Vil’s fingers against your skin sends ripples of growing ecstasy. His mouth peppers kisses against the back of your ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth and smiling against your skin. “You look very beautiful today, as well.” His voice drips with sensual honey; sinful timbres ringing in your ears as he moans. 

You’re smiling, eyes skimming over printed words. You clench around nothing when Vil’s hands snake around your torso, his hand playing with your breasts. But you can be quite stubbornーit’s how you grew so successful, afterallーand you’re rather determined to see how far Vil will call for your attention. 

He whispers your name, hips rutting against you. You cross out a proposal. The soft flick of his thumb over your nipple makes you pause before you’re changing the documents, resuming your work. 

You can practically feel the growing need behind you. The blond growing more and more impatient when it seems his advances aren’t working. It’s because of the nice weather you’re leaning over the table, lifting your ass up in invitation does Vil tense up in excitement, his cock instantly pushed into your tight heat; dragging against your walls and filling you up. Right. Because of the weather, definitely not your crumbling sanity. 

It takes almost your entire self restraint to not moan; appreciating the breathy whimper of the blond behind you instead. When you lean back against him, Vil quiets down, hips rolling up into you. “Just a few more minutes, Vil~”

There’s no helping the laugh that leaves your lips when hearing the small, exasperated sigh that leaves his lips. 

It doesn’t take the few minutes you expectedーmere seconds for your restraint to crumble when Vil presses himself to your back. His arms hugs you close, hips rolling in a slow drag that makes you feel every inch of his cock buried deep inside you. 

“Mommy,” 

You freeze, fingers twitching.

“Won’t you spoil me?”

You're throwing your pens and papers away, craning your head back and grabbing the back of Vil’s neck to kiss him. That’s when Vil finally sets a pace and you’re gasping in surprise. “N- needy,” you tease, breath catching in your throat when a particular thrust hits that spot inside you that makes your mind blank. 

His pace doesn’t last longーnot when you’re pulling at his hair and holding his knees down. It doesn’t register Vil’s mind the way you swiftly turn around before he’s moaning again when feeling you sink down on his cock. “Did you get lonely?” You smile, pulling at his hair again until Vil’s gasping, his neck fully exposed to you adorned with a pretty collar.

You’re bouncing on his lap in short, quick movements; lips attaching to old bruises and blooming new ones. They’re placed right under his collarbones where it won;t hinder his modeling activity but the thrill of marking him as yours all over again spurs you to bounce harder on his cock.

“Please,” Vil pants, eyes squeezed shut at the multitude of sensations filling him. The tight clench of your pussy wrapped around his cock drives his mind wild. His hair is no longer kept in neat pins, messy and untamed in your hands with each tug to the strands. 

You feel the gripling pleasure nearing its peak, your body aching for relief. You’re watching Vil’s expression through the pleasured haze, lips pressing kisses to the underside of his jaw and drawing out small whimpers. “You’re so good for me,” he keens under the praise, gasping for air as he bucks up into you; sharp smacks of skin against skin filling the air. 

Vil looks at you when you cup his face, eyes slightly blurry but he sees the smile on your face; directed only at him. “Come for me,” with that final command, a violent shudder rips through Vil’s spine and he’s cumming with a loud gasp; legs shaking as you grind against him, coming soon after.

Your office fills with the smell of sex and soft pants. Vil slumps against your chair in exhaustion, allowing himself to look slightly less elegant as he catches his breath. He’s not allowed much rest when he spots the wide smile on your face; already looking at him with excitement. 

“Mommy?” You tilt your head and Vil groans tiredly. “Whaat? You’re the one that said it!” 

The blond huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. “Don’t expect me to call you that often. It sounds desperate.” 

You give him a shrug, placing your elbows behind you on the desk. “You sounded desperate. It was cute. I liked it.” 

That was.. a hint perhaps, Vil thinks. You’ll probably make him say it a lot of times now…

Despite the growing fatigue and how he feels as though he’s in desperate need of showering, Vil gives you a small (though slightly troubled) smile. “I’ll trust you to not abuse your power too much, then..”

You blink, a small laugh leaving your lips. Your fingers trace the gift he’s wearing as you wrap an arm over his shoulder. “Of course,” you agree easily, pecking his lips and Vil grimaces lightly. “I’ll be sure to spoil you lots~”

#specially brewed #vil schoenheit #pomefiore #vil x reader #twst x reader #twst n/sfw #twst scenarios #twst imagines #f!reader #twisted wonderland

[another-rogue-trevelyan]

I was tagged by @kunstpause for six sentence sunday! I hope you don’t mind, but I hijacked this into a WIP Whenever!

I made some changes and additions to the last scene I shared, hope you enjoy!

——————————————————————————

“I’ve got one. Firstly, my aunt is known across the Free Marches for her love of Antivan opera, so of course when a performance of The Murder of Queen Madrigal opened, she made us all attend. Secondly, a family row over a former paramour of mine had sent me into my rebellious phase, and I was determined to make it everybody’s problem...”

Ostwick, 9:35 Dragon

Not for the first time, Evelyn found herself in a carriage on her way to the opera. She had tried to follow her siblings into her aunt’s carriage, as usual, but a stern look and a single word from her mother had landed her alone with her parents.

“Come.”

Evelyn glared as she climbed in. Apparently she was now to be spoken to like a dog. Her father avoided her eyes.

For most of the ride, Evelyn tried to drown out her mother’s scolding by staring out the window and attempting to think of anything else. She wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders as though it would shield her from the unwanted commentary, but each snide remark dug deeper through the flimsy armor.

“...and must you wear that ridiculous lipstick? You look like-“

“Like what?” Evelyn snapped. “A whore?”

“Evelyn!”

Her father faced her for the first time in days, his nostrils flared and his face red with rage.

“What? You were all thinking it! I’m aware I’m the family disgrace. I may as well look like it. At least one of us is honest.”

“Maker’s mercy, not this again!”

“Yes, this again! What did you do? I know he didn’t leave willingly. Did you bribe him? Threaten him?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter! You’re constantly throwing suitors at me because you want me wed so badly, but when I’m actually willing-“

“He is not a suitor, he’s a scandal!”

“He’s a man! And a far better one than any of these snobs you pick for me!”

“I’m doing what’s best for you! Don’t you see? He could never take care of you.”

“Oh, he took care of me all right. But Maker forbid a Trevelyan girl deflowered by a lowly stable hand. What will everyone say?”

“Enough!”

If he had been angry before, Bann Trevelyan was now furious. Evelyn lunged for the door just as the carriage came to a halt, but her father blocked her before she could make her escape.

“You will not say a word about this to anyone. You will accompany Ser Gibson to his box this evening. You will laugh at his jokes and smile and pray that he’s still interested and hasn’t heard about this scandal. At the end of the night, you will bid him good evening and he will leave you in Aspen’s care until you return to the carriage, where I shall meet the both of you. Am I understood?”

Evelyn’s silent glare was the only response he received. Her blood boiled hot beneath her perfumed skin, and the Bann seemed to realize this was a better response than the alternative.

Evelyn ignored his hand as she stepped from the carriage and smoothed the skirt of her dress, soon joined by her aunt, uncle, and siblings. Rowan wedged himself between her and her eldest brother before he could offer an arm.

“I’ve got her, father,” he said.

“Traitor,” Evelyn muttered. Her father ignored her.

“You’ll pass her off to Ser Gibson? I was planning to have Aspen take her.”

“I keep Ostwick’s Circle safe from blood magic every day,” Rowan boasted. “I’m sure I can handle escorting my little sister inside.”

Evelyn kicked him.

“Very well. I’ll meet you in our box.”

Rowan nodded, wearing an irritating grin that Evelyn had half a mind to smack off his face. She waited until her family was well out of ear shot before she pulled away from him.

“I don’t need an escort!”

“Woah, there! Is this how you treat people who are trying to help you? No wonder he’s left you with a babysitter.”

“I’m twenty-one years old, I hardly need a babysitter.”

“That may be, but I might need a healer if you kick me like that again.”

Evelyn tried to kick him again, but Rowan threw her over his shoulder before she could do any more damage and slipped behind the nearby shrubbery. Evelyn pounded gloved fists into his back.

“Rowan Trevelyan, you put me down right now!”

“I’d watch it if I were you. Keep being mean to me and I won’t give you your present.” He set her down and demonstrated what had to be the most annoying fake pout she had ever seen.

“What, Rowan? What could you possibly want to give me right now? Unless you have a plan to get me out of this damn opera, I’m not interested.”

Silence. The annoying grin was back, and wider than ever.

“Wait... Do you have a plan?”

“I always have a plan.”

He pulled a small parcel from inside his jacket. Inside, Evelyn found one of her more casual outfits consisting of a blouse and breeches.

“Your boots are in Lucille’s carriage. You can change in there. Just be careful, she’s been gifted a crate of rabbits and it’s taking up quite a bit of space. Apparently rabbit fur is the fashion in Orlais, and you know Lucille - has to pick the specimens her furs come from herself. I feel bad for the little buggers. Anyway, the boys will be thrilled to see you. They’re at the usual tavern. I’ll meet you as soon as I can escape.”

Evelyn threw her arms around her brother, who laughed at the sudden show of affection.

“As nice as this is, was there anything you wanted to say to me?”

“Sorry I kicked you,” she said sheepishly.

“There. Was that so hard?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

——————————————————————————

Tagging the usual suspects for any WIP related thing you wish! @noire-pandora @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @hawkeish @kemvee @charlatron @jentrevellan @musetta3 @inquisitoracorn

#hearts like lions #another rogue trevelyan fanfiction #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #dragon age fanfiction #evelyn trevelyan #inquisitor trevelyan #wip whenever #op

[yodawgiherd]

Red flag pt.4

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Entering the BDSM club, Mikasa finally gets to see what Eren does for a living.

Intimacy and anonymity, those were the two feelings that the interior invoked the most. The light was muted, the colors dark, and her worry about the dress code completely unnecessary. Sure, a woman was wearing a beautiful evening gown, complete with elbow-length gloves, but she was talking to a guy in ripped jeans and a skull-decorated t-shirt. As Mikasa made her way through the club, she noticed that about a half of the attendants were masked, just as she was, the other half were probably regulars and didn’t feel the need to cover their identity. To get a better look at the overall layout, she parked herself at the bar, leaning on the wood and almost immediately being approached by a bartender.

“What can I get you miss?”

Unsure of what people even drank here and knowing that she would have to drive home anyway, Mikasa decided for a safe route.

“A soda please.”

Soon the glass was at her elbow and the man left to serve other guests, leaving her alone. Taking a sip of the beverage, Mikasa looked around, taking the whole thing in. The club wasn’t big, but not small either, with several tables as well as booths for more privacy. The centerpiece that everything was aimed towards wasn’t the bar she was standing at, but a raised stage at the wall, obvious place where the performances took place. In fact, one was taking place right now.

A woman was there, dressed in a way Mikasa saw during her online research into Eren’s way of life. Thigh-high boots on killer heels, latex bodysuit, there wasn’t any skin shown yet it was sexy as hell. The whiteness of her outfit sat well with the blonde color of her hair. The woman’s attention was focused solely on the man kneeling in front of her, facing away, as she twirled a whip between her gloved fingers. He was much more naked than the woman, dressed only in shorts and some sort of leather harness around the neck and shoulders. Despite the situation they were in, the blonde’s expression was that of a statue, completely calm. As Mikasa watched on, captured by the scene, she raised the whip and with a loud smack brought it against the man’s back. His whole body tensed at the impact, on the verge of collapse as the hit was strong if Mikasa was any judge. They must have been at this for some time now because the abused skin was positively red, welted from the abuse.

“She’s really letting him have it tonight.”, said someone to Mikasa’s right, making her turn.

A tall, freckled girl was standing there, leaning on the bar exactly as Mikasa was, her eyes watching the performance. Dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, she was relaxed, unlike Mikasa, this was definitely not her first rodeo. There was a twinkle in her gaze when she turned towards the newbie and continued.

“I know that it looks scary, but I assure you that he’s enjoying it. Plus, most dommes aren’t this harsh, Annie is one of a kind.”

So that was the Mistress A, Eren’s mentor and friend. But despite valuing the confirmation, Mikasa wasn’t sure why the woman was talking to her in the first place. If she was looking for a playmate, she would have to look elsewhere, as Mikasa was not here for that.

“Why are you telling me this?”, she asked.

“You are new, aren’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Freckles grinned.

“You are rigid, your whole body is tense.”, she reached over, poking Mikasa in the shoulder, “Relax.”

The raven’s eyes floated back towards the stage, where Annie was. Their performance finished, she and the man got a round of applause before disappearing backstage, but the mental image of the welts on the guy’s back was burned into Mikasa’s mind.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Nah, you are just spooked by Annie beating the living shit out of people. The next act should be much softer, I promise.”

“How do you know?”

The girl’s smile widened.

“I just do. Oh, and I’m Ymir, by the way.”

“Mi-“, was all Mikasa got out before she realized that she was wearing a goddamn mask to keep anonymous. Ymir noticed her blunder, chuckling.

“If you want to stay anon, that’s fine by me. I’ll just call you Mi then.”

To cover for her stumble, and because she was also genuinely curious, Mikasa pushed the issue and went on the offensive, as the best defense is often an attack.

“You can’t just say that you know and not elaborate. You said that I should relax, so stop being such a tight ass with information.”

“Feisty are we? But you have a point. The thing is, I’m not into this whole thing,”, Ymir gestured vaguely around the club, “but my girlfriend is, so that’s why I’m here. That’s also why I know that the next performance will be much softer because she is not into these hardcore beatings Annie can do.”

“Your girlfriend? She’s going to be here?”

“That’s right.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“Why should I?”, Ymir raised an eyebrow, “She’s been into this for a long time, and it would be damn selfish if I demanded that she stop because of me, no? Plus, when she’s on the stage, you can see that she’s genuinely having fun, and I would never take that away from her.”

Just then, the excited murmur that ran through the club announced that the stage was no longer vacant.

“Speak of the devil.”, Ymir said, looking away from Mikasa and back towards the raised floor, “There she is.”

The girl on the stage was also blonde as Annie was, but shorter and somehow much less imposing. Might have been the clothes, as instead of a catsuit and high heels she was wearing a piece that looked like what gymnast wear. It was made from latex, Mikasa guessed, and left her legs bare while covering her upper body and arms. Her face was also much different, excited and slightly flushed. The other person who entered behind her, now that was someone Mikasa knew, and her own cheeks got redder just by watching him move.

Eren wasn’t dressed in anything scandalous. A suit, dark as a sin, the perfect fit betraying that it was tailored specifically for him. Eren’s hands were covered too, in black leather gloves, the only skin visible from his whole body was the dark smile. His hair was pulled back into a short ponytail and he even had a mask on, but it was more of a decoration than an attempt to hide who he was. Mikasa would guess that everyone in the club knew that, and the little lacy piece sitting around his eyes did nothing to confuse them. Eren had a small smile on his lips when he dipped his head to whisper something in the girl’s ear, making her giggle. At the same time, a ring slowly descended from above, stopping to hover over the pair.

“Ooh, a suspension, those are fun.”, Ymir noted, “Krista will love it.”

So that was Krista. First Annie, now Krista, Mikasa felt like she was meeting every important woman in Eren’s life tonight. Focusing back on the scene, she saw a table in the back of the stage, one that wasn’t there before, laden with various tools and things that she had trouble identifying, even with her research beforehand. Maybe Eren was feeling basic tonight, or maybe he wanted to show off, but the thing he picked up wasn’t any of the spreader bars and bondage tools, but a simple rope. He showed it to the crowd first, like a magician, creating a ripple of laughter.

“Comedian.”, Ymir commented next to her.

Comedian or not, when Eren got to work the whole club fell silent. Mikasa didn’t fully understand what was happening in front of her, but her breathing got agitated anyway. One thing she could say for sure, and that was that Eren was very good at this. He knelt, working on his partner’s legs first, nudging them apart with a firm hand. He sneaked the ropes around Krista’s thighs, creating diamond-shaped patters against her.

Rope here and there, between her legs, pulled tight and pressing hard into the skin. For some reason, It felt like there were ropes between Mikasa’s thighs too and she pressed them together just to be sure, letting out a sigh. Far from done, Eren quickly grabbed another rope when he was finished, working on Krista’s upper body after. Hands behind her back, straight, he bound them together in various loops that went all the way from the wrist to her elbows. Another one, and now he was wrapping her chest, intricate circles around her breasts and suggestive shapes below, all the way down to join the ropes between her thighs. In preparation for the suspension, Eren guided the ropes up and through the ring, giving her body a safety net.

He was not the only one who knew what he was doing, Krista was no beginner either, letting her weight rest against the ropes instead of keeping rigid, allowing him to work without worrying. She was incredibly flexible, as Eren claimed before, Mikasa couldn’t help but wince when he pulled her leg up high, much higher than the raven could do. She had no idea how long Eren worked, time didn’t matter here, his hands moving fast, delicate long fingers dancing over Krista’s body.

Then he was done, casting inspecting eye over the ropework and whispering something to Krista. When he got a resolute nod in return, he stepped back, giving a thumbs up to someone in the backstage. With a muted sound, the ring went up, pulling the bound body into the air.

It wasn’t high, just a few centimeters above ground, but that was more than enough to take Mikasa’s breath away. Krista hung in the ropes, no resistance from her side, wrapped up so beautifully that she looked like an ornament. Bend at angles that Mikasa didn’t think were possible, her small body was a work of art too, and together with Eren’s efforts, they created a thing of beauty together. Somehow, Mikasa felt as if she was the one hanging up there, fully on display, tied up yet free at the same time. It wasn’t some sort of dark and painful dominance, this side was exactly as soft as Ymir said. It didn’t matter that Eren tied Krista up, they were partners in this, not a master and a slave. The ropes restrained, sure, but they were a decoration too, beautiful knots pressed into white skin.

The club erupted into applause. Eren took a step back, gesturing towards Krista as if most of the work has been done by her. He still bowed, and when he straightened, Mikasa could swear that the green eyes from behind the mask met hers. They stared at each other while the ruckus continued around them, while Krista still hung from the metal ring, obvious to anything. Mikasa’s mental image of being on the stage was complete – she was the one tied up, suspended, on display for the whole club. She was the one Eren restrained, tightly yet lovingly at the same, she remembered how the leather of his gloves felt when he spread her thighs far apart. She could see him, kneeling between her legs, his eyes staring into hers as he wrapped the rope around one toned thigh, decorating the porcelain skin with the rope.

Mikasa's cheeks were positively aflame now, breathing labored, and she couldn’t tear her eyes from the stage. The thing that happened, it wasn’t even that sexual in nature, both the performers were fully clothed, but it was the hottest thing she was in her entire life. Her thighs have been rubbing against one another for some time, and to say that Mikasa was turned on would be an understatement. Heart beating heavily in her chest, she didn’t even realize how close she was until Ymir spoke, breaking the spell.

“Damn.”, the tall girl whispered, “He’s good.”

Embarrassed all of a sudden, humiliated that she was made this desperate by a sight alone, Mikasa turned away, hiding her face behind a curtain of midnight hair. This wasn’t supposed to happen, Eren invited her to make her feel more comfortable with what he does, not to turn her into…. Into what? Confused, still flushed, Mikasa shifted on her chair while the applause finally died down.

The performance was done.

#eremika #fanfic #snk #aot

[mckinlily]

shalluraweek day 1: stars/sky

Summary: stars/sky Shiro had a celebrity crush. 

read on ao3: here

“Sure you’re not freaking out, Shiro?” said Keith, his voice bland and amused.

Shiro realized he was repeatedly doing and undoing the Velcro on the back of his (one) fingerless glove and quickly put his hands behind his back. Behind him, someone—probably Pidge—snorted.

Shiro breathed and looking around, forcing himself to take in his surroundings. Small office, lots of sound equipment, his and Keith’s guitars against the wall, air conditioner that made that annoying hum. Keith was nearest him, slouched in his leather jacket in a way that made Shiro wonder if he and Keith made it as a punk duo on Keith’s emo vibe alone. Sprawled across the couch was Lance, their PR and social media manager, sipping on a smoothie and clearly snickering at Shiro. Pidge was fighting Lance’s legs encroaching on her space on the couch. She worked on post-production with Hunk, a musical genius who played an impossible number of instruments and had a knack of fleshing out every song idea Keith and Shiro had into a massive hit, and helped Lance out where PR became technical. She was also definitely smirking at Shiro. Really, Hunk was the only one of them not actively laughing at him, and that was because his expression was worryingly close to pity.

Why did Shiro like these people again?

Oh yeah, because his band and the team behind it had become something like a second family.

And sometimes “family” meant “incredibly annoying.”

Shiro resisted the urge to fiddle with one of his piercings. “I’m fine,” he said stiffly.

“Yeah. Suuuuurre, you are,” drawled Lance.

Hunk shot Lance a look, clearly chiding him for not being sympathetic. He looked back to Shiro. “You really don’t need to be nervous.”

“Sure he does,” said Pidge, grinning over her glasses at him. Besides Keith, she has known Shiro the longest, and Shiro could see the blackmail in her eyes as she looked at him. She took on a sing-song voice, “It’s Allura.”

Just the look in Pidge's eyes was enough to make Shiro blush.

“Ugh, why are you like this?” Keith threw his hands in the air. “You sing your heart out to thousands of people an audience, take the lead in interviews, talk openly about being bi and having PTSD on YouTube, but having a conversation with one singer—”

“She’s not just another singer!” objected Shiro, scandalized. “She’s Allura. Do you have any idea the kinds of records she’s broken? Her latest album—”

“Yeah, yeah. We all know about your massive crush on Allura,” laughed Lance.

Shiro huffed. “That's not it.”

They didn't get it. It wasn’t just that Allura was totally hot (breathtakingly beautiful more like) or an incredible musician (which she definitely was) or had a voice that when she sang would make even sirens weep in jealousy (though she definitely did). She also was the kind of social activist Shiro dreamed of learning how to be. A political refugee who climbed her way to the top from nothing, she used her massive following to push for social change and speak out against inequality in all its forms. The way she handled personal attacks—on her race, her gender, her sexuality (pan, as seem on the flag in her Twitter profile)—with grace, dignity, and yet absolutely no apology left Shiro in awe. He respected the hell out of her, ever since the first time he saw a video of her neatly dissecting the intersection of racism and sexism in the music industry, and privately considered her one of his personal heroes.

And she was coming to the studio because someone thought it was a good idea for them to collab, and Shiro didn’t know how to deal.

“Okay, okay.” Lance rolled off the couch, picking up a can of whatever sugary death drink they were supposed to be promoting and opening it to hand to Shiro. “Time to chill out. Take a sip of our ‘paying for Pidge’s new sound system’ drink and remember you’rean internationally known star, too. It’s going to be fine. I planned it.”

“Oh, and that’s never come back to bite us before,” said Keith.

“Excuse you, I made Grumpy Cat Keith a meme! It’s was a stroke of marketing genius!”

Shiro opted to ignore Lance and Keith’s bickering, choosing instead to take a sip of the dubious promotional sports drink—

“I mean, worst come to worst, we could always use the footage to make another meme campaign if Shiro completely falls on his face.”

—only to immediately spit it out again. “Pidge!”

“Sorry,” smirked Pidge, unrepentant. Then her eyes fell on his shirt that he’d spilled his drink all over. “Oh. Uh. Actually sorry.”

Shiro looked down at his chest with mounting dismay. Of all the days to wear a white shirt (this was why he wore black: it wasn’t depressing, it was practical). The promotional drink was an unnatural red and splattered over most his front. It wasn’t something that could be hidden and Shiro could already tell the color wasn’t coming out.

“We could try rising it?” said Pidge, and she honestly sounded contrite.

“Dump the drink over all the shirt?” Keith offered.

“Hold on,” said Hunk. He started rummaging behind the couch. “I think Shiro’s vest from the Toronto show is in here. I know that shows off your prosthetic a lot without anything to go under it but—”

“That’s fine. You’re right: it’s probably the best option. Lance, when is Allura supposed to show up?”

Lance glanced at his phone. “Uh, now, actually?”

“All right. Not much time.” Shiro forced the panic to stay out of his voice. “Hunk—”

“Found it!”

“Good.” Shiro grabbed the back of his shirt, getting ready to pull it over his head. It had stuck to his chest where the drink spilled and was starting to feel sticky.

“Um, guys?”

Shiro yanked his shirt off, turning as he said, “Yeah, Pidge?”

But it wasn’t Pidge who answered.

“Oh my.”

Oh no.

Oh no nononononononono.

Allura—superstar, perfect, idolized Allura—was standing their doorway, blocking the way for the rest of her entourage. Shiro pressed his crumbled shirt to his chest in a vain attempt to preserve his modesty. Which was helped not at all by the way Allura (unfairly hot in skin-tight silver jeans and an adorable crop-top) was staring.

Staring. At him. Shiro. Who could feel that last of that godsforsaken drink drip to his bellybutton.

They both started talking at once.

“Sorry—”

“So sorry—”

“—I was just—”

“—Of course! Abs—I mean! Absolutely—”

“—you too—wait, that’s not—”

Pidge’s cackling laughter put a stop to their train wreck, but only gave more time for Shiro’s blush to attempt to melt his face off. Fortunately (or not so fortunately?), Allura didn’t seem to be faring much better.

“Should we give you two some privacy?” asked Lance, all waggling eyebrows.

“No, you should not,” said Allura, drawing herself up and doing a nice job of returning to professionalism considering Shiro was still half-naked and drowning in mortification. She brushes her hands on her pants. “Let’s return to business.”

Her assistant snorted behind her. “Like you can talk business when you just ogled his chest for five minutes.”

“Romelle!”

Well, at least Shiro wasn’t the only one mortified now.

“We’re here to discuss a collab, which is what we’ll do,” said Allura. But she met Shiro’s eyes looking sheepish and a tiny bit shy. "Unless..."

“Could I buy you a drink after this?”

That was not what Shiro intended to say.

But, holy crow, if Shiro had thought that pink crop-top looked hot on Allura before, it had nothing on the tiny, confident smirk growing on her face. “Hm. Are you referring to the one on your chest?”

Shiro's mouth continued to run without his permission.

“I was thinking we could work up to that.”

Keith pretended to gag behind him, but Shiro didn't care because Allura, freaking I-don’t-need-a-last-name-I’m-like-Beyonce Allura, was flirting with him and Shiro was pretty sure if he tried right now, he could fly.

“Ugh, gross. Gross! Hunk, don’t look!” said Pidge, scrambling to put her hands over Hunk’s eyes. Meanwhile, Lance was smiling like a shark.

“Perhaps we finish this up first?” said Allura. The way she was smiling at him made Shiro feel like there were tiny supernova going off in his chest.

“That—that works.” Frankly, Shiro was astonished his words still worked at this point.

Allura clapped her hands together with an authoritative “All right!” and yep, Shiro was in love. “Enough of this. Let’s get down to business.” She strode further into the room and consequently closer to Shiro. “On one condition,” she said, tapping Shiro’s chest.

“Yeah?”

“You keep that shirt off.”

Well.

Shiro felt his own smirk blooming on his face. He could work with that.

#shallura #shalluraweek2020 #mckinlily writes: VLD fic #can't follow a prompt to save my life but i'm going to try

[rosymaeflower]

Idolize Me! CH 1

Summary: Idol!MC whos scummy as hell, follow her as she navigates Devildom from an idols perspective. Lotta plot, fluff and MAYBE smut as we go *wink wink* btw its harem af

I also post of Ao3! 

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"MC!"

My manager calls out to me as a team of stylists flutter around me, teasing and pulling on my hair and touching up on my makeup.

"Yeah?" I call out blindly to him as my eyes stay shut to allow a nameless hand to pad on another layer of shimmer atop my eyelid.

"After makeup and wardrobe, u should test the fitting of your mic and in ear piece, you don't want them falling out on you on stage!" He nags. It's so like him to remind me of things I've done thousands of times, but it seems to help him more than me so I tend to just humor him.

“Yes yes I got it!” I call out once again. The stylists around me slowly disappear one by one till it’s just my manager left, letting me know that makeup and hair has now officially completed. He presses the in ear piece into my hands and fiddles with the wires for a while, muttering about how we’re running late as usual.

I stare back into the reflection I see in the mirror. The girl before me has transformed completely from the regular me to a completely polished and idol worthy me. I barely recognize myself, but I don’t need that to do my job.

“Alright, done, get up!” My manager hurries again, signalling for the stylists to check me over once more. Their hands are on me again, pulling and tugging as they go. My eyes stray towards a screen showing a boy group nearing the end of their performance, the chants of fans vibrating through the thin walls doing nothing to soothe my ever present nerves.

“Are you ready?” My manager asks, now finally calm as I’m moving into position behind the curtains.

I chuckle, "Of course, how could I not?” The boy group bows collectively and file off the stage, the emcees of the award show returning to the stage to announce the winner of some other award I can’t remember. How much did I get for pawning off my trophies anyways? Not much if I recall, so the awards are basically worthless to me.

“Remember, make this a blast and you could get a ton of CF opportunities if your stage goes viral, we could even up your asking price!” My manager yaps, clearly off in fantasy land. I’m actually pretty comfortable with my current popularity as a soloist. My albums sell out regularly, I’ve done both local and international tours, I’ve never been in a scandal (except for the chicken wings commercial one but it was clearly the directors fault!) and public opinion of me as a person is a-okay. But of course, earning money is this industry’s driving force, it doesn't hurt to have a few more dollars lying around…

With a thunderous applause, the winner has accepted their award and has given an emotional speech of thanks. And now… It’s time.

I vaguely hear my stage name being announced before the curtains slowly peel apart, revealing a sea of colorful lights and shrill screams. I take a step forward only to fall. Fall through the ground, wind swirling around me and through my hair as the lights bend and shift into something else completely. My eyes squeeze shut and I let out a fearful scream before-

*THUD*

My eyes fly open, I'm now laid sprawled on some cool tiled floorings. The lighting is completely different, the stage and crowd is gone, my backup dancers are gone.

What the-

I whip my head around only for my eyes to lay upon an imposing figure seated atop a majestic golden throne. Tanned skin and fiery red hair, wrapped in deep red clothes that could only be described as royalty, the man smiles warmly down at me. My head is still spinning from the weird vortex I just experienced but I can tell he calls the shots around here. I'm laid right by the steps before him, which makes me feel more vulnerable than ever.

Something about him is off. Otherworldly. Despite his harmless smile, I know I shouldn't trust him right away. Besides, who the hell is he? Where the hell am I?

With my attention initially focused on him, I almost failed to notice the other figures standing in what could only be described as ‘throne room’.

A green haired man with an unreadable expression who stands by the left arm of the throne. A tall black haired man who has his arms folded and is looking at me with…. Uh, polite disinterest? Or is that malice? Honestly I can’t even figure it out. I don’t even know if I should be scared or happy right now!

By the side of Mister Dark Scary Pants, there's a lean blonde guy with striking poison green eyes, his left hand absentmindedly laying on his chest. He looks decently normal, except for the ever present wrinkle between his brows. His eyes seem to flicker in recognition as he stares at me. Beside him, a beautiful peach haired man with an even more beautiful smirk chuckles as he stares right at me, his eyes unashamedly roaming down from my head to my bare legs.

“My my~ What have we here?” He croons in my direction. Well then. Looks like he's a classic pervert.

I’m no stranger to beauty, god knows I meet many extremely attractive people in my line of work, but something about them all seem... off. Just like the Throne Guy. They're all impossibly gorgeous but I feel like I should be running for my life right now, which I would but I am currently busy being plastered to the floor.

My thoughts are then interrupted by Throne Guy, who sweeps open his arms in a shameless welcoming gesture.

“Welcome to Devildom!” He announces, his voice surprisingly friendly. "Sorry if we startled you Miss MC, I'm afraid we couldn't be sure of your whereabouts before summoning you here."

I eye all of them cautiously, unsure if I’ve died or just am in a coma. “Ah yes… Devildom yes…” I say absentmindedly, slowly getting to my feet. Did my manager arrange for me to perform for the devil? First of all, major breach of contract! Secondly, how much am I getting paid? I reckon I could fetch a high price down here...

Finally standing, I realize just how naked I feel in this vast empty room. The dress I'm wearing is an off the shoulder long glittery blue piece, definitely suited for my scheduled stage but NOT for an audience with sketchy handsome men! The green haired man beckons me up the low steps and wraps a coat with strange symbols around my bare shoulders.

"Um…" my soft voice echoes through the loud room, making me cringe but I'm way too confused and worried to care. "So where am I? And who are you people?" I wave my hand at the surrounding men. "Am i… dead?" I asked tentatively, wrapping the coat tighter around me.

If I am, how on earth did I die?? Stage piece fell on me? My manager stabbed me? My backup dancer stabbed me?? A deranged fan?? As my thoughts raced a mile a minute, the Throne Guy’s deep laugh brings me back to the present. While surprisingly warm, I can’t help but feel like I’m some sort of prey here… And the men are all definitely predators.

"No, Miss MC, you're far from it!" He puts his hand to his chest. “My name is Diavolo, I am the crown prince of Devildom,” He then gestures to the man on his left, green haired man. “This is Barbatos, he serves me as both my butler and advisor,”

His hand waves towards the other 3 men on his right. “These are the Avatars of Sin, immediate to my right is Lucifer, then Satan and Asmodeus.

A strained smile finds itself on my face at his words. Is this some sort of prank? I shifted my eyes around, hoping to spot a secret camera, a boom mic, anything that would confirm my suspicions but I found nothing. Those names… I was never religious but everyone knows the name Satan and Lucifer right? The rest of the names sound familiar as well, biblical yet demonic at the same time…

I eye Diavolo, my eyes hoping to catch something that could help me figure all this out. "So Diavolo… If I’m not dead, why am I here?" I ask tentatively, still not believing most of what’s going on.

"Why there's no need to be scared, pretty girl!" Asmodeus purrs at me. "Just look me in the eyes…" His hand reaches out to turn my face towards his before a black gloved hand reaches out to smack it away.

"Control yourself, Asmo," Lucifer says sternly, nearly stepping right in between us.

“Aw you’re no fun Lucifer,” Asmodeus laughs, shooting me one last wink before leaning back. It seems like this Lucifer has some sort of authoritative power over them too?

Diavolo clears his throat, bringing my attention to him once again. “Well to answer your question, you’re here on a student exchange programme!” He says cheerfully. “You will be attending RAD, the Royal Academy right here in Devildom to learn the customs and culture of us demons here.” He explains.

My mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “Uh huh?” I ask, a little in shock.

“Worry not,” Barbatos finally speaks, his voice light and lilting. “Your disappearance back home will be dealt with accordingly and you will be given all the help you need to adjust to your 1 year stay here.” He says, stepping forward to press a mobile like device into my hands. “ This is your D.D.D, it operates similarly to a regular human cellphone where you can contact people, complete your tasks for school and even operate social media.”

My jaw drops. “Wait so… I can contact my friends and family? And even post from hell??” I ask hopefully. “And wait, did you say ONE YEAR??” My brain finally caught up to everything he said.

“Let me correct myself, you can contact residents here only, and you will only be able to access Devilgram for social media purposes, it won’t impact your account back on the human realm.” Barbatos explains patiently. “Also, this place is officially called Devildom but yes there are humans who call it ‘Hell’.” He says, a little amused. “And yes, the exchange programme lasts a year.”

Well then. There goes whatever social standing I have left. People forget stars as quickly as they come, a year without comebacks? Or posting? Or shows? I’m basically jobless for the next whole year! Where am I gonna get my money! Also not seeing my family? Not to mention me never signing up for this anyways!

“But I have a job!” I exclaim, eyes flitting back and forth between Diavolo and Barbatos. “I didn’t sign up for this either, you must have the wrong person-”

Barbatos shakes his head calmly. “We most certainly have the right person Miss MC, you may not have signed up for this but your file was picked out of tens of thousands, you are incredibly lucky to have this opportunity.”

I made a face at him, finally regaining my nerves. I also don't have to worry about cameras here so I don’t have to worry about scandals anytime soon! “Listen, my job-”

“Ah yes, you’re an idol back in the human realm correct?” Diavolo interrupts me now, his teeth glinting under the chandelier light. “Not to worry, we have made it so that you’re taking a hiatus from performing to go back to school, we have made sure your family is aware of that too,”

The beautiful man gasps suddenly. "Oh my god! I knew I recognized you from somewhere!" He grabs my hand, leaning closer into me. "You're (stage name)!" He exclaims, eyes roaming over my face in childlike wonder. Once again, Lucifer moves forward to pull him back, this time with a disapproving glare.

I grin a little shakily. So demons can recognize me after all… "Ah yes but that's just a stage name… My real name is MC," I explain.

Satan, the blonde man, taps his fist into his palm in realization. “No wonder you looked so familiar,” He says. “I’ve heard of you and your songs,”

My eyes widened in surprise. “Demons… know idols?” I ask curiously. This could be a huge plus for me, I could rack up tons of cash down here, maybe even convert whatever demon money I earn into human money!

Barbatos finally smiles at me, his face looking way less mysterious with it now. “Yes Miss MC, you’ll find that you have a bit of a fanclub down here in Devildom as well.” He says.

“Oh!” I must say, in my 4 years of being an active idol, I never expected a portion of my fans to be made up of demons. But a welcomed surprise… I can hold concerts, fansigns, maybe even a high five event? Just thinking about all the money I could get from this is exhilarating!

“During your stay here you will be living with us,” Lucifer interjects through my money driven thoughts. “By us I mean my brothers and I, the Avatars of Sin.”

Asmo snickers, “You and I will have plenty of time to get acquainted with one another then, I’ve never been with an idol before!” He says almost giddily, licking his lips.

“and you never will.” I say firmly, frowning slightly.

“Please excuse my brother, he’s the Avatar of Lust after all,” Satan says, folding his arms. “I’m the Avatar of Wrath and Lucifer over here is Pride but I’m sure you can tell that by the pompous way he speaks and acts-”

“Satan please,” Lucifer grits out, “We have guests and we are in the audience of Lord Diavolo, mind your words,” He narrows his eyes at his brother, who shoots him an equally dirty look back.

I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh which earned a smug smile from Satan and a piercing glare from Lucifer. “Haha yes… So is that all I have to know?” I ask finally, rolling my shoulders back to ease a bit of the tension that’s been building up since I got here.

“Ah since this is an exchange programme, you aren’t the only human here,” Barbatos says. “Solomon, a human sorcerer, will be taking the same course you will be as well at RAD,”

“A sorcerer?” I ask in wonder. Hmm, I definitely should get to know him, I can’t just be with demons all the time can I? And he may be a fan… How much would he pay for a signature hmm?

“Yes but he will be living in the Purgatory Hall with the angels from the Celestial Realm,”

“I’m sorry what now?”

“You’ll be living in the House of Lamentation with the brothers as explained,”

“Why, pray tell?”

Diavolo lets out a laugh. “I assure you this wasn’t on purpose, the Purgatory Hall just doesn’t have enough space for all 4 of you,” He explains. “Now Lucifer, about her caretaker?”

Lucifer clears his throat and steps forward. “We Avatars of Sins are in RADs student council, so we will naturally be looking after you during your stay here in Devildom but I have also assigned one of my brothers to be your primary caretaker for any of your immediate needs,” He pulls out his own D.D.D, taps on the screen a few and then hands it to me. “You may call him down here, his name is Mammon” He said. “Put it on speakerphone,” He adds, his brows knitting together almost in preparation for disapproval.

I gingerly take his D.D.D and tap on Mammons name. Since they’re all assigned to one of the 7 deadly sins, I wonder which is Mammons? The dial tone is steady for a long while and before I wanted to give Lucifer back his phone, someone picked up.

“Whaddaya want?!” A males voice rings through the air.

Out of my peripheral vision, I see Lucifer's hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“Uh hi?” I ask, a little awkward. I look incredulously at Lucifer who isnt looking at me, why’d he hand me the phone so abruptly?! Asmodeus and Satan look on with little smirks on their faces, Satan probably enjoying Lucifer's despair more than the actual phone call.

“Wait you ain’t Lucifer!” Mammon shouts through the phone. “Whyddaya sound like a gir-” Mammon gasps loudly. “Are ya a gal he’s seein’?!!”

I splutter as Asmo and Satan laugh openly now, clearly enjoying this all too much. Lucifer lurches forward as if to grab his D.D.D. back but Diavolo holds out a hand to stop him, hiding a smile behind his palm with the other.

“Wait why’d I hear Asmo and Satan too?! Are ya with ‘em too? Lucifers gonna be real mad if he finds out ya know?!” Mammon shouts urgently at me, as if giving me holy advice.

“I- What? NO!” I trip over my words trying to get my point across. “No, god no, I’m a human from the exchange program?” I say, glancing up at Barbatos to make sure I’ve said the right thing but his unreadable expression tells me nothing.

The line goes dead silent for a bit. “LUCIFER’S SHAGGIN’ A HUMAN?!?!” Mammon bellows through the phone.

I blush wildly at his words, not knowing what to answer. Satan and Asmo laugh openly now, Satan falling to his knees as he grasps at his stomach. Lucifer hisses, grabbing his phone back now that Diavolo’s too busy laughing to stop him.

“Mammon, I’m giving you 1 MINUTE to come down to the throne room or I’ll have you hung from the ceiling for the rest of the week,” Lucifer says lowly into the phone, his voice dark and uh.. Scary as hell? Remind me not to get on his bad side thank you!

The line goes silent again. We all settle into silence as we hear thuds echoing through the walls, gradually growing louder before the big grand doors burst open to reveal a huffing and puffing figure collapse on the carpeted floor. Tanned skin with snow white hair, Mammon is as attractive as all of his brothers, except for the fact that he seems to be dying right in front of us.

“38 seconds, not bad,” Lucifer tuts, glancing at his watch.

“ARGH,” Mammon groans. “What was that for Lucifer?! I wasn’t gon’ tell nobody!” He complains, getting to his feet and dusting off his pants.

“You dare forget that we are supposed to welcome the new exchange student today, jump to such conclusions and embarrass us in front of Lord Diavolo?” Lucifer seethes, crossing his arms, his eyes glowing redder by the second.

“Relax Lucifer, he’s here now so it doesn’t matter,” Diavolo drawls from his throne. He seems to be enjoying this little show we have unknowingly put on.

Mammon eyes me with distaste. “So ya a transfer student? Why are ya all dressed up like that anyways?” He asks suspiciously.

“MC here is an IDOL,” Asmo claps his hands in glee. “Come on MC, let’s bounce! I can’t wait to show you all the makeup we have down here!” He links his arm with mine, pulling me towards the large doors left ajar by Mammon.

Mammon whips around towards us suddenly. “AN IDOL?! Hang on are ya (stage name)?!” He nearly shrieks, eyes as large as saucepans. A fan maybe?

“Yeah that’s right! And you aren’t getting your scummy hands on her cuz I claimed her first!” Asmo brags, yanking my arm tighter towards him.

“I mean if you want a signature, you can pay me for one,” I offer with a sly smile, shrugging Asmo off. How could I pass up such an opportunity? Maybe I could even inflate what I usually charge at fansigns back on Earth…

Mammon's jaw grows slack as he stares at me. “Are ya… chargin’ me?” He whispers, grasping at his heart.

Satan lets out a sharp laugh, walking towards us. “Turns out she’s as scummy as Mammon,” He comments, eyeing me with newfound interest.

“Ridiculous,” I scoff, “I’m scummier.” With that, I relinked my arms with Asmo and we marched out of the hall with Satan, leaving Mammon standing there stunned.

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like/reblog if ya like ^-^

#obey me #obey me fanfic #idol!mc #idol!reader #mammon #lucifer #asmo #belphie #beel #satan #diavolo #barbatos #simeon #solomon #luke

[anubislover]

Welcome to the Heart Pirates, Nami-ya chapter 11: Dinner with Dr. Heart Stealer

As the clock struck seven, Nami critiqued her outfit in the mirror; a strapless little black dress that hugged her curves like a glove, gold stiletto heels, black thigh-high stockings, and the tourmaline jewelry she’d bought from the seller in Tokken. She even used the hairpins Law had gotten her to clip back the left side of her hair. She finished off the look with some dark red lipstick and gold smokey eyeshadow, giving herself an elegant but sensual look.

“Getting all dressed up for the captain?” Ikkaku teased from her bed. The engineer was thumbing through the romance novel she’d caught Nami with, and though it wasn’t her usual thing, had decided to give it a shot. After all, it had managed to entrance the usually energetic navigator for hours, and she had some time to kill before Ladies Night.

Brushing some gold highlighter over her cheekbones, Nami scoffed. “Please, I’m getting dressed up for you. Law’s just a lucky bastard who benefits due to scheduling.”

“I’m flattered,” she said with a wink. “Though I’ll understand if you ditch me to take him back to the nearest inn so he can rock your world. I mean, I won’t be happy, but I’ll understand.”

“Ok, I gotta ask—have you ever slept with Law? Because you’re always vouching for his sexual prowess…”

Ikkaku immediately made fake gagging sounds. “Oh, hell no! That’d be like fucking one of my brothers! But I have talked to some of his past lovers, and they all seemed pretty damn satisfied. Something a girl like you deserves to be.”

Hip jutting out and eyebrow raised in challenge, Nami replied, “How do you know they aren’t lying? Maybe he’s terrible in bed but they’re all too scared to speak ill of the Surgeon of Death, especially to one of his fearsome subordinates.”

The grin said subordinate graced her with was nothing short of salacious. “Because if he were bad, Drake wouldn’t keep coming back for more, even though Law pisses him off so much.”

Nami bit her lip to hide her grin. “Ok, fair point. Also, I want the inside scoop on that relationship.”

“If Law doesn’t give you the dirty details himself, I’ll happily fill you in,” she replied, sniggering. “Bet they’ll give you better fantasies than whatever’s in your books!”

Pink rose to the redhead’s cheeks as her eyes briefly darted to the space under her bed. Nami had shoved Ikkaku’s scandalous box to the very back corner to hopefully never see the light of day again. She dared not throw them out; she doubted Ikkaku would take kindly to it, and knowing her, would probably present her with something even more embarrassing in retaliation. “By the way, as much as I hate your stupid ‘gift’, thanks for not spilling that to everyone. At least, not directly.”

“I thought about it but figured the sex toys would be just as funny without the guys prying into your hobbies. Most of them have enough tact to keep them from teasing you about a dildo, but I doubt they’d show the same restraint if they found out you were into erotic novels.”

“You just want to lord my guilty pleasure over me, don’t you?”

“How’d you know?”

“I have a sister, remember?”

“Ha! Good point. I’m guessing she teases you about this stuff?” she asked, pointing to the book.

Chocolate eyes rolled in exasperated fondness as she played with her bracelet. “All the time. It was annoying, but I guess I appreciated it, in a way. It was one of the more normal things we could talk about, given how screwed up our situation was.”

“Because of the pirates holding your town hostage?”

“Yeah,” she replied, debating on whether she should elaborate. Finally, she added, “I was kind of an outcast among the townsfolk because I made sea charts for the captain. My sister was the only one who knew it was against my will, and that I had made a deal to raise money to buy the village back. Or at least, they all pretended not to know so if I ever decided to give up and run away, I wouldn’t feel guilty.”

“You know, I’m beginning to understand why you have so many trust issues,” Ikkaku quipped, though her eyes were sympathetic.

“Believe me, it was way worse before Luffy came into my life. If we’d met a year ago, I would have already betrayed you and stolen the ship and all the treasure on board.”

“You could try, but the Boss would kill you. He loves this ship and he does not take threats to his crew lightly.”

“I’ve noticed,” Nami deadpanned, adjusting her bodice. It was a sweetheart neckline, which nicely accented her generous bust, had enough support to keep her from spilling out. Such a thing was extremely necessary, given the low back of the dress. Not long ago, she would have been nervous wearing something so daring around Law, but she was still leaning on the theory that he had a weird fetish for modest clothing. If she was right, showing this much skin would act as a repellant.

“He wasn’t too rough with you, was he?” Ikkaku asked, genuinely concerned. “I mean, he can get intense—”

“Oh, he was absolutely terrifying, and I’m pretty sure he was ready to start removing body parts if I hadn’t been having a panic attack, but honestly? I’d still choose him over Arlong.”

Before Ikkaku could ask any questions, there was a firm knock on the door. Grabbing her new purse and slipping into a leopard print, fur-trimmed coat, Nami nodded at her roommate. “Promise me a 9pm rescue?”

“Hmmm, only if I don’t get too caught up in this book,” she teased, cracking it open. “I mean, you did say there was some pretty intense eye contact to look forward to.”

Blushing, she shot back, “You laugh, but chemistry like that can be more intense than any make-out scene.”

“Says the virgin.”

Choosing to ignore the jab, Nami yanked open the door and was met by Law’s cocky smirk. To her surprise, he wore a tailored white suit with a black dress shirt, which brought out that extra little bit of olive in his skin tone. His polished black dress shoes gleamed as brightly as his earrings and the thick, gold chain around his neck. A heady, musky scent tempted Nami’s nose, and she realized Law’d chosen to wear some kind of cologne. Oddly enough, his white fur hat and tattoos didn’t seem as out of place as when he’d dressed up on Tokken Island; perhaps it was because this wasn’t a disguise, or the color was just far more complimentary to his trademark accessories. He looked slick and dangerous, but also at ease—a criminal on a night off.

Damn it, he looked even better than he had at the gala.

Leaning against the doorframe, Law’s grin widened at her perusal. “Do I pass inspection, Nami-ya?” he purred, giving her his own approving once-over.

Gold eyes locked with hazelnut as Nami cocked her hip. “Considering how you haven’t told me where we’re going, it’s a bit hard to judge. For all I know, you’re underdressed.”

“We’re going to a jazz club I frequent, so even if I showed up in jeans, they’d let me in—especially if I have a beautiful woman on my arm.”

“Flatter all you like, Law—you’re not getting out of footing the bill.”

Never breaking eye contact, he gave a little mock bow. “Of course not. A gentleman always treats on the first date.”

“I don’t know you’re more wrong about; that you think this is a date, that there’ll be more than one, or that you’re anything even close to a gentleman.”

“I think I proved myself at the gala. I was on my best behavior, wasn’t I?”

“Maybe in public, but the second we were alone, you went right back to being a bastard.”

A low whistle interrupted their banter, and Nami turned to see Ikkaku wiggling her eyebrows suggestively as she meaningfully glanced between them. “You know what, Nami? You may have a point with that ‘intense eye contact’ thing.”

Cheeks inflamed, Nami grabbed Law by the arm and dragged him down the hallway before Ikkaku could say anything else. As she felt the captain’s intense gaze burning into the back of her head, she silently wondered if a free dinner was worth it.

XXX

The outside of the jazz club was far from impressive—in fact, the entrance was a nondescript wooden door against a plain brick wall, its only ornamentation a faded bronze knocker and a number “8” nailed at the top. Nami was positive she would have walked straight past if Law hadn’t led her to it, pausing to quickly rap three times with his knuckles, then four with the knocker.

After a moment, the door opened, and they were greeted by a young woman dressed in a short skirt and tailored red vest. “Captain Trafalgar. So glad you could join us tonight.”

Law gave a lazy, familiar grin as he wrapped his arm around Nami’s waist. “Always a pleasure, Akari. Is my usual booth ready?”

“Of course, sir,” she replied, ushering them inside and leading them down a narrow, winding staircase.

As they stepped into the lounge, Nami’s eyes widened in surprise. The bland building façade hid a much more elaborate interior; everything from the bar to the floor to the wall panels were made of mahogany or cherry wood, with ruby red cushions, upholstery, and carpets. Red and gold lamps provided just enough light to see by while giving the place a sensual, mysterious ambiance.

At the far end of the room, low couches formed a semi-circle around the small dance floor in front of the stage, where various instruments and music stands awaited performers. Currently, the stage’s sole occupant was an older gentleman playing a soothing tune on the piano. There were a few larger tables scattered about, but most of the seating appeared to be small booths in the walls, their openings framed by red velvet curtains. Several were occupied by canoodling couples, and it didn’t escape Nami’s notice that a few even had the curtains drawn.

Akrai led them to an empty booth, and Law graciously helped Nami out of her coat, handing it to their hostess to hang up before sliding comfortably into his seat.

“Wow,” Nami said, taking it all in. Their seating arrangement was cozy but not claustrophobic, the velvet cushions that padded the crescent bench wonderfully plush. A gold lamp hung above the round table, allowing her to more easily peruse the embossed menu. Appetizers ranged from shrimp cocktail to deviled quail eggs, while entrees featured grilled seafood, roast duck, and steak. The drink list was extensive with an assortment of sparkling wines, cocktails, hard liquor, and even absinthe.

“I figured you’d approve,” Law replied smugly, lounging back in his seat. “And I told you I wasn’t underdressed.”

“I guess not. How’d you hear about this place?”

“It’s an establishment that first started in the North Blue—Prohibition Island decided it wanted to outlaw alcohol, among other ‘sinful’ things. The club’s owner was an entrepreneur from the West Blue, so she knew a thing or two about setting up businesses under the government’s nose. The original club became successful enough to branch out to other islands, and eventually made its way down the Grand Line.”

“I wouldn’t expect Grimm to ban alcohol,” Nami replied, brow furrowing in confusion. An archipelago that catered to pirates and other scum, which had a thriving black market and a brothel on every corner, but outlawed alcohol? The very idea was baffling.

Head shaking, Law chuckled, “Oh, it doesn’t, but Haiko-ya felt the atmosphere suited the clandestine aesthetic. This just happens to be a place where you can get quality booze and not worry about someone spiking your drink. She’s a criminal, but she has standards far higher than most of the island’s establishments.”

“You sound like you know her personally.”

He shrugged but gave a mysterious smile. “She’s Kimo-ya’s wife, actually. Considering all the business I do with her husband, she was happy to give me a lifetime VIP membership.”

A wave of paranoia sent a shiver down Nami’s spine. “What if she sells us out to Jinzo?”

“She won’t. She hates the man’s guts to an impressive extent. Hell, if she’s here tonight, she’ll probably give you special perks for ending up on his shit list.”

By that point, a young man in a red satin waistcoat appeared, smiling at the pair pleasantly. “Welcome back to Ruby 8, Captain Trafalgar. My name is Hansuke, and it’s my pleasure to serve you tonight. What can I get you to drink?” he asked, flipping open his notepad.

“I’ll have a neat whiskey,” Law said easily.

“A Sour Sunrise for me, please,” Nami said, pleased to find an orange juice-based cocktail. She flashed Law a catlike grin as she added, “And a bottle of your best champagne.”

“One glass or two?” the waiter asked, glancing at Law for confirmation.

“Two,” Law replied, smirking at Nami. “In fact, make sure there’s another bottle ready for when we finish the first one. We’re celebrating, after all, and I intend on giving my woman an unforgettable evening.”

“I’m not your woman,” she growled, but was ignored by both men.

“Of course, Captain Trafalgar,” Hansuke said with an eager nod. Men looking to impress were men who spent a lot of money, and if he did well, he might just earn himself a hefty tip. “Are you ready to order your meals as well, or do you need more time?”

“I know what I want,” said Law, barely glancing at the menu. “I’ll take the grilled salmon with the house salad.”

“I’ll have the orange duck, and can we also get a basket of rolls for the table, please?” Nami asked the waiter sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes for extra measure.

The young man nervously glanced between her and the scowling Supernova, clearly debating which one was better to please.

“I…let me check with the chef—I think he said something about running out,” he squeaked out before sprinting off.

“That was cruel of you, Nami-ya,” Law rumbled, fixing her with an annoyed glare, though sadistic humor twinkled in his eyes. “I told you, I’m a regular here. They know I despise bread and will decapitate anyone stupid enough to bring it to my table.”

With a huff, she crossed her long legs and flipped her hair haughtily. “Killing a waiter isn’t a great way to impress a girl and will definitely get you banned from any self-respecting restaurant—VIP or not.”

“I wouldn’t kill him—you forget, my powers allow me to cut a man to pieces and still keep him alive.”

“You should seriously still be banned.”

“They’ve served far worse patrons than me, and they know I’ll be on my best behavior and fill their pockets with plenty of belli so long as they don’t intentionally piss me off.” Lips turning up in an amused grin, he continued, “I’d say it’s a lesson you could stand to learn, sweetheart, but half the time I find your petty acts of defiance charming.”

“Does that include the sunburn I gave you?”

“No, though I did enjoy everything you did to distract me from it.”

The waiter returned to their booth with their drinks and a small tray of assorted meat and cheeses, smiling at Nami apologetically even as a drop of sweat trickled down his face. “I’m so sorry, miss, but it seems we’re out of bread this evening. Not so much as a crumb can be found. Please accept this complimentary charcuterie board with the house’s sincerest apologies.”

Annoying as it was that Law had the staff wrapped around his finger, she took pity on the poor man and gave an understanding smile. If the Surgeon of Death really was a regular at this place, she couldn’t blame him for not going along with her game. “Oh, this is just lovely! Thank you so much!”

Hansuke’s relief was palatable as he set down the tray and their drinks before running off to fetch the champagne.

“See? It’s things like this that keep me from getting too mad at you,” Law chuckled, popping a cube of cheese into his mouth. “I haven’t gotten a free appetizer since that time a new waiter insisted I’d ordered breadcrumbs on my salmon.”

“So, you tolerate me so long as I get you free stuff?” Nami quipped, taking a dainty bite of a slice of ham. It had a surprising fruity note and practically melted in her mouth. She’d have to tell Sanji about it. Hell, even Luffy might appreciate it, assuming he took the time to chew.

She swallowed a bit more harshly than she’d intended when Law leaned across the table, long fingers lightly stroking her elbow as he murmured, “I put up with your antics so long as you make it worth my while, Nami-ya. Keep that in mind next time you’re tempted to pull one of your little pranks.”

Despite pulling his hand away to pick up his drink, Nami could still feel tingling sparks dance across her skin. It really was ridiculous how a brush of his hand invoked that reaction. She was supposed to be more composed than that—a wily thief that didn’t mix business with pleasure—but while his overt come-ons could be annoying, his subtle touches and inviting glances still managed to tempt her. “Fine, but the fact that you’re willing to literally take someone’s head off over bread is way more childish than my ‘little pranks’,” she grumbled into her cocktail.

Whether Law heard her snarky comment or not, their conversation was briefly interrupted as the waiter appeared with the champagne, popping the cork and carefully pouring the bubbly liquid into a pair of elegant crystal flutes. “The sous chef has received your order and will of course be making it himself, Captain Trafalgar,” he said. “If you need anything else in the meantime, please, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks,” he said breezily, sipping his whiskey. “What time is the band scheduled to start up?”

“In less than a half-hour, sir. They’re currently on their dinner break, but I can ask—”

He waved him off. “I’m in no rush, and I’d rather they be at peak condition while performing. I don’t need my evening ruined because one of them fainted onstage from hunger.”

“Of course, sir. Regardless, I’ll inform them you’re in the audience. Anything else?”

“Time alone with my date would be ideal,” he replied in a clipped tone, raising an eyebrow meaningfully.

Nami could see the way the young man shivered at Law’s glare, and he skittered like a mouse back to the kitchen, wisely leaving the bottle behind.

“And you call me cruel,” she stated blandly as she savored another piece of ham.

“I’m all for attentive servers, but the constant sucking up was getting old.” Trying some of the meat for himself, he glanced at her appraisingly. “But enough about him. You’re a far more interesting subject.”

She frowned, brow furrowing suspiciously. “Am I?”

Linking his fingers and leaning his elbows on the table, he smirked. “Of course. Despite being on my ship for nearly three months, you’re still a mystery. A puzzle with so many missing pieces that I can’t yet visualize the total picture.”

“I could say the same about you,” she said, remembering the confusion she felt as he ran off the day before. “We’re both complex people who play their cards close to the chest.”

“That we are, but yesterday proved that a lack of communication between us can be detrimental to our working relationship, not to mention your health. I promise not to pry too much, and you don’t need to give me all the details, but I expect honest answers.”

Much as she wanted to argue, Penguin’s advice stopped her. The first mate was right; everyone had baggage, but how were people supposed to know her bugbears if she didn’t tell them? As worried as she was that a man like Law would be willing to exploit her weaknesses, he also had a point regarding how their communication issues had nearly gotten her killed. Even if it drudged up unpleasant memories, this was a necessary talk for the sake of side-stepping further unpleasantness. “Fine. I’ll open up—just a little—if you will.”

Resting his chin on his knuckles, Law took a minute to mull over his first question. “Tell me, Nami-ya, how’d you get the name ‘Cat Thief’, anyway? Rumor has it it’s been your moniker since well before the World Government issued your bounty.”

Taking a deep breath and a steadying swallow of her Sour Sunrise, she replied, “My…first captain was always comparing me to a kitten. Guess it was his way of praising me despite my species, since he saw humans as the lowest of the low.”

“Odd opinion.”

“Not for a Fishman.”

Leaning back against the plush velvet cushions, Law unlinked his fingers and munched on another piece of cheese. “Ah. A backhanded compliment. Better than a human, but still little more than a pet.”

“That about sums it up,” she said, pushing down the image of Arlong’s patronizing smile. God, some days she’d hated his condescending approval more than his disgusting hatred for her species. It made her feel dirty, being someone that a monster like him could admire.

Law rubbed his goatee thoughtfully. “No wonder you had such an extreme reaction to me calling you ‘kitten’. I’ll try to avoid it in the future. Still odd you’d adopt a feline signature, though.”

Shaking off her former captor’s vindictive smile, Nami shrugged, buying time before replying by nibbling on some cheese, even though she barely tasted it. “Guess it was a little out of spite; I wanted to take the word back and feel like I had just a shred of power. Didn’t really work, but it was still a good nickname for a thief.”

Perhaps he sensed her discomfort, but Law gently nudged the topic towards safer waters. “Fair. Shachi was the one who came up with ‘The Surgeon of Death’. Bit over-the-top, but I like it. Iconic, and definitely strikes fear into the hearts of my enemies.”

“Sounds like something from a comic book,” she scoffed as she finished her cocktail, moving on to the champagne. She knew she wouldn’t get drunk, but the bubbles tickling her palette would be a pleasant way to keep her mind from slipping into the past. Even without the meds in her system driving her towards panic attacks, she knew nothing good could come from dwelling too long on what Arlong had put her through.

“Like I said, it was Shachi’s idea. He was worried the Marines would give me something lame, so he and the crew went out of their way to mention it in every port we stopped in until they had no choice but to put it on my wanted poster.”

“I’m sure Drake had his own suggestions on what to call you.”

Law chuckled smugly, looking far too proud of himself. “Oh, I’m sure he did, but those posters are seen by the general public, so anything he’d propose would have to be censored. It’s probably why Eustass’ moniker is just ‘Captain’; either that or it’s a lame form of overcompensation.” His grin grew even more devious as he added, “First time we met, I deliberately acted like Killer was the captain, just to piss him off.”

Despite herself, Nami had to giggle. She’d only met Eustass Kid briefly, but he’d seemed the type to not take an insult lightly. With the highest bounty of the rookies, he was certainly someone she wouldn’t want to mess with. “You’re an asshole with a death wish, aren’t you?”

Law shrugged, knocking back the rest of his whiskey. The humor in his eyes dimmed. “Perhaps I do, just a little bit. I didn’t expect to live past the age of thirteen.”

“Why?” she asked curiously before she could catch herself. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Face cast in shadow by the brim of his hat, he tersely replied, “I was a sickly child. My father was the best doctor in the providence, but even he couldn’t come up with a cure. Didn’t help that the world believed it was a contagious disease, so we had no outside help. I only survived because of the Ope Ope no Mi.”

“Your father must have been happy about that, at least.”

“He was killed years before I got my hands on it.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” Her heart clenched at the thought. A dead parent before the age of thirteen. Wasn’t that a painfully familiar story? “Well, I’m sure he’d still be happy you survived.”

He shrugged again, watching the bubbles in his champagne flute pop to avoid meeting her sympathetic gaze. “He’d be disappointed that I became a pirate instead of following in his footsteps.”

“Maybe, but I think he’d accept it so long as you’re alive and happy. Bellemere was a Marine, but while she wouldn’t approve of her daughter becoming a pirate, she’d support my decision because I’m free and working towards my dream of drawing a map of the world.”

As he finally looked at her, Nami caught Law’s lips briefly twitch upwards. “I suppose we’ll never know, but it’s a pleasant fantasy, at least.” He gave a mock toast. “To the parents who wanted better for us.”

With a wry smile, Nami clinked her glass to his, the pair gulping down the sparkling wine just as their food arrived. Digging into her meal, she appreciated both the delicious flavor of the duck and the blessed break in the heavy conversation eating allowed.

Talking to Law about her past was far different from Luffy. Nojiko had informed her before they left Cocoyashi that her stubborn captain had opted out of hearing her backstory when she’d offered to reveal it. At first, Nami’d been offended—what, had he thought her reasons for betraying the crew and faking Usopp’s death didn’t matter? But then she realized that, even without knowing who Arlong was or what he’d done to her and the villagers, Luffy had still gone after him.

All because that bastard had made his navigator cry.

As they’d sailed for Loguetown afterwards, Nami had pulled Luffy aside one night, sat him down, and told him everything. Not because he needed to know, but because a man like that was someone who deserved to know. Deserved to know the awful things she’d endured and done to survive. Why he’d found her mutilating her shoulder, cutting off that awful tattoo. Why she was so grateful he’d destroyed that room and all of the charts she’d toiled over for eight years. Why his refusal to give up on her had meant the world to the distrustful thief.

For his part, Luffy had listened quietly, occasionally nodding his head to show he was paying attention, an unusually patient and serious expression on his face. When she was finished, he’d clapped her shoulder, gave her that carefree, goofy grin, and simply said, “Now I’m really glad I punched that jerk!”

Law wasn’t like that. While he didn’t pry, he did ask questions, clearly seeking those missing puzzle pieces he spoke of and not taking her answers at face-value. Admittedly, they had been pretty bare-boned, but it highlighted the difference between the two captains—Law sought to understand because he didn’t fully trust her. Luffy didn’t need to understand, because he trusted her from the moment she’d refused to fire a cannonball at him.

Looking at Law’s nearly-finished plate, she had to suppress a giggle as another difference between him and Luffy hit her—his chewing habits might have left something to be desired, but at least he knew not to eat the fish’s skeleton.

Noticing his companion’s attention had returned to him, Law took a sip of champagne as he considered her. “You mentioned your ‘first captain’. I’m assuming this wasn’t Mugiwara?”

Nami sighed, setting down her fork to drink from her own glass, hoping the sharp beverage would wash away the foul taste talking more about Arlong would inevitably bring. “No. Before Luffy, I served as the cartographer for another pirate crew for eight years.” She deliberately didn’t mention she was an officer—it was easier for people to accept she was a prisoner when it didn’t sound like she was in a position of authority. Perhaps that was why Arlong had “promoted” her, even though she had no real power among the Fishmen. “He…his crew invaded my village when I was ten and made everyone pay for the right to live. Bellemere only had enough money to save her own life, or mine and Nojiko’s.”

“And, of course, she sacrificed herself to protect her children.” Law shook his head, and for a moment, Nami swore she saw a wince of pain, but the amber light made it hard to tell. “Eight years…I know captains who recruit kids so they can brainwash them into loyal subordinates, but he killed your mother. I doubt you joined him willingly, after something like that?”

“Believe me, I didn’t,” she growled. Hands shaking slightly, she instinctively grabbed her knife, holding it like the dagger she’d used to fake Usopp’s death and destroy her tattoo. “Working for my mother’s murderer was nothing short of torture. Day and night I drew maps for him until my hands bled, barely allowed to sleep or eat. And all the while he acted like he was doing me a favor, since cartography was what I loved most in the world.”

The word DEATH entered her field of vision as Law covered her trembling hand with his own. The warmth was comfortingly familiar at this point, and she felt her white-knuckled grip on the cutlery slacken. “Don’t worry; I do believe you,” he said softly, catching her gaze with his own. His expression was soft and concerned—similar to the way he’d looked at her last night in the infirmary. “You’ve shown yourself to be loyal to those you care about, and we’ve all done awful, painful things for the sake of survival. And I have to say, you may actually have a stronger will than me—I doubt I would have lasted a week serving the captain who murdered someone I held dear.”

“Yeah,” she said, breathing deeply, willing herself to calm down. Law’s thumb rubbing little circles across her knuckles was surprisingly helpful with that. It gave her something to focus on; to ground herself instead of letting the memories take over. Rough as the callouses from his swordsmanship and hard life at sea were, they were still so much smoother than the sandpaper-like skin of a shark Fishman. So blessedly human. “I guess…I guess you were right, though; if you’re not strong enough to protect yourself, you’re the property of someone who was strong enough to claim you.”

“I know I’m right, but I wish I weren’t. I’m assuming this first captain of yours has something to do with your dislike of my uniform?”

“You could say that.” She sighed, jerking her chin towards her left shoulder, the faint scars beneath her swirling tattoo barely visible in the dim light, but neither had to see them to know they were there. “One of the first things he did was have me branded with his Jolly Roger to make sure I couldn’t run off. So the whole world would know I was his property.”

Much like Penguin, Nami could see the dots connecting in Law’s mind. He’d recognized right away that the scars were self-inflicted, but now that he knew what had once been in their place, he could deduct why she’d caused herself such grievous harm. She felt his fingers tighten around her own, first in anger, before easing into a comforting squeeze. With forced calm, he said, “Considering how often Fishmen and Mermaids are sold as slaves, it was probably just as much a petty form of revenge. Still, I guess that explains your objection.” Frowning, he rubbed his forehead beneath his hat with his free hand. “Look, I can’t promise you’ll never have to wear the uniform again. Like it or not, it really is the easiest way to keep you safe.”

Deep down, she appreciated his apology and understanding, even as she inwardly groaned at the thought of wearing the beige jumpsuit. “It also made me a target,” she argued. “Drake wouldn’t have looked twice at me if I’d been in my normal clothes.”

“Please, Drake-ya reads the news and would have gone after you regardless of what you were wearing. He’s smart enough to recognize a dangerous alliance when he sees one, or at least an opportunity to get a leg up. Pitiful as your bounty is, getting his hands on a lone Straw Hat, especially one who was able to rob a former Marine Intelligence officer’s mansion, would be quite tempting.” A wide, predatory grin stretched across his face as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his fist as he leered at her. “Though, personally, I think he was jealous that I’d found a new redhead to play with.”

Nami snorted, the tension in her back loosening. Creepy as he was, Law was smart, steering the conversation away from the past and the world’s speculation on their partnership to something they could casually fight about. “Are you kidding? I think he was relieved; with me around, he doesn’t have to deal with you bothering him anymore.”

“If that were the case, he wouldn’t have tried to abduct you.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, he was trying to ‘rescue’ me; Drake’s a real gentleman, unlike you,” she quipped, taking a condescending sip of her drink.

“Oh, yes, a real gentleman who kidnaps and threatens to sell off unwilling women,” Law replied sarcastically.

“Better than a pervert who makes a girl wear an ugly uniform to indulge his weird sexual fetish.”

“…my what now?”

Confident that she’d just played a winning hand, she leaned forward, bending her chest slightly over the table. “Please, I see right through your little act. Sure, you flirt and tease, but only if I’m fully dressed.” The tip of a manicured finger teasingly traced along the swell of her cleavage. “When I’m wearing next to nothing, you show no interest in my incredibly sexy body. Given your proclivities, I’m surprised you even helped me out of my coat.”

Blinking owlishly, Law replied, “I’m sorry, you think I’m attracted to you…when you’re wearing more clothes?”

“Yeah!” she insisted, not caring for his disbelieving tone.

He covered his face with one large, tattooed hand, but through his splayed fingers Nami could still see yellow eyes light up with amusement. As she glared, they only shone brighter, and his shoulders slowly began to shake. Gradually, low chuckles slipped from his lips, finally morphing into full-on laughter, his palm failing to muffle the sound.

An irritated vein throbbed in Nami’s forehead as Law continued to cackle. “Don’t think you can fool me by treating this like a joke! You have a clothing kink! During my initial check-up, you didn’t give a damn that I was strutting around in my underwear. At the mansion, you were all over me when I was in that gown, but once it’s off, woosh, I’m as attractive as a lamp! Even after the mission, you barely even acknowledged what a hot piece of ass I am. Then you insist I wear that freaking jumpsuit…”

“Nami-ya,” he chortled as his hand dropped back to the table, managing to calm down enough during her rant to formulate a reply, “I don’t have a clothing kink—I’m just good at compartmentalizing and know there’s a time and place. When we were in the infirmary, not only was I acting as your doctor, but it was clear you were too nervous to be receptive to any blatant advances. As for the mansion, yes you looked absolutely delicious in that bodysuit, but we were there to do a job; there was simply no time to indulge myself. And when I treated your wounds,” his smile fell a bit, “you’d just been through a potentially traumatizing event. You were flinching just from me touching your calf. I know I can be an asshole, but did you really expect me to come onto you when you were acting like I was Harpin?”

For a moment, Nami just sat there, jaw hanging uselessly as she realized just how far off her theory had been, and most importantly, just how badly she’d managed to embarrass herself. Her own vanity had blinded her to the obvious answer. She could justify it with the fact that most of the guys she knew were either perverts or barely acknowledged that she was a woman, so she wasn’t used to a man who could both flirt and control himself, but she wouldn’t lie to herself.

“So…the uniform isn’t some weird sexual thing?” she asked, trying to cover her humiliation by finishing her glass of champagne. Times like these made her really wish she could get drunk; it would be the perfect excuse for her ridiculous accusation.

“I mean, I won’t lie and say I don’t like you in it, but it really is just for your own protection.” Law’s returning grin was smoldering and devilish as he purred, “I’m curious, though, about what bothered you more; that I might have a strange fetish for fully-clothed women, or that I wasn’t giving your incredibly sexy body the attention you felt it deserved?”

“I…”

He shuffled closer, sliding across the booth to close the distance between them, resting his right arm across the back of her seat and teasingly trailing the fingers of his left land along the soft skin of her jaw to cup her chin. “Because if it’s the latter, I’m happy to show you just how much I appreciate it when you run around my ship in crop tops and booty shorts.”

Nami blushed, realizing she’d played directly into his hands.

“You know, one of the reasons I like redheads so much is how vibrantly they blush,” he chuckled, leaning down so his breath danced across her sensitive neck and ear. The way she’d pinned her hair meant she had no shield from it, and she shivered at the sensation. “It’s so cute, watching the capillaries that carry your blood widen as adrenaline rushes through you. No matter how good a person’s poker face is, the body doesn’t lie. Lets me know my target’s receptive to my flirting, even when they stubbornly refuse to admit it.”

“You base it all on a blush?” she countered, defiantly poking him in the chest. “People blush in anger and embarrassment. You can’t assume someone wants you just because their face gets a little red.”

Like a leopard sizing up his prey, Law loomed above her, gaze analytical and hungry as he studied her. “No, you’re right; good thing, as a doctor, I know all the other physical indicators of arousal.” Tilting her head up, he stated, “Dilated pupils.”

His hand dropped from her chin to carefully brush along the flesh of her arm. “Goosebumps.”

Long fingers encircled her wrist, thumb resting over her pulse. “Increased heartrate.”

Honey eyes dropped to Nami’s mouth as the tip of her pink tongue peeked out to moisten her suddenly dry lips. “Unconsciously licking one’s lips.”

Releasing her wrist, Law’s touch traveled back up her arm to gently stroke the ends of her mikan hair. “And the fact that you haven’t even tried to move or push me away. In fact, I’d say you’re leaning into my touch.”

Nami’s face warmed further as she realized he was right. Mentally she berated herself, but deep down, she was beginning to accept that, even if she refused to act on it for pride and professionalism’s sake, she was slightly addicted to his attentions. She was never short on male admirers, but Law challenged her, the push-and-pull giving her a thrill the way heart-eyed fools like Sanji failed to. There was something about Law that drew her in like a moth to a flame—she knew it was fatal to get too close, but damn it, she couldn’t help but dance with danger.

Winding a short, orange lock of hair around a long finger, Law declared confidently, “All this says you find me sexually attractive.”

Before she could confirm or deny this claim, an excited voice bellowed, “As I live and breathe, Trafalgar Law graces us with his exalted presence once again!”

Said captain’s seductive grin shifted into his trademark smirk as he turned to greet the newcomer. “Are you living and breathing, Hiroshi-ya?”

The man chuckled, grabbing Law’s hand in a firm shake. Beneath a silver fedora his graying hair was cut close to his scalp. His skin was dark but sported prominent laugh-lines, a pair of oval sunglasses rested on the end of his large nose, and his brilliant grin could have replaced one of the stage’s spotlights. “If I’m not, you’d probably know before I did, doc.”

“Because I’m that good, or because you’d be too focused on performing to realize you’d dropped dead?”

The two shared a laugh before the man turned to introduce himself to Nami. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting a moment, here, darlin’, but I simply had to come over and say hello. The name’s ‘Devil’s Fingers’ Hiroshi, and your boy Law here is one of my favorite patrons. Tips well, and he saved my life.”

“I only fixed your hands.”

“Considerin’ how they’d been crushed beyond recognition and I need those to make a living, I think that counts.”

Nami gaped in shock as Hiroshi held up his hands, showing that while they were clearly in working order, they were littered with tiny surgical scars.

Law shrugged, though he seemed pleased with the praise. “It was a fun operation—not every day you get to remove someone’s finger bones one-by one to rebuild your favorite musician’s hands.”

“You put someone else’s bones into him?” Nami asked the surgeon, astounded.

“Of course,” Law said casually. “His own were absolutely pulverized, so a transplant was necessary if he ever wanted to play the saxophone again.”

Part of her was horrified at the mental image, but beneath that, something niggled at her. This was the second time she’d heard someone sing Law’s praises as a legitimate doctor, and unlike Reginald, Hiroshi seemed perfectly aware of the Surgeon of Death’s criminal activities and sadistic reputation. What reason did Law have for helping this man? Was it just because he liked his music?

“Well, I’d best get ready for the show, and I’m sure you want some more alone time with your girl, eh, Law?” Hiroshi teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“I’d certainly appreciate a little mood music,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few large bills.

“You got it,” the sax player sniggered, winking at Nami. “Hope you don’t mind, but we’ll be stroking your boy’s ego a bit. After the surgery, I wrote a little ditty about him as thanks, and it’s become pretty popular with the crowd. Plus, it’s the only time Oscar lets me take over as the lead singer.”

“Law strokes his own ego plenty,” Nami groused, eyes rolling heavenward. “And if you want to write about him, go for his flaws; there’s enough of those to fill an opera.”

“Oooo, she’s feisty! Have fun with that, doc!” he chuckled as he strolled off towards the stage.

“I plan to,” Law purred, turning back towards the woman beside him. “I just can’t resist a fiery ginger.”

“Speaking of,” Nami deflected, hoping to keep the conversation from returning to their original topic, “you and Drake, huh?”

He chuckled at her obvious ploy but proceeded to go along with it. “Ah, one of my favorite playmates. What do you want to know?”

“I mean, let’s start with how the hell that happened?”

“You mean, how did the golden boy of the Navy find himself thoroughly seduced by the North Blue’s most notorious rookie pirate?”

“Yeah. Mainly because Drake seems smart enough not to fall for your sleazy tricks. Or at the very least, composed enough to ignore them until you lose interest.”

Refreshing their glasses of champagne, he gave a wolfish smile. “So you’d think, but Drake-ya’s got an instinctual, animalistic side that’s just so much fun to rile up. Besides that, I observed his physical reactions whenever we crossed paths, and wouldn’t you know it? They were damningly similar to yours.”

Picking at the remains of the charcuterie board, she munched on a piece of cheese to keep her body’s natural responses under control. Keep it together, she thought stubbornly. Even if I did mix business with pleasure, there’s no way I’m letting him win. “Pretty sure the heat of battle elicits similar responses. I think you were just looking for clues that weren’t there in a desperate attempt justify a hopeless crush.”

Her sass received a sharp laugh in reply. Handing Nami her glass, Law brushed the tips of his fingers over hers as he stated, “Maybe, but my theory was undeniably proven when Penguin, Ikkaku and I snuck onto his ship and found him moaning my name while jerking off in the shower.”

Nami nearly choked on her drink, the bubbly wine burning as it tried to make its way up her nose. No wonder Penguin wanted to repress that, she thought, mortified for the poor first mate. She’d probably feel the same way if she’d overheard someone masturbating to the thought of Luffy. “Oh my god.”

“You should have heard the things he was saying—fuck, harder Law! Put that dirty mouth to good use, you bastard!” Law moaned in her ear, mimicking his rival’s deep, guttural growl.

“M-maybe he had a hard-on for justice. You know, the actual law,” she argued weakly. She didn’t even really know why she bothered—it was clear he’d been right, considering how he and Drake had fucked at least once, but she just felt a need to try to knock him down a few pegs and keep his ego in check.

“Mmm, do you really believe that?” he hummed, honey eyes regarding her with amusement as he took a sip of his drink. “I think you’re just looking for clues that aren’t there in a desperate attempt to justify your need to be contrary.”

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbled, downing her drink and pouring the last of the bottle into her glass. “Fine, so Drake was utterly repressed from his time in the Navy and you were able to use that to get him into bed.” A thought came to her, and she raised her eyebrow curiously. “Wait, he didn’t leave the Marines because he fell in love with you or something, right?” That…would be kind of tragic, actually. Despite the sexual tension, the two Supernova hadn’t seemed to be on the friendliest of terms, so if Drake had defected for Law only for their relationship to sour…

“God, no,” he laughed, finishing off his own glass of champagne. “Drake-ya was dishonorably discharged not long after he massacred a village rumored to be sheltering pirates. He may seem honorable and composed, and I’ll admit he usually tried to avoid senseless cruelty, but when situations called for violence, he was cold-blooded and bloodthirsty. I think his family history also played a role; his father had defected and turned pirate, so I imagine there was a bit of a glass ceiling Drake-ya knew he’d never overcome.”

“And you know this how?”

“Pillow talk.”

Nami mulled his words over carefully. “Was Drake close to his father?”

“From what he told me while completely shitfaced, Diez Barrels had once been a Marine Drake-ya wanted to emulate, but when he switched sides, he was nothing short of an abusive monster.”

Pity welled up in Nami’s heart at the implications. “Poor guy.”

“You do remember this is the same man who tried to kidnap you, right?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it must not have sucked for him; looking up to someone, wanting to be just like them, only to be let down in spectacular fashion.”

For a brief moment, Law tilted his head, the brim of his hat casting a shadow across his face, but his voice was tight as he replied, “Enough about Drake-ya.” Clearing his throat, he turned to catch their waiter’s eye, pointing to the empty bottle of champagne. When his gaze returned to Nami, his tone was back to normal. “I’m getting a little jealous with all this talk about another man.”

She frowned. Nami could tell she’d hit a bit close to home there. Had Law once looked up to someone? Part of her wanted to pry; the man was uncharted waters, and the cartographer in her itched to discover his secrets and map them out.

But more than anyone, she respected wanting to keep a painful history private. “Then what do you want to talk about? Because if you want any more of my past, you’re going to need to buy me more than another bottle of champagne,” she replied before knocking back the final sip.

He raised an eyebrow, impressed. “You drank quite a bit of that, Nami-ya, and yet I’m not noticing any signs of inebriation. It seems Mugiwara wasn’t exaggerating when he bragged about your tolerance.”

“Please, this is nothing—Zoro and I could drink whole taverns dry and still walk a straight line. Hell, it was one of my favorite ways to swindle pirates; get in good with the crew, outdrink them, then swipe their treasure while they were all passed out.”

“Interesting. You may be physically weak, but your liver sounds formidable.”

The lights, dimmed, and Nami glanced around curiously. Law chuckled, drawing her closer and pointing towards the stage. “Looks like the show’s about to start,” he murmured in her ear as he settled in, the arm around her waist telling her that she wasn’t moving for at least the duration of the song.

The band played a low, steady beat as a handsome man in a white silk blazer escorted a curvaceous woman with bold red hair wearing a silver dress onto the stage, the spotlights hitting the sequins in a way that nearly distracted from the daring slit and sexy black garters underneath. Turning her back to the crowd, she swayed her hips to the rhythm as the man took the microphone.

“Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he drawled, tossing the crowd a smirk that could give Law’s a run for its money. “We’ve got a great night in store for you. I see a lot of new faces out there—as well as some familiar ones—so I’m not gonna yammer on too long. I want you to sit back, enjoy the service, the scenery, but most of all, enjoy the show.”

As he finished, he signaled to the band, who immediately transitioned into a smooth but lively tune, Hiroshi’s saxophone front-and-center, and the red-haired woman turned around, sensually dancing with the emcee as he began to sing.

It ain’t no big thing to wait for the bell to ring It ain’t no big thing The toll of the bell

Aggravated, spare for days I troll downtown the red-light place

Jump up bubble up - what’s in store? Love is the drug and I need to score

Enthralled, Nami watched as the pair performed, the song turning into a duet as they moved, the woman’s low, husky voice sending a thrill down her back. Or perhaps it was Law’s fingers stroking idly along her side—far from his groping in the alley, but the light touch was just as hot. Thighs clenched as the male singer bent the woman over suggestively, and she hoped Law was too focused on the show to notice her aroused blush. She didn’t want to imagine herself and the Supernova next to her in their place, but with the woman’s red hair and the man’s cocky smirk, it was really difficult not to picture the sensual scene the song suggested—her and Law stumbling around a dark room, locked in a passionate embrace, until finally they made it to the bed…

God, she joked about Drake being repressed to give in to an asshole like Law, but clearly, she was just as pent-up.

When the song ended, Nami let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, quickly going for her refilled champagne, gulping it down to wet her suddenly dry mouth. She hadn’t even realized Hansuke had refreshed their drinks as she hadn’t been able to pry her eyes from the stage, too lost in the song and her fantasy.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Law smirking in an all-too-knowing manner, but before he could comment, they were once more interrupted, only this time by the gorgeous singer who had left the stage to visit their table.

“Captain Trafalgar,” the red-haired woman purred, voice husky with an edge of a rough accent that somehow made her even more glamourous, “I heard you were back in town.”

“Excellent opening act, Haiko-ya, as usual,” Law replied, standing up to gallantly kiss her hand. “Oscar may be your prized vocalist, but everyone knows you’re the real star up there.”

“You charmer. Still sure you don’t want to quit piracy and come work for me?” she asked with an inviting smile. “I could use a man of your talents.”

“I’m sure you could, but as much as I like this club, staying in one place just doesn’t appeal to me. I like to wander, you know.”

“Pity, but you can’t blame a woman for trying. After all, who wouldn’t want a skilled doctor and enforcer on her payroll? Especially with my husband’s…accident,” she replied, tone suddenly going sour.

“I assume Jinzo’s challenging your claim to Kimo-ya’s share of the business?”

“Oh, he’s doing more than that—he’s trying to compete against my business. Opening his own club and even a few brothels so he can steal my clientele—rumor has it that’s why he’s being so stingy with his black market clients. His recent investments have put him in the red, and he he’s going to have to do something drastic to recoup the cost.”

For a brief moment Law frowned, though his lips soon turned back up into his calculating, sadistic grin. “Until then, his broken promises could earn him quite a few enemies.”

“Oh yes. I hear X Drake in particular was extremely pissed that Jinzo didn’t have his money today.”

“He was even more so when I told him that there’s no way he’d planned on paying his asking price.”

Haiko tsked. “Oh dear. It would be such a shame if some frustrated client were to cross Jinzo’s path before his latest business venture can properly take off.”

Behind them, Nami swallowed audibly, catching onto their intentions. Law glanced at her over his shoulder before returning his attention to Haiko. “Now’s not a great time to talk business, but perhaps we could continue our chat after the show. Jinzo’s trying to screw over a lot of treacherous people, myself included, and while I’m not interested in your job offer, I’d be happy to negotiate a deal that could benefit us both greatly.”

Her blood red lips curled upwards, eyes alight with interest. “Meet me in my office at nine-thirty sharp—it would be a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Before you go, I want to introduce you to my date,” he drawled, gently tugging Nami out of her seat. “Haiko-ya, this is Cat Thief Nami.”

“Ah, the woman who swindled Jinzo out of a lot of money,” the businesswoman replied, pleased smile fixated on the younger woman as she shook her hand.

“Does everybody know about that?” Nami squeaked.

“Oh, darling, it was the best piece of news I’ve heard all day. And not everyone knows—yet. I just happen to have a few eyes and ears stationed close to him so he doesn’t try to do to me what he did to my darling Kimo. I may not be able to prove he was involved, but it never hurts to be ready for anything.”

“Very true,” Law agreed. “So, I’ll see you at nine-thirty?”

Haiko blew him a kiss as she sauntered off. “Absolutely. And as thanks for embarrassing that piece of shit, your drinks are on me tonight. Keep it up, Miss Cat Thief, and you might just earn a VIP membership here, too.”

Nami couldn’t keep herself from staring as the woman left. Beautiful and glamourous though she was, she totally believed Haiko was the sort who would slit a man’s throat with a smile. She had a dangerous aura about her, and given how casually she and Law spoke, Nami was certain an ill wind was blowing.

“You two are going to do something to Jinzo, aren’t you?” she asked, sweat prickling at the back of her neck. She had no sympathy for the man, but she hoped whatever Law was planning didn’t involve her; the last thing she wanted was to get caught in the middle of an underworld power struggle.

“Mmmm, don’t worry your pretty little head over that, sweetheart,” Law purred as he tugged her towards the stage. His eyes were half-lidded and inviting, and Nami’s breath caught in her throat as her heart stuttered. Maybe it was just the aftereffects of Haiko’s performance, but the heat between her legs begged her not to resist him. “Ikkaku’s due to steal you away from me soon, so I’m not wasting another second.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, voice barely more than a whisper.

One hand clasped hers as the other wrapped around her lower back. “It dawned on me that, with how busy you were pick-pocketing rich assholes at the gala, I never got a dance with you. We’re going to remedy that. And wouldn’t you know it?” he rasped, leaning in so close his lips ever-so-slightly brushed her ear. “They’re about to play my song.”

Though initially thrown by his sudden change of tone and forwardness, Nami quickly realized from the feeling of hard wood beneath their feet that he’d led them onto the dancefloor. Before she could protest or break away, Hiroshi noticed them, tossing a wink and pointing them out to the male singer from earlier. Oscar quietly chuckled as he handed over the microphone, even giving a playful bow before stepping over to a xylophone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are graced with the presence of the man who inspired this next song, the one and only Dr. Heart Stealer!”

As the music began, Law swept her into a dance, easily leading her in time to the lively beat.

Why is everyone so impatient? Recklessly jumping into things Crushing backstabbing

To achieve your goal Sometimes you just need to dive deep, hide yourself Scan the situation, that’s all

Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM Look into the mirror and see Are you who you really are? Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM Shall I steal what’s most precious to you?

Dr. Heart Stealer

Once you’re addicted, you can never escape…

As Hiroshi crooned the lyrics, Nami forced herself to focus on keeping pace with Law, and not on the surprising suggestiveness of the lyrics or the heat of the doctor’s palm on her exposed back. There were mere inches between them—enough space to properly move, but still so close that their breaths and body heat mingled. He was a surprisingly good dancer, too, gently guiding her across the polished floor in time to the beat, giving the occasional spin and dip, all while those golden, hungry eyes never left hers.

If something’s important, hide it away Once you shout about it out loud It’s just too naive, so sickening

Waiting is not a futile thing With enough clinical data You won’t make a mistake, there’ll be no trouble

Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM It’ll be over once your space’s safety is breached Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM Because I know what’s most precious to you

Dr. Heart Stealer

Once I set my target, I’ll definitely get it

Don’t run away, come join me Show me how you dance

Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM Look into the mirror and see Are you who you really are? Welcome to Trafalgar’s ROOM Shall I steal what’s most precious to you?

Dr. Heart Stealer

Once you’re addicted, you can never escape…

At last the song came to an end, and while Nami wanted to blame her breathlessness on the dancing, she knew at least a little of it had to do with the way Law was looking at her. His intense stare sizzled her skin pleasantly, and she had no choice but to admit that, as much as she wanted to fight it, the song was right.

If she let herself get addicted to him, she’d never escape.

#lawna #law x nami #lawxnami #lawnami #trafalgar law x nami #trafalgar law #trafalgar D. Water Law #one piece nami #Cat Thief Nami #cat burglar nami #op nami #Fic: Welcome to the Heart Pirates #heart pirate nami #Dr. Heartstealer #heart pirates #straw hat nami #jazz #post-marineford #one piece #One Piece Fanfiction #one piece fanfic #op fanfic #op fanfiction #one piece ikkaku #ikkaku one piece

[selenelavellan]

Fake Dating Holiday AU Part Two

part one

Dirthamen and the rest of the Evanuris Family is based on @feynites writing.

(Their first party. Surely this will go well.)

“So...” Selene whispers, rubbing her hands together in a poor attempt to warm herself up. “A tree lighting.”

“Yes,” Dirthamen says from his space beside her, tall and straight and appropriately bundled in a thick scarf and several layers of coats and gloves and probably some very long socks.

Socks that are likely much, much more useful than the stupid stockings Des had tossed at her while insisting they work 'just as well'.

They bloody well don't.

“I assumed we'd be watching from the park. Like the rest of the crowd.”

“That is...not the way my family works.”

“Yep,” Selene nods, holding back on her grimace as she overlooks the swarm of people completely filling in the courtyard around the ornately decorated Vhenadahl, decked out in ribbons and strings of lights and dangling pieces of glass and plastics from the private balcony they had been ushered to. She hadn't even known private balconies existed inside the alienage. “Picked up on that.”

“We do not have to stay the full length of the party,” He assures her. “Once my father has finished with the lights, we should only need to stay for an hour or two before we may take our leave.”

“Right,” Selene nods, tamping down on a chill as another gust of wind blows through her. “The party itself is indoors though, I hope?”

“It is.”

“Thank the gods,” She sighs in relief, both at his answer and as the long haired figure of his father steps out into the courtyard to a raucous wave of cheers.

The ceremony itself isn't too terribly long, at least. Elgar'nan Evanuris makes a stirring speech about the endurance of the elven people and the techs only need to turn the microphone down once to adjust for the boom of his voice, which is far from the worst she's seen. At one of the quarterly reviews he showed up to, they had to shut down the microphone entirely only a few minutes into his speech because he just didn't need it in the size of the hall they were occupying. 

Selene glances over at Dirthamen and wonders for a moment how such a soft, internally drawn and quiet man, came from someone who can throw open his arms and simultaneously light hundreds of candles surrounding the courtyard, sending wisps to light up and across the stretching branches of the vhenadahl, the strings of light following their trails while the crowd cheers and applauds and breaks out into celebration at the echo of his laugh.

“It's a bit sanctimonious, isn't it?” Selene mentions without thought, eyes still staring at the lights dancing around the large sacred tree. “I mean, his name is Elgar'nan. He's already been named after the god of the sun, but he's here, lighting up the one thing city elves have left to celebrate their heritage with, the one shred of their culture they've managed to cling to and he's opened it up to anyone willing to pay an entry fee,” Selene glances around the courtyard, and sees no trace of the usual occupants of the alienage. No children in clothing of the wrong size, no adults with faces gaunt from hunger rather than surgery, not even a particularly large proportion of elves to humans, all things considered. “And closed it off to anyone who couldn't, it seems.”

“Many of these events will be sanctimonious,” Dirthamen admits quietly beside her. “It is the way things are done.”

“Why?” Selene asks, staring up at the sky overhead. Most of the stars are imperceptible from their balcony, dimmed out by the light of the tree and the surrounding city. “Who is this sort of event actually for...?”

Dirthamen is staring at her when she finally looks away from the dark of the night, the tips of his ears and nose rosy in the cold of the evening air.

His expression is difficult to read, even for her.

“Sorry,” She says, hands wringing slightly. “I didn't mean-I didn't mean any offense.”

“None was taken,” He assures her.

There is another gust of wind and this time Selene can't help but shiver as the cold of it rushes through her, raising goosebumps and pushing her curls into her face. Her hand has barely pushed them out of her eyes before Dirthamen has closed the distance between them, taking her hand in his as he shoves one of his gloves over it.

Selene swallows, her view all at once consumed by the grey blue of his eyes, distracted as they are with her hand.

“I should have given you more adequate instructions for keeping warm at these events,” He apologizes, tugging slightly on the band wrapped around her wrist to ensure it is covering her quite snugly. The material is very soft, but covering her hand has left his own bare and exposed and it shouldn't feel quite so scandalous, really. But something about the naked skin contrasted with the rest of his dark layers feels intensely intimate, and the fact that the only thing separating that skin from her own is a very soft, pliant material feels at once not enough of a barrier and far, far too much of one.

She opens her mouth, ostensibly to thank him for the glove, but the sound of her actual boss interrupts the moment before she can.

“Selene!” Sylaise Evanuris calls as she strides out onto the balcony. “I'd heard the rumors, but imagine my shock to see it with my own eyes-you really are dating my brother!”

“Sylaise!” Selene greets, yanking her hand out of Dirthamens grasp without thought. “Yes-I-yes. We're dating! Yes!”

“Sister,” Dirthamen greets with a polite nod of his head, tucking his bared hand into the pocket of his coat.

“And he's just hogging you all to himself out here, hm?” She tsks, looping her arm through Selenes elbow. “Poor dear. You must be freezing, and he hasn't even offered you his coat I'll bet. It's not his fault, he simply missed out on the sense gene of the family. He'll learn, certainly you'll teach him now won't you, sister dearest?”

“Uh-”

“Of course his sense of dress could use an upgrade as well. I suppose if you're into the all black but not quite stylish enough to be Gothic look he's doing well enough, but honestly he acts as though he's allergic to color sometimes. I'm sure you'll get him all squared up there though, your wardrobe is full of colors from what I recall isn't it?”

“I like Dirthamens clothes-”

“Well that's because he can get away with it. He's quite handsome underneath everything, good genes you know, but if he'd just put in a bit of effort-”

“I imagine the good looking genes are the ones he shares with you,” Selene interjects, eager to get Sylaise onto literally any topic other than Dirthamens perceived flaws.

It works.

Sylaise lights up, mouth stretching into a grin Selene swears she's seen on Des as she tightens the arm she has looped through her elbow and starts pulling her into the party

“Well of course it is! It skips a generation you know, poor Falon'din and Andruil just can't compare so they make up with it by being brutes barely capable of holding a conversation that doesn't involve describing some gruesome scene, but I'm sure you're already well familiar with all that.”

“She hasn't met the rest of the family yet,” Dirthamen mentions from where he is trailing behind them. “This is her first event, and I was hoping to put off-”

“Oh!” Sylaise exclaims, tugging Selene off to a sharp right. “Well, we'll have to fix that then won't we.”

Selene shoots Dirthamen one last glance, mouthing out the word 'HELP' as clearly as she can manage, but Sylaise is too used to the movement of crowds, slipping smoothly through swaths of people and leaving Dirthamen far behind them.

There's a reassuring pat on her arm as he vanishes and Selene glances down at Sylaise who seems much more calm and composed than she had only a moment ago.

“Don't worry,” She says. “If I left it up to Dirthamen he'd be dithering on the balcony with you all night, and it'll only make things worse if you wait. Better for Falon'din to see you away from him, first.”

Selene blinks, temporarily impressed with Sylaise.

“Ah, there's Andruil! Give me a moment to ply her away from her wife and make sure they're both decent for you to say hello to.”

...And then it's gone, the same sort of unsettled and out of place feeling she gets from going out with Des heavy in her gut.

“Selene,” Sylaise says, returning with a taller elven woman with similar soft facial features but hair dark and jaw as sharp as Dirthamens “This is Andruil, my elder sister. Her wife Ghilan'nain will be joining us in a moment, I believe...?” Sylaise glances up at Andruil for confirmation, but gets only a shrug for her trouble.

“'Sup,” Andruil greets. “You're the one dating Dirthamen?”

“Word travels fast,” Selene says, trying for a smile.

“It's big news,” Andruil admits. “He doesn't really...do things. Or people,” she snickers.

Selene lets the smile drop, straightening her spine enough that with the added inch from her heels, she manages to stand just taller than the other woman. “Agree to disagree, I suppose.”

“So you are having sex then?” Adds in another voice, skulking out of the corner. A smaller woman wearing a headband with what look like golden halla horns growing out of it appears and slides her fingers through Andruils, practically leaning on her wives left side. “There's a betting pool going you know. Not about his sex life, just in general.”

“That's...” Selene hesitates. 

Nope, she can't think of a better word right now. 

“...weird.”

“Would you like to join it?” Ghilan'nain asks, sounding somehow as though she doesn't care either way but is also very invested in the answer.

“Mmmmaybe?” Selene manages.

This seems to be the right answer, as Ghilan'nains features soften into a smile. 

“That's good. I'll add your name.”

“Wait, what are you putting me down as betting on-”

“Oh, they've finally brought out the sangria!” Sylaise interrupts. “Selene, come share some with me. I'm sure introductions were lovely, but we have lots to see tonight!”

Selene frowns and attempts a polite wave as Sylaise drags her away from the pair and towards the refreshment table.

“It's better not to ask Ghilan'nain too many questions,” She advises. “Most of the time, you won't like the answers.”

“Right...” Selene says, taking the glass from Sylaise and stabbing one of the floating strawberry bits with the small plastic sun placed on the edge. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“Let's see...”Sylaise hums, scoping out the crowd. “You still need to meet June, but I'll save the best for last. Father will still be busy with the children from the event for a bit longer still, mother is likely doing her own rounds, so that leaves....” She trails off. “Has Dirthamen told you about Falon'din before?”

Selene shakes her head, pulling the sun-stick out of her mouth and swallowing the alcohol soaked piece of strawberry. “Only in passing. Sometimes he comes into the office looking more tired than usual, and his answer is usually just that his brother is visiting, but he never goes into detail.”

“Do you talk often, in the office?”

Selene shrugs. “Mostly just about work.”

Sylaise hums, stirring her drink. “And how exactly did my brother manage to make the leap to ask you out? And how did you say yes? Surely there's a story there.”

She misses the apple slice she was attempting to stab, freezing slightly.

Shit, they'd never discussed their story, had they?

Just that they were pretending to date.

...shit.

“I forgot my lunch one day,” She lies. “And he offered to buy me dinner, too. Not a particularly eventful story, I'm afraid.”

“A smoother line than I would've thought my brother capable of,” Sylaise says with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah well,” Selene shrugs. “...He's full of surprises.”

Sylaise makes another humming noise. “And you said yes because...?”

Selene stares down into her cup, unable to look Sylaise in the face as her own heats up. “I mean, even you admitted he's handsome. And we've been sharing a space for so long, he's already a part of my life, and he's very kind and brilliant and I mean, sure it takes some time to understand him but so what, right? He's a good person and I'm lucky just to be near him, and really, how could someone not like him when he's always saying sweet things and being sincere and just...” Selene shrugs, quietly admitting. “I said yes because I couldn't even conceive the idea of saying no, really. Maybe not the most romantic notion, but...”

Sylaise nudges Selenes shoulder slightly with her own, smiling widely over. 

“I think it's very romantic. Alright, you officially have my blessing. Try not to hurt him though; he bruises like a peach.”

Selene blinks, pushing down on the guilt of knowing that their relationship isn't even real, and is on a nearly-literal ticking clock; Dirthamen has already marked their 'break-up' day on their private office calendar.

“I'll do my best.”

–

Meeting Falon'din is like a whirlwind.

One moment she is chatting with Elgar'nan about different theories of fire magics, and the next there is a heavily tattooed man yanking her hand so hard that her wrist nearly twists.

Her vision whites out on instinct, fire growing in her opposite hand as she readies herself to throw it directly into his face and run for the nearest exit-

But Sylaise's hand rests on her shoulder, yanking her consciousness back into her body and forcefully grounding her.

“Where did you steal this from?!” The man screams, holding her hand up between them.

The hand still wearing Dirthamens glove, from the balcony.

She'd completely forgotten to remove it, when she came inside.

“I-”

“You think you can just take shit that doesn't belong to you?” He throws her hand down forcefully, and she hears her shoulder click from the force of it. She lets out a slow breath, counting in her head to try to keep her cool. She can't lose her cool, not here, not now.

He shoves her.

She loses count.

He's yelling, and Elgar'nan is yelling and her ears stop working and the room starts spinning and someone is saying her name and someone else is saying something about her and then a fist with thick rings wraps around her throat-

And she doesn't think.

She pushes him.

...she meant, to push him. Just to get him to let her go, to stop touching her, to get some breathing room back, just enough for a personal bubble.

What she did, though, was fling him across the length of the ballroom with a large white-hot fireball and slam him into the opposite wall.

There is smoke coming from the ashen remains of his coat and the burned skin of his abdomen.

The room is dead silent.

Her hands fly up to cover her mouth in shock, in fear.

In embarrassment.

Ghilan'nain lets out a loud, cackling laugh that breaks through the silence.

“Oh gods, I'm so sorry-I didn't mean-I just-!” Selene tries, stepping towards the elven man just starting to rise to his feet.

Falon'din points an accusatory finger towards her, the other hand carefully hovering over his burns “Did you see what that fucking bitch tried to do to me?! I want her thrown out! I want her jailed! She tried to murder me-!”

“That is enough.”

The voice of the Evanuris family matriarch cuts through the room. The sea of people parts as Mythal Evanuris steps to her sons side.

“Mother-”

“I said enough, Falon'din” she tsks, hands perfectly posed in front of herself. “Go compose yourself, and we can discuss things further when you are in a less manic state.”

Selene wishes for a moment that she could shrink. That she could vanish into the crowd and run and start a new life somewhere else, far away from here.

But she has worked hard to earn what she has now; starting over for a third time sounds exhausting.

And it would require her to leave Dirthamen, who is staring at her now, aghast, from beside Andruil and the still giggling Ghilan'nain.

“You,” Mythal says to Selene, snapping her attention back to the situation at hand. “will come with me.”

It's not a request.

Selene swallows, and quickly follows behind the exiting CEO as the rest of the party goes back to its previous conversations.

Mythal walks down a long series of hallways and turns into a room on the right hand side of the building,  leaving the door open in her wake.

Selene follows silently, lingering just inside the room.

“Close the door and take a seat, child,” Mythal says, pouring two glasses of wine out on an old wooden desk, and sitting down in a chair that looks more like a throne.

“We have much to discuss.”

#fake dating holiday au #dirthalene #selene lavellan #wooooo so many characters #hooray introductions #(mostly)

[voidarcana]

The Angle of Change

Parker sat on the roof, their unopened bottle of beer forgotten beside them as they stared blankly up at the stars. Tears gathered in their eyes as they thought back over the horror show that had been their day. Had it really only been this morning that they and Olivia had walked out of the door down below, arm in arm, ready to take on New York? Instead, New York, and her super villains, had taken Olivia.

It was the tingle that warned them, even before the sound of soft footsteps.

"Hey."

Parker knew who it was of course. Hard to forget someone who saves your life.

"Hey Spiderman." They replied without turning around, and instead the soft footsteps padded towards them, before the red suited superhero sat down by their side.

"So uh, bad day?"

A tiny huff of laughter escaped Parker's lips.

"Yeah, OK, dumb question. I uh, I do that, sometimes. A lot. I'm sorry."

"Sorry for the question?" Parker still hadn't turned to look at him, half convinced the entire day had been a really, really bad dream, and that they could wake up if they ignored everything hard enough.

"Sorry I couldn't save her."

The words smashed through their ‘ignore everything’ plan like a truck through a glass door, making Parker flinch, before they caught themselves, and sighed. "I'm sure she's not the first. You give everyone a personal apology like this?"

"When I can. It's... not always well received."

"I can't imagine why." Parker said dryly, before sighing again. "Its... It's not your fault, I know. There's a whole city to save, and she's just one tourist. I mean super villains are super villains for a reason right?"

"There's no part of you that blames me?"

"Sure there is, but that part’s dumb, and hurt and lonely. It's lashing out just to lash out, because pain only knows pain."

"That’s... That's really deep." Spiderman sounded surprised, like that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting.

"My sister likes philosophy. You pick up the mumbo jumbo." Parker played idly with the beer bottle, almost spinning it. They took a breath, hesitant. "I know why you're here. And it's not just for an apology."

"Oh? And why do you say that?"

"Because you tingle. And because I stopped a thrown car with my bare arm today."

"How's that doing by the way?"

"Sore, but not broken. Or, you know, crushed, like I should be right now."

"Fair enough... so I 'tingle' do I?"

"Yeah. Kinda feels like old TV static across my skin. You know, that feeling you get before the pins and needles?"

"Huh. I’ve never really thought about it like that, but yeah, that’s pretty accurate.”

An awkward silence fell, Parker still refusing to look over at the bright spot of red beside them, focused on their beer like it was the only thing in the world. They considered waiting to see if Spiderman cracked first, but in the end, decided that was petty. "So what, you came here because we share some tingle feelings?” 

“I came here because I know what you’re going through.” Movement, as if Spiderman had gone to put a hand on their shoulder, but thought better of it. Instead he stood up, and stepped over the side of the building, sticking out horizontal from the roof. 

“Leaving already?” 

“No, hoping to show you something.” A gloved hand appeared in Parker’s vision, and they reeled back, not expecting it. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Just... try something for me?”

Parker looked dubiously at where Spiderman was standing, as casual as if he was in line for Starbucks, not eight stories up and defying gravity. As they hesitated, Spiderman spoke. 

“Bitten by any spiders lately?”

“Uh... about ten months ago actually. Put me in a coma for a while.” Surprised by the guess, Parker stepped closer. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I mean.... I’m Spiderman.” The hero gestured to the spider symbol on their suit. “Ever wonder why?”

“You got bit by a magic spider?” 

“Well, radioactive. And, voila! Spiderman. And after today, I had my suspicions about you. So, showing you something. If you’re game.”

“Sure. What have I got to lose?”

“Well, hopefully nothing, because I am a very good superhero, and if I am wrong I will catch you. Probably.”

“Real confidence booster dude.” Parker snorted, then took the offered hand. As they stood, Spiderman gently tugged them towards the edge, and for a dizzying second, Parker stood, toes hanging over, studying the cracked pavement below, wandering if this was how they were going to die. Then, with another gentle tug, Spiderman pulled them forward, and the world lurched slightly as Parker instinctively walked around the edge, ending up right next to the superhero. 

“Woah” Was about all they could muster, as they observed the world from their new 90 degree angle. It was a hell of a trip, they decided, having superpowers. 

“Woah indeed. I’ve been doing this for fourteen years, and it still amazes me.” Even under the mask, Parker could tell Spiderman was smiling. 

“You are either a lot older than you look, or you were very young when you started” 

“How do you know how old I look? I’m in a full body suit!” His hand came up to his chest, and his mouth was open beneath the mask, mock scandalized. 

“Call it a tingle.” Parker said, laughing, their first genuine laugh all night. They could tell Spiderman was smiling beneath his suit again. 

“You’re right, I started pretty young. Didn’t have anyone to help me along the way either, kinda just... figured it out for myself. Didn’t always go well, but I survived. Still, could use some help.”

“Are you... offering me a job?”

“Definitely not, because I can not pay you. I don’t even get paid!” 

“Well that’s a bummer. And here I thought superheroing was some glamorous, high paying lifestyle.”

“Nah, you want that you go talk to Tony Stark. Between you me tho, he’s a bit of an ass. A genius, but an ass.” 

Parker couldn’t help the giggle that erupted, covering their mouth with their hand, the other still holding tightly to Spiderman, just in case. They sobered pretty quickly though, then frowned. 

“Why me? Why invite me to be a superhero. Is it just the powers? We both got bit by magic spiders and now we’re destined to save the world?”

“No, not really. The super powers aren’t everything, and there’s no destiny attached, that I know of anyway. You just have a good heart.”

Parker scoffed. 

“No really. That car was flying at you, and you instinctively put yourself in danger to save your friend. You warned me about Rhino. Superpowers don’t make a hero, but a good heart, and a want to help? That’s way more powerful than destiny anyday.” Spiderman’s face was very expressive for a guy wearing a mask Parker decided, He was looking at her with what seemed to be a very serious expression, and they knew he meant every word he was saying. Still, they hesitated. Spiderman noticed, and guessed the reason why. 

“It’ll stop hurting so much, eventually. You’ll never forget them, of course. But it stops being so painful, not having them here.”

“And how do you know that?” Parker asked, pulling their hand out of Spiderman’s and crossing their arms over themselves, curling inwards. “How do you know what I’m going through?”

“Because the whole reason I started this gig is that my uncle died.”

“Oh... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t hav-”

“No, its ok, it was a long time ago. I learned to deal with it. But shortly before he died he told me, ‘with great power, comes great responsibility.’ Now, I’m not saying that means you have to dress in spandex and jump off of roofs with me, although it is pretty fun. But you have a chance to help people, and if I’m right about you, that’s something you’ll appreciate. And, who knows. It might help you deal with your loss. No promises, but punching bad guys can be pretty cathartic.” That masked smile was back, and despite everything, Parker smiled back. 

“Is the suit really spandex?”

“Absolutely not, not anymore. So uncomfortable, rode up like nobody’s business”

“Ok, I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole. But, I can give this whole thing a try. You say you wanna help me learn how to use my powers, then I’m in. Let’s be superheros” Straightening, Parker extended their hand, and Spiderman shook it gleefully. 

“Let’s be superheros” He agreed, then paused. “I just realised I don’t even know your name?” 

“Call me Parker, everyone else does.” 

“Well I’ll be damned.” Parker watched as Spiderman pulled back his mask, revealing a man in his late twenties with brown hair and a crooked nose. “Nice to meet you Parker, I’m Peter. Peter Parker.” 

#spidersona #funnel web #petra parks #parker #my characters #spiderman #into the spiderverse #fanfic

[kpop-muses]

Packing a Punch - Seungcheol

Summary: Seungcheol gets worried when he notices a huge bruise on you, and your explanation of its origin is not at all what he expected.

Genre: Fluff

Length: 1.9k+

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You shouted back, hoping the boys could hear you over the loud oven fan.

“When will dinner be ready?”

You rolled your eyes, already having heard that question about ten times in the past hour.

“Soon!” They groaned in response to your words, making you laugh, but you went back to paying attention to the meal at hand.

You had been dating Seungcheol for about half a year, and when the boys found out early on that you could cook, they were even more welcoming of their leader’s girlfriend. Since a lot of the time you spent with Seungcheol was at the dorm and with the other members of Seventeen, you had grown very fond of them, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy supplying them with a home-cooked meal every once in awhile.

The soft thump of familiar footsteps made you smile in anticipation. Soon your boyfriend was wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

“Hey babygirl,” Seungcheol murmured into your neck.

“Hey there.”

“The boys are getting anxious,” He said, placing small kisses where he could reach.

“Well the boys can keep waiting,” You replied. Seungcheol’s light laugh made his chest move against your back, and the moment felt perfect.

“Ew!” The voice made your boyfriend back away, but only after kissing you on the cheek, “Stop making out in the kitchen!”

“You’re just jealous,” Seungcheol hit Seungkwan in the arm, just as a few more boys filtered into the kitchen, likely lured there by the heavenly smell of dinner almost being ready.

“Get some drinks out, it’s almost done,” You said over your shoulder. All thirteen boys sprung into enthusiastic thanks for the meal.

You tasted a small bite of the dish and decided it needed a little extra spice and then it would be ready. Having already put away the supplies, you reached up to the spice cabinet on your tippy-toes to grab some chili powder.

“What’s that?”

You spun around at the shocked voice of Minghao. He and the other boys were staring at you with wide eyes, especially your boyfriend.

“What?” You asked, becoming worried, “What is it?”

“Babe, why is there a huge bruise on your back?” Seungcheol asked slowly, cautiously stepping toward you.

You pulled up the back of your shirt a little bit, twisting around to find a large yellow and purple bruise that you had completely forgotten about.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” You said, pulling the fabric back down over the exposed skin.

It was clear that they didn’t believe you.

“Y/N, is there something you need to tell me,” Seungcheol’s brow furrowed, his concerned expression growing.

“No, really,” You smiled, taking his hands, “It’s not something you need to worry about.”

“But that bruise didn’t show up out of thin air,” He insisted, and you knew it was only because he cared. “Where did it come from?”

You sighed, turning back to the stove and tipping some of the spice into the pot, stirring it into the food. It wasn’t that you were trying to keep secrets, this just wasn’t a conversation you particularly wanted to have, especially in front of anyone. You weren’t embarrassed, just a little worried about your boyfriend’s reaction.

“So…” You trailed off, turning the heat off and facing them again. You were trying to turn the mood casual, but it was clear that their concern wasn’t going to end until you explained, which was actually very sweet.

“Go on…”

“I’m a kickboxer.”

Silence filled the room. They stared at you with an array of expressions, ranging from confused to surprised to completely blank.

“A what?”

You laughed at Minghao’s words, not surprised by his shock. Apparently you didn’t really look the part of your favorite hobby.

“A kickboxer,” You repeated, placing the large pot on top of a placemat in the center of the table with the rest of the food, “As in, fighting in a ring with gloves. Bruises sorta just come with the territory.”

“Wait,” Seungcheol was starting to wrap his head around the situation, “So you’re a kickboxer? For how long?”

“I’ve been doing it for about six years, since I was a sophomore in high school.”

Your boyfriend sputtered at this information, and you had to admit he looked pretty cute confused.

“You’ve been doing this the whole time we’ve been dating?! And you never mentioned it? How didn’t I notice that you’ve had bruises his whole time-”

“Baby, calm down,” You placed a comforting hand on his arm, “I’ve been doing this for a long time, I’m pretty good at dodging the hits that really hurt. Plus, I’m pretty sure the times we’ve been together and the bruises were visible, you were a little distracted with… other things.”

His eyes widened while some of the boys gagged, and others let out scandalous cheers. Jeonghan supportively patted his friend on the shoulder, and Seungcheol just shrugged and mumbled a ‘you’re not wrong’.

The dinner continued as planned, your confession all but forgotten. Everyone was stuffing their faces with your delicious meal, occasionally talking about random things.

“So,” Seungcheol said once you’d all finished and were sitting around the dorm in food comas, “When do we get to see you fight?”

You choked on your drink, barely avoiding spitting it all over yourself.

“What?”

“You’re my girlfriend, I want to support you in everything you do,” Your boyfriend said sweetly.

“Frankly, I kinda want to see you beat someone up,” Mingyu added, making you laugh.

“Well,” You said thoughtfully, “I have a match this Thursday afternoon. Are you guys free?”

They all looked to Jeonghan and Seungcheol, the only ones who ever really new their schedule until the day it happened. After a brief moment of shared eye contact, they confirmed that they would be able to make it.

A few days later you were in the locker room of the martial arts center, prepping for the match. You had practiced hard for this and you thought you had a good chance of winning. However, knowing Seungcheol’s eyes would be on you made you more nervous than you cared to admit.

You turned up the music on your phone a few notches and tuned everything out, like you always did. Your hair was braided tight against your hair. You’d already wrapped and re-wrapped your hands, a habit you had developed early on when you started kickboxing. The first matches had already started and you could hear the cheering outside. There weren’t a ton of people, but there was a day full day of sparring ahead so there was a bigger audience than usual. Not to mention the extra thirteen people that were there to watch you fight.

“Y/N, you’re up in 10.”

Your coach’s voice pulled you out of your reverie, and you looked up, giving her a smile.

“I’ll be right out.”

With a deep breath you stood up. It was time to go.

You made your way out of the locker room and out to the ring where bleachers had been set up for spectators. It wasn’t a large gym, so it looked pretty full. Sunlight was filtering through the windows high up on the wall. Your heart beat faster and faster as you searched for your friends in the crowd, unsure whether the sight of them would put you at ease or make you even more nervous.

They were sitting politely with popcorn in their hands when you saw them. All thirteen were watching the current round, and a few of them flinched when a punch was thrown. It was bizarre to see them there, sitting in a place where you had spent countless hours practicing and fighting.

You turned your eyes to the fight in the ring that was moments away from ending. A friend of yours was about to pin the other fighter, and you clapped and cheered as loud as you could, grinning when she won.

The boys must have recognized your cheers, because when you looked back over at them they were all staring at you. Some of them looked surprised, and you laughed at yourself wondering if it was because you were wearing just a sports bra and boxing shorts.

When your eyes locked with Seungcheol’s a wave of calm soothed your tense muscles. He was smiling one of those classic smiles of his that made your heart feel like bursting. He blew you a kiss, which you cheekily returned, and then it was time for you to enter the ring.

The second your feet touched the mat you were in fighting mode. Your usual friendly smile was gone in favor of a neutral expression, which looked menacing to anyone who didn’t know you. You recognized your opponent as someone you had fought before, each of you winning about equal times. The match was a toss-up, but with your coach standing proudly behind you and the boys watching with bated breath, you weren’t about to go down easily.

The fight wasn’t fast. You got in the first strikes but she didn’t budge. She won the first round but you came back with a vengeance, beating her in the second.

Everything happened so quickly, but your mind was in slow motion. You blocked a punch and used her momentum against her, managing to get her on the ground. It was a struggle from there and you were quickly running out of energy.

Seungcheol and your friends had come all this way to watch you. No matter what happened you knew they would be proud of you, but you wanted to win this. For them.

Just as you were about to be pinned you found an un-tapped piece of strength within yourself and tugged on it until you were back on top, trying to keep your opponent down. She fought back but you fought harder, determined and raging with a fire that you had never before seen in yourself.

Within moments she had tapped out. You hauled yourself up and offered her a hand, helping her stand beside you. The referee stood between you and announced you as the winner, and that was the first time you registered the loud cheering echoing off the gym walls.

The next match would be starting in only five minutes so you had to hurry off the mat, but before you stepped off you looked over to where the boys were sitting.

All thirteen were standing, screaming, and clapping louder than anyone else in the room. Usually you would be incredibly embarrassed by the attention, but the sight of them just made your heart happy. Seungkwan was loudly telling the stranger next to him that he was your friend while Mingyu and Dokyeom pretended to punch each other. Seungcheol was staring at you, eyes bright, smile wide, with an expression so full of pride that you got tears in your eyes.

Before you’d even reached the stands they were leaping out of their seats and surrounding you in a warm hug. Seungcheol weaseled his way in to wrap his arms around you first, not seeming to mind how sweaty you were.

“You did incredible, Y/N.” He murmured in your ear, “I’m so proud of you.”

You hugged him even tighter. It was wonderful to finally to be able to share something you loved so much with Seungcheol, like how he shared his music with you.

“We’re staying for your next match,” Your boyfriend grinned.

“You really don’t have to-“

“Well we are,” He said, placing a kiss on your cheek.

You smiled and thanked them for coming before turning to head back to the locker room.

“Y/N!” You turned to see Seungcheol smiling at you, “Kick butt out there!”

#seungcheol #choi seungcheol #seventeen #svt #seungcheol scenarios #seungcheol scenario #choi seungcheol scenario #choi seungcheol scenarios #seventeen scenario #seventeen scenarios #svt scenario #svt scenarios #kpop #kpop scenario #kpop scenarios #fluff #kpop fluff #seungcheol fluff #choi seungcheol fluff #seventeen fluff #svt fluff #my work #Packing A Punch

[shslocreview-blog]

OC Review! SHSL Urban Dancer Rizumu Daiho!

This talent is kind of exciting for me! I live near a city where street dancing is pretty common, so I see stuff like this pretty often! Do I know anything about it? 

...Well, no, not at all. But I’m still excited to tell you all about today’s OC: Rizumu Daiho, the SHSL Urban Dancer! 

Under the cut, the original form will be in plain text while my comments will be in bold. 

Name: Rizumu Daiho ( 大歩 リズム)

Rizumu means “Rhythm” and Daiho means “Big Step” its kind of a joke name to how she discovered her talent by through Dance Dance Revolution. Her name can be shortened to Rizu which is a way of saying “Liz” in Japanese which means “Oath to God”. Mainly focusing on oaths to show not just how she takes honesty seriously and effort to keep promises to heart but also be more expressive in strong emotions since while Rizumu is energetic and high spirited when her mood is right, she chooses a strong emotion such as anger in despair situations. Also, from what I found elsewhere Riz could mean “someone who loves the outdoors” which suits her since her taste in dancing is more outside on streets or cities.  Her former surname Itokinuyo is a combination of “Ito"  meaning "thread; yarn; string” and Kinuyo which means “generation of silk”. This references her mother’s ancestry of silk farmers that became a famous fashion designer name.

Alrighty, let’s take a look at this--you were pretty thorough, so I’ll be the same way! First of all, I just want to make sure you know Rizumu’s meaning comes from how it’s just the Japanese spelling of the English word Rhythm. It’s a loan word and would be pretty strange as a name, even by Dangan Ronpa standards. You mention later it was picked by her father, so I feel like you could make it, say, his childhood nickname for her. Daiho, on the other hand, checks out in terms of meaning and kanji. It’s not a name I’ve heard personally, but it wouldn’t be out of place in DR.

I think the meaning and reasoning behind rizu/liz is only really relevant if someone calls Rizumu that or she identifies by that name, though the Liz meaning part is correct! I also don’t quite get what experiencing strong emotions has to do with any kind of oath, to God or otherwise. I looked a lot, but I can’t find where Riz means “someone who loves the outdoors” in any language or context.

And finally, to address Itokinuyo… yeah, it looks fine! I think it’s less that Kinuyo means “generation of silk” and more that uses the kanji for both silk and generation, and I’ve only seen it as a first name (of the lady who wrote the Castlevania soundtrack, there’s a fun fact), but neither of those matter too much.

There are other ways of braking her name down through the Japanese Kanji, but its complex. As I said I’m not good at Japanese, but the best I could come up for Rizumu’s name differently is (織 図 夢) “Ri” for “weave” “Zu” for “Plan” and “Mu” for “Dream” The “Ri” is associated with her family’s name as a fashion designer business but her full name could relate to her taking and controlling her own fate and choosing to pursue her own path instead of her former family’s path.

The kanji works here, too! You mixed Kunyomi and Onyomi readings, but… that’s not too uncommon, even for real-life Japanese names. Like I said before, it’s still an English loan word first even if you give it kanji, but this does lend it some more credibility as a Name rather than a Nickname.

Age: 17

SHSL Title: Urban Dancer (Not Hiyoko’s Traditional Dancing. Urban Dance is: Any of various dances influenced by the rhythms and techniques of funk and hip-hop music, such as locking, popping, or b-boying. Also anything that’s really fast paced like Street, Electro, Break, Club, etc.)

This is all great, though I think something SHSL Street Dancer Flows a bit better. “Street Dancer” is a fairly well-known phrase while “Urban Dancer” isn’t, though, so I might just be a little biased.

Gender: Female (But due to also looking a little masculine and wears tomboy attire, she leaves her gender to speculation or other’s perspective until either free time events or a certain point. She’s one of those girls to judge on who they are rather than gender and she sees it as a bit of a problem with first impressions, so she changes in her dorm.)

So as far as I can tell, she’s a cis girl who doesn’t really present in feminine ways? That’s totally fine, though I’m a little conflicted as to whether she presents androgynously because she feels like presenting as feminine causes people to judge her or she otherwise feels insecure about it, or because she’s just Feelin’ It--both of these are valid reasons, of course, but you might want to be a little clearer about it.

Appearance:

https://goldencat12.deviantart.com/art/Danganronpa-Rizumu-Daiho-Ultimate-Dancer-Intro-671921511 (Urban’s missing due to early development.)

https://goldencat12.deviantart.com/art/Danganronpa-OC-Rizumu-Daiho-670137941

https://goldencat12.deviantart.com/art/Danganronpa-OC-Rizumu-Daiho-Emotion-Sprites-671468163

https://goldencat12.deviantart.com/art/Danganronpa-OC-Rizumu-Daiho-8-bit-sprite-674226556

https://goldencat12.deviantart.com/art/Danganronpa-OC-Rizumu-Daiho-8-bit-sprite-DR1-682750634

She looks great!

Blood Type: B

Height: 5'8 (175 cm)

Weight: 157 lbs (11 stone)

Waist (in): 30 (77cm)

Chest (in): 28 (70cm)

I’m definitely not an expert in this field, but these measurements seem a little… off. For one thing, every sizing chart I’ve seen lists chest/bust as larger than the associated waist size. These also just seem a little small for someone who’s 5’8” and 157 lbs (for reference, Saionji and Koizumi, who are the closest in terms of chest size to Rizumu at 64 and 77 cm respectively, are shorter and lighter than her. Saionji, especially, barely reaches above four feet and looks like a literal child--unless this is what you’re going for with Rizumu, it might be a good idea to adjust these measurements a bit!)

Skin Color: Light skinned pink

Hair Color: Dark blonde

Hair Style: Short, Straight, A little messy with a single platted ponytail, which she keeps under her hat until later on.

On Head: She has a dark pinkish red had cap that’s black on the front with her dance team logo “Graffiti Streakerz”

I really like “Graffiti Streakerz” as a name. It’s English, but like… the kind of English Japanese teenagers would use if they were trying to come up with a cool dance team name, you know?

On Neck: A scar along her neck and her headphones when she’s not using them.

On Torso: Green hoodie jacket that’s darker green almost near the edges

On Arms: She does where fingerless dark pink gloves, but only when she goes dancing or exercises

On Waist: Under her jacket, she wears a black belly top with darkish pink lines but keeps it zipped up until later on

I know what you’re going for here, but consider phrasing it along the lines of “something she keeps zipped up unless she’s around people she’s known for a while.”

On Legs: Light grey slightly baggy pants

On Feet: White and light grey converse trainers with darkish pink shoe laces

Background: Before she became who she was, Rizumu was born to an upper class lifestyle. Her mother’s a famous Fashion Designer that descended from a long line of silk farmers and her father, to where she got her surname from later on.

Quiiiick question: Traditional silk farming in Japan is really uncommon in modern times because it became really unprofitable. Knowing this, did Rizumu’s mother become a famous fashion designer to get away from her family’s non-profiting career, or deliberately to make money so they could carry on their silk farming? It’s a really small thing that isn’t even about the main character of your form, yeah, but I think understanding her mother’s motivations a bit more would help us understand her actions towards Rizumu a bit more clearly, too!

But since her mother’s name carried more weight, she was an Itokinuyo, but she was still called by her first name because it was picked by her father.

See, while this is uncommon in Japan as well, I really don’t mind this fact--it’s still believable enough given everything we know about her family.  

She also had an older sister as well, who mainly helped her mother with her business while Rizumu spent time with her dad. Her first time she did a dance was actually with her dad and remembers standing on his feet while he held her hands as they moved to the music.

Awwww! This is really good, cute imagery.

When it came to the wedding of her parents, which was before her little was noticed,

Before Rizumu’s talent was noticed?

something changed. Whether it was a sign or a shocking revelation, she couldn’t recall from all the negativity she heard in her ears. The last thing she recalled was seeing her father running out of the wedding venue and her chasing after him, not wanting to leave him. But being held back by her older sister, she could only watch hopelessly as her father drove off. Any other memory of him was blocked from what came next in the future.

Okay, this is where I’m gonna need some hardcore explanation. What I got from that scene was, “Rizumu and her older sister were attending their parents’ wedding, then something suddenly happened and Rizumu’s father left her mother at the altar, much to Rizumu’s dismay.”

Rizumu and her sister… attended their own parent’s wedding? That would mean they were both born a while before their parents were married. Granted, being born out of wedlock would explain how it was so easy for Rizumu to keep her mother’s surname, but the rate of out-of-wedlock pregnancies is very low in Japan and comes with a huge heap of social stigma. Rizumu’s mother, especially if she was well-known in society, would be facing all sorts of scandal! Which is fine! This is all fine, but it just needs to be explained, or at least addressed, in the backstory.

Secondly, why did her father end up leaving? Remember, this isn’t just a wife he ma or may not love, but a children he supposedly cares about, too. Even if Rizumu isn’t sure at first, you as the writer and we as the audience can know--it would help explain Rizumu’s mother’s reaction a lot more, too.

Her mother was in despair now that her husband to be left her while pregnant

And her mother was pregnant again, too? Geez, what kind of situation was this?

and had to be taken care of by her older sister.

This brings up another question--how old are Rizumu and her sister at this point in time? Between the wedding and this, I’m really confused.

Rizumu wanted to help, but her mother lashed out at her, now calling her Ri instead and for the fact that she looked like her dad. Her older sister even said to her that she was “bad for both of them” so she became more secluded.There are times her mum locked the door of her on purpose before her older sister let her in once her mum was asleep.

Okay, there’s a lot to talk about here, too. I can understand Rizumu’s mother’s bitterness towards her father, but we gotta be on the same page that this has crossed over to child abuse. Targeting one child in particular for harsh treatment is way outside the confines of “despair,” right? Again, I’m not saying this shouldn’t be in Rizumu’s backstory, but it should be addressed and treated as such.

Secondly… why does her older sister treat her that way? Assuming she was old enough to take care of Rizumu, she was old enough to see what happened at the wedding and old enough to comprehend that Rizumu is not the guilty party in any of this. Does she think her mother is acting rationally somehow? Does she honestly think Rizumu is creating this rift in the family?

After her little sister was born she didn’t look like her father like she did, so her mother gained some life back, but when she got older, Rizumu’s grew to be hated by more because she still looked like her dad. It came to the point that her only use for Rizumu was being a “mannequin pin cushion” for men’s clothing.

When her little sister actually interacted with her, they danced the way her dad used to do and gave her a piggyback ride, but it was the only time they shared before her mum turned her against her.

Again, Rizumu’s older sister is just kind of going along with all this? And Rizumu’s mother still harbors all this hatred towards her own child rather than her father? Don’t get me wrong, there are certainly abusive parents who do this, but it might be a good idea to point out the irrationality of these actions.

After some time, her mother took advantage of Rizumu’s love for dancing and forced her into ballet at Chōnadeshiko , a private all girls school she used to go to.

Does Rizumu have a love for dancing? I know you mentioned her dancing on her father’s feet before and doing the same with her little sister--again, imagery that I absolutely adore--but there’s a big step between doing that and enjoying dancing on its own. You’re definitely going to want to talk about Rizumu’s childhood experiences with dancing more. Maybe as a self-taught source of comfort in her terrible family situation?

Despite its perks of improving flexibility, Rizumu hated ballet because of her nickname she was ridiculed for “Twinkle Toes” from moving too quick, even on her feet, to slow music.

I don’t know about how I feel about the nickname itself, but otherwise, I really like this aspect of Rizumu.

But everything changed after going to an arcade after one of her classes and on the day her family went on a trip without her and found DDR. She didn’t get the highest score but she earned a crowd when she began to freestyle her moves, who happened to do a dance different to ballet as a hobby. Since then, she hanged around the streets more often to dance to their music, began to wear casual street clothing and stopped going to ballet.

Okay, I’m a little confused here, too. I got the impression above that Rizumu was placed into an all-girls private high school or middle school for her regular academic studies where ballet was an afterschool class--but is it a ballet academy that doesn’t offer regular studies?

However, when her sisters snitched her, Rizumu was now no longer anything to her mother and siblings and was thrown out, homeless and nowhere to go, which exposed her to the harshness of the streets.

Lots going on here, too, and I have a lot of questions to go along with it!

Why did her sisters snitch on her--for that matter, how did they know what Rizumu was doing? Were they actively looking to get her in trouble?

Why did Rizumu’s mother kick her out? Were her hopes for Rizumu riding on her becoming a successful ballet dancer? I got the impression she only put Rizumu in the school to get her out of the house, so if she’d be out of the house anyways with her urban dancing, why would her mother care either way?

Finally… where did Rizumu go? Did she make any attempts to live with her mother again because she thought an abusive household was better than no household, or was she glad to be out of a terrible situation even if it meant going into an uncertain one? Did she try to couchsurf with people she knew at the arcade? Did she just try to sleep around there? Did she try to reconnect with her father at all, especially during this time?

It came to a drunken brawl between a familiar face who watched her dance that she successfully broke up, but ended up with her neck sliced from a broken bottle. She woke up later in the hospital

Whoa! So she was knocked out or something during this brawl for that long period of time? Were there any negative physical consequences of that besides the scar on her neck?

to her friend from the streets who was the victim and target of the brawl and introduced himself as Shouji Konda. From the moment that scar came to her neck, she took it as a mark of being severed from her past life and began her new life as Rizumu Daiho by taking on her , changing her attire, dropping out of her private school to go to the same school Shouji father’s surnameand another girl she befriended, Hitomi Yoko went to.

Okay, so while I’m not against any of this, a lot of it requires some more explanation.

Who are Shouji and Hitomi? I mean, you introduced them both, but didn’t go into much detail about the impact either of them had on Rizumu’s life--if they’re important enough to be named, they’re probably important enough to have a little bit more information about them, right?

How did she take her father’s name? Did she just start going by it informally, or did she have it changed legally? Did she try to get in contact with her father at this point? For that matter, how does Rizumu feel about her father at this point? Does she idolize him because she’s built him up to be something amazing, or resent him because he basically abandoned her and her family?

Most importantly, I think, how did she get to school? If she dropped out of private school, that implies she was still attending while she was homeless. (How long was she homeless, by the way?) How was she paying for it, if this is the case? Or was she paying in the first place? For that matter, how is she paying for this new school. All high school education in Japan costs money (though some schools are cheaper than others, especially public schools). How did Rizumu afford to go back to school without her family’s financial support. Did she go back after the dance group started making money? Did she get a scholarship (a little bit unlikely from what we know about Rizumu, but not impossible)? Where did she start living after she got back on her feet? Did Shouji and/or Hitomi take her in and start helping her out?

She eventually became something after becoming nothing for so long.

I’ll address this more in my final thoughts, but I think your backstory generally needs a some more explanation and perhaps some cutting back on the more unrealistic elements.

Accomplishments: While getting her life back together, Rizumu and a bunch of teens with a couple of little kids formed The Graffiti Streakerz as a dance posse. Despite not wanting to be seen as a leader and have the group more on teamwork, Rizumu was still seen to others as their leader or “poster peep”

I don’t know if that’s a real or widely-used term but gosh I hope it is.

as she was the most talented. They started off in alleys and streets, which then grew into events, concerts and even world wide tours

This section works just fine for me, but it could definitely benefit from a little detail, too! Was there a point where they were “discovered” by someone who started getting gigs for them? Did Rizumu or another member of the team keep dragging everyone to open auditions until they got them?  

Personality: Rizumu is seen to be quite an upbeat energetic person, calling new faces as “peeps” and giving them an optimistic greeting. But she’s not naïve to the point she doesn't fully ignore a situation that’s realistic and asks what would be the catch when put in a situation like the killing game.

I mean, the catch of the killing game is that you kill people, right... ?

Nah, I’m just kidding, I know what you’re talking about. I do really like the “peep” detail you have here, especially if Rizumu became the “Poster Peep” since she spread the expression around the group.

She kicks off conversations by asking whatever they do at night, what hobbies they enjoy or compliments on their attire or physical appearance if she likes what she sees.

This is pretty typical for most people, I think, but this does go to show one unique side of Rizumu: she’s comfortable, even glad to be the one to start the conversation. I think this fits her well as a performing artist!

She is also well to adapt to places having experience in both classes.

The phrasing of this confused me a little (I thought “both classes” was referring to like, the 77th and 78th class or something). I don’t think it’s right to say “both classes,” here since are more than two socioeconomic classes, but you do have a strong case in saying Rizumu has experienced life both impoverished and wealthy (though, she’s spent a much longer time in her upper-class household, as far as I can tell, so you should take that into account too!)

And speaking of classes while she may be seen as a “street rat” to the upper class, Rizumu can be shown to be smart in both street wise and school wise.

I don’t necessarily think this can’t be true, but so far, you haven’t shown me any evidence that is is. As far as “street smarts” go, I’ve seen Rizumu… not die, and I guess she broke up a fight one time, though it did get her seriously injured. As far as “school smarts” go, I haven’t really seen anything. Again, it’s fine if she is smart in these ways, of course, but you’ve got to show us how!

In time, she can think of a fitting nickname for people, which has become a bit of a habit for her which she got from the streets. Only they optionally have a deeper meaning to some.

(For example, Rizumu would call Aoi Asahina “Ducky” like those yellow rubber duckies one may have in the bath. Ducks swim in water, which the element suits her talent. And as it’s the colour yellow it suits her cheeriness. And it’s also from her duck face emotion.)

I have no idea what you’re talking about…

Again, though, another solid little detail! You’ve got a lot of good ones like this.  

However her choice of nicknames can sometimes differ to sound mean in negative situations or when she actually gets mad. When in despair situations, she’d be shock like all the others, but would turn to anger as a reaction rather than be sad about it, which she gets rid of all that energy through dancing, either through her own tunes in her headphones or DDR in her room.

Nice, nice, we’re getting some good detail here, namely that she turns to anger to express her negative emotions rather than sadness and that she’s found productive means of releasing said anger.

Patience for her is also an issue. She dislikes silence to the point she has to tap her feet after ten seconds have passed. To her when silence rises, the mind wanders. And Rizumu doesn’t want the silence to take her back to her past.

More good stuff here, though there’s more to patience than just waiting for something to happen in the immediacy, you know? How is Rizumu, for example, in terms of long-term planning or putting up with people beating around the bush rather than facing conflict head-on?

Rizumu doesn’t always understand what heart has in mind. She makes a vow to cut off her past life, yet she still tends to hold onto some kind of memento, whether through physical expression, gesture, photo or item. But she doesn’t look back at any photo’s or items from her former life, unless its with someone she trusts highly, but she also worries about her “chance” leaving the same way her dad did.

Her “chance” being the people who she trusts?

Which is one of the reasons on preferring to be with a group instead of a duo or solo.

I feel like there’s a bit of contradictory, confusing information here, specifically about “keeping a photo” and “not looking back on any photos.” so I’m going to try and sum it up the best I can: Rizumu doesn’t always know how she’ll come to terms with her own past. While she still keeps physical mementos of it, she avoids thinking about it or talking about it unless she’s with someone she trusts.

I’m also glad to see you’re addressing some of her abandonment anxiety! “Being part of a group makes me feel more secure in my place than being part of a duo or by myself” makes a lot of sense and adds a good dimension to Rizumu.

She is quite bitter towards those achieve talent through their heritage and boast about it, but she’ll allow to hear what her enemies and rivals have to say before owning them sassing them out.

So here, you’re equating “people who brag about inherited talent” and “Rizumu’s enemies,” right? It’s fine that you are, of course--they do seem like the kind of people she wouldn’t get along with--but just so you’re aware of that implication!

You know, though, I’d be interested in seeing what other people make of Rizumu and her talent in this regard. While she really got into urban dancing when she was homeless, her mother did pay for expensive (?) private school ballet and pushed her towards dancing. While Rizumu’s situation certainly wasn’t Good by any stretch of the mind, do you think people would bring that up to her? How would she react to other people implying that she only got her talent due to her heritage?

When meeting others, there’s a chance they’ll make her see her worth, accept her and her past and make her feel comfortable about her gender

Her misgivings about her past and discomfort with regard to gender were touched on briefly (though I’d like some more details with most of them too, honestly), but you haven’t mentioned any anxieties about her self-worth. You mention it briefly later in the form, but you’d be best off bringing these up (and explaining them) in the background or earlier in the personality section!

Other Hobbies or Talents: Dancing is pretty much her characterisation, but despite sticking to fast music and dance types and hating ballet, she can have a bit of knowledge on other dance origins. Since coming to the streets, Rizumu had gained experiences in parkour and rollerblading which she got from Shouji Konda. She does go to the arcades often as she can with him and Hitomi Yoko. Her other hobby is Graffiti, which she learned from Hitomi.

So these hobbies seem a little bit like Rizumu stepped out of Jet Set Radio. Which isn’t a bad thing, but it’s a little... archetypical? Stereotypical? Like she’s trying to check all the boxes for “Rebellious Urban Teen.” I’m curious to know whether Rizumu just got into these activities because she likes them, or if she uses them to leverage the image of the Graffiti Streakerz to appeal to other rebellious teens.

I’m also curious about graffiti as a hobby. I’m not sure where Rizumu lives, but I know Tokyo is full of graffiti, and a lot of it carries a political undercurrent--was she into that scene at all? Did she have any messages she wanted to get out?   

Rizumu can work with materials like fabric which she got from her family, but keeps quiet on saying it was her work and was something she found. She even created her dance crew’s wear by herself

My mother speaks Spanish and loves woodworking--both of which she does fairly often and both of which I have absolutely no idea how to do. What I’m saying is, you usually don’t learn skills from your parents just by watching them, unless you have some natural predisposition as a child and you’re actively trying to learn. And since the latter doesn’t seem true, and it doesn’t seem like Rizumu’s mother was particularly inclined to teach her any kind of sewing, design, or textile work… It’s kind of hard to believe she has those skills, even with her background!

Also, under that logic she found some perfectly-tailored, aesthetically-accurate uniforms for her entire crew? I’m just curious to know how she went about explaining that!

In a despair setting, would your character kill, or be killed? Despite earning a name for herself, Rizumu degrading from her mother and hate from her sisters makes her question if she’s worthy of it.

That’s terrible, but that’s good! I mean, not good, of course, but it’s important that you bring this up because it’s a realistic consequence of familial abuse and… well, because it’s something you mention Rizumu struggling with. It would be good if you detailed it further, as well: do these anxieties still plague her (as severely) now that it sounds like she has a solid group with her? Does she feel justified anger towards her family for what they did, or does she still harbor a lot of the blame herself?

She saw nothing else other than to dance because that was the only memory that made her happy. Any “chance” she got had to be set aside or thrown away due to her vow to change.

I’m going to be honest, I’m… not quite sure what this means. What does the “chance” refer to--the chance to go back to her family, or to make it so her parents split in the first place? The chance that was referenced above--people she trusts, or who make her feel good about herself?

To this day, she still wants to know where her dad is, but would never go to the extreme such as killing someone to find out.

Well, it’s good to know that, both for the questions’ sake and for some answers about her father. From both this question and the one below it I’m figuring it’s not likely Rizumu would kill anyone, but is there any other reason she’d more likely end up as the victim?

What would happen if your character did kill? If she does become blackened it would be to prevent a second murder or sacrifice herself to be the victim as long as a second doesn’t occur after her so the game would continue, because she wasn’t going to give up on life.

When you say “sacrifice herself to be the victim,” do you mean something along the lines of what Tanaka and Nidai did in chapter four? Even then, that was done in an act of sheer desperation (if those two didn’t die, everyone else would have, unlike every other motive we saw)--so you’re really saying Rizumu wouldn’t likely kill someone. Totally fine, but it might be good to address other motives besides her father. How would she feel if the motive threatened Shouji or Hitomi, or her entire dance crew? Or if a motive would cripple or remove her legs, potentially destroying her dancing career and her only means of escape and survival from her past life? It’s still possible she wouldn’t kill over it, but would those affect her?

“A beating heart is a chance of Hope.”

I don’t dislike this quote, but I just want a little more context behind it--is it something Rizumu would say, a philosophy she follows, something she came to believe in a hypothetical killing game?

However, if she did get her “chance” through this killing life she would do she could to keep them alive. She would even cry because she was the one that was going to disappear out of their life instead of the other way around, but would make them promise to try and keep living

Oh! Okay, okay, I think I get it--this “chance” in quotes refers to someone she can really trust and open up to, and who she feels comfortable around to present as she wants to? That’s great--it makes a lot of sense that Rizumu would strongly attach to someone or a small group of people who really accepted her. That said, you probably want to explain it in a more straightforward manner earlier in the form, because like I said, I’ve been a… little confused.

If your character was found guilty of a murder, what would their execution look like?

Dance, Dance, Rizumu! or Street Rat Dance Trap: Rizumu is centred on a dance floor of pink, blue and yellow (The colours of the steps in Pump It Up), dancing her final dance in front of a lot of Monokumas and the students still living. All was going well until the beat ended. The yellow spots turned sticky, barely movable unless done so slowly. The pink and blue spots were sensors and pressure plates to activate hazards.

Rizumu moved to get to the back of the stage, where the exit lied from the shining of white but the glue traps prevented her from keeping up with the beat and the hazards from the sensors or pressure plates were triggered by the Monokuma crowd booing and throwing things at her as well as Monokuma switching the dance stage’s spots around. Everything seemed to end when her neck wound got reopen by a glass bottle shard and let out a scream which led everything to silence and darkness.

Rizumu was now lying on the stage, her clothes that had remained were torn and wrecked, but she was still alive. She lifted her upper body up slowly to look at where she saw the students, but she can’t move her arms and legs due to the glue or being trapped under the collapsed part of the stage so she could only look up as the spotlight of what is actually a disco ball that hanged on a thread fall on top of her and kill her with Monokuma on top of it holding a pair of scissors and laughing.

I like the idea of this execution, but I feel like you might not have gotten quite what you were picturing into words here--at least, I had a little bit of trouble visualizing it! Was the stage made of a bunch of changing, multicolored tiles, like a fancy dance floor at a club or an RPG puzzle, or was it literally like a Pump it Up/DDR stage, where the tiles showed where Rizumu was supposed to dance? What were the hazards that were triggered--or were they just what the Monokuma crowd was throwing at her? Why did the stage collapse--was that one of the blue/pink tile hazards, or something else?

Again, I like the execution, and her neck wound being reopened is really fitting! I think it just needs a bit more detail and transition so the reader can follow along with it more easily!

(This execution fits in with Rizumu and her talent. The irony to this execution is Rizumu dislikes slow music dances and always danced on stage with a group, no duos or solos. The reason why is connected to her past and that she did dance at a very young age, up until she found her true talent let’s just say there was a lot of standing still in life and moving slow in dance. Dancing was her way of running or fleeing while standing her ground, so she had to dance her way out of her execution. When she stopped or there was no beat to hear, she could only then dwell on past thoughts which leads to her fear of being anchored by her sadness she tried to hold back or convert through dancing.)

While I think the execution, at its best, should be able to explain this through showing without telling, I am glad you included it here!

Other information: Since her heart can throb for either gender from whatever sets her off, Rizumu is bisexual, despite her believing she’s asexual.

Ha, that’s an interesting way to phrase it! One thing, though, is that I think you can be bi and ace at the same time--not to say Rizumu is or isn’t either way, but just keep that in mind!

She used to have a pet crested cockatoo she called Bop that her mother got for decor, since a dog or cat would ruin fabric. However, he didn’t do much until Rizumu stuck on her favourite tunes and began dancing with her. They were true companions, but due to her competitive sisters wanting to play with the bird and her mother living up to be The Damsel of Design eager to finish her work, Rizumu discovered Bop dead in the front garden with his wrecked cage and all his feathers gone to make a hat, so Rizumu had to give him a proper burial.

Okay, so this is a bit of a nitpick, but cockatoo feathers aren’t really used in making hats--even if Rizumu’s mother was desperate, she probably wouldn’t have come up with a great looking product. Also, are you implying her sisters helped kill this bird out of jealousy? Because… yeesh.  

Shouji and Hitomi made her feel better by giving a cage Hitomi bought and a cockatoo from Shoji’s house which Rizumu called Jig.

Alright, then, time for some final thoughts!

Like a lot of the DR OCs I review, my biggest suggestion is that you include some more detail. Not that you make the form much longer or pad it out, necessarily, but that you elaborate on and explain some of the concepts you’ve already brought up.

I think my issues with Rizumu’s backstory are clear by the number of questions I ask, right? While I’m not inherently opposed to any of the concepts you bring up (her parent’s wedding, her father leaving, her mother’s and sisters’ abuse, her entry into urban dancing, the people she meets after she becomes homeless), the main problem is… you just kind of bring them up, with no attempt to explain the more unrealistic elements.  

Her personality is a little better on this front, especially when it elaborates on topics brought up in the backstory (like Rizumu’s lack of self-worth stemming from her mother’s abuse), but it still suffers from some underdeveloped concepts holding it back--for and example I brought up earlier, you say Rizumu is both book and street smart, and… that’s it. No showing them, no bringing up accomplishments requiring them, no mentioning them later.

Another common trend I noticed over much of the form, though I think it was most noticable at the end of the backstory and during the execution, is that I think you have all of the details and story in mind and don’t quite translate all of those ideas to writing--I only bring it up because that’s something I struggle with a lot when I’m writing. We just have to remember that the reader doesn’t have all of the context and visualization that we, the writer, have come up with. Any interpretation they’re going to do, they have to do only with the words we give them--so we have to make sure to give them enough that they know what’s going on!

I kind of smacked you with my big complaints right out of the gate, but there’s a lot going on with this form that I really do like, too! Like I brought up a few times, you’ll often throw out a small but really good detail: the Grafitti Streakerz, the nicknames, Rizumu dancing on her father’s feet, “Poster Peep.” Little things like that really add to Rizumu’s character and the setting you’re trying to build up for her without sticking too much baggage to the form; I really love those!

Furthermore, even if it’s not always explained in the clearest way, you seem to have a really solid direction in which you want to take Rizumu. Ninety percent of the issues I brought up in the personality and background sections are easily fixed with a bit more explanation and detail, because the skeleton for a well fleshed-out character is very much already here--she just needs, well, some more fleshing out!

#reviews #dangan ronpa oc #dangan ronpa oc review #magentacrystal59 #graffitistreakingurbandancer

[k-renne]

King of Pain VI

A/N: Oh my god I’m finally writing something lol, sorry guys life stuff was happening for a few weeks. Hope it was worth the wait.

Previously: I, II, III, IV, V

It’s not long before Kylo leaves you, seeing that you were more then capable of handling yourself. It doesn’t stop him from leaving his most trusted and loyal knights behind, Martha, to look over you. He hated tricking you, but he knew it was the only way that he could ensure that you were protected, as though he did not have complete faith in your body guards, he did have faith in Martha.

He wanted to stay, to cart you around in your castle, and observe you rule in the way that he always believed you would. However at your request and at the necessity of his presence for the upcoming planning of the Winter Soiree, he had to go.  He looked forward to seeing you again, all nice and dolled up, so he could show you off to his people. You truly were a treasure.

Martha takes care of you like a mother, only one that’s highly skilled in combat. She helps you heal, listens to your woes, brushes your hair, not because you ask but because of the kindness in her heart. She hasn’t given you advice in a while either, which is nice for you. She lets it be as she is satisfied with the natural progression of yours’ and Kylo’s relationship, she’ll only push it if need be.

“Martha, I need some fashion advice, should I wear the red dress or the black one?” You ask her.

“Well my lady, both of them look lovely on your figure and I’m certain that they would both blow his majesty away,” She pauses, collecting her thoughts.

“But I can say that the man will lose it if he see’s you in that red gown,” She finishes.    

“The red one it is then! Thank you as always Martha,” You smile back at her

“A wise decision my lady, the King won’t know what to do with you,” She compliments.

“He never will,” You say, and with that Martha laughs for the first time in along while. 

Soon, you’re heading back to see Kylo and it’s the evening of his ball. Crimson fabric coats your form, hugging your waist and chest while flowing at your feet. There’s some lace detailing around your cleavage and back, the same color as the rest of the soft fabric. It’s neither overly simple nor too gaudy, and along with a pair of matching gloves that cut off at your wrists, you look like a Queen. Kylo’s gonna nut when he sees you, you think.

You arrive a little early so that you can meet up with Kylo before the other guests arrive and find him more easily. There an usher takes you straight to him, past all of the others waiting in line. You walk up a grand staircase to meet Kylo in his study, taking a deep breath to soothe your nerves before knocking.

“Come in,” says a rich voice.

You only made it to the doorframe, nerves not wanting you to move forward. “I said come in, and close the door behind you,” Kylo repeats, somewhat exacerbated. He’s looking away, busy straightening his clothes and hair. Everything had to be perfect for you. When you close the door behind yourself Kylo looks over, “Y/N! I’m deeply sorry for being-“ He drops his apology when he fully takes you in, eyes scanning over you with a look of hunger.

“Y/N, one might think that you’re trying to tempt me,” His voice drops several octaves and he begins stalking towards you like a cat. You don’t know what to say, don’t know if you want to say anything, you didn’t want to miss his reaction.

“Princess,” He drawls, tracing a thumb along the underside of your jaw. You shiver under his touch and he only leans closer, a hand poised to grab at you. “Y/N,” He teases in a sing songy voice, close enough to kiss you. Before he can really make a move the door bursts open, Kylo growls at them, he was just about to kiss you!

“Your majesty, you told me to tell you when its time, well its time,” A man says, in regards to the arrival of the King. With the guests all inside, it was time for his grand entrance. Everyone was waiting. You were a bit relieved; you had almost let Kylo completely ruin your carefully applied lipstick.

Kylo sighs but composes himself, giving you one last look of longing before offering his arm to you and leading you out the door. He was so close, though it’s probably for the best.

You and Kylo stand at the top of the staircase, overlooking the other guests. He waves to them and they stare in awe of their King and the beauty besides him. Their voices spoke in hushed tones, questioned who you were. Some said mean things, out of jealousy or hatred; others beam with pride at the sight of their King. Overall they’re happy to finally see him with someone, as he’d usually stand-alone.

“Look at them, they love you Princess,” Kylo says to you. “And they should, because you’re absolutely wonderful,” He compliments you, looking at you warmly. You shake your head; he was being so flirty today.

“Don’t shake your head, you know it’s true.”

“I think I liked you better when you talked less.”  

“Good point, I could certainly put my mouth to better use,” He strikes back, heat from his mouth radiating on to the shell of your ear. Maybe it was revenge, but he wanted to annoy you for torturing him with that damned dress. He really had to hold himself back tonight if he wanted to stick to the plan.

You scoff at his shamelessness, “You’re a rake. You know that?”

“I think I’m going to need to kiss you again Y/N,” He hums.

“Really? That’s your response to an insult, you’re only proving my point,” You roll your eyes at him, looking away from his piercing gaze. Sure maybe you wanted to kiss him again too, but why did he have to make you feel flustered now.

“You’re right, let’s go now before I decide to drag you away and try on that pretty lipstick of yours,” He drawls.

“Uh yeah, sure.” You agree with him, returning your gaze to the people below. Arm in arm, Kylo and you descend to the dance floor. Dozens of different nobles came to greet you, all eager to find out who exactly you were to the King. He called you a friend, an ally, making sure not to undermine what you had said, even when he knew that whatever was happening here was not really a friendship.

“Who might this be?” A woman asked, failing to hide the disdain in her tone. Not all of them were this blatantly rude, though there were enough that you were amazed that Kylo had not lost his temper at this point.

“This is Princess Y/N, one of my most respected allies and a dear friend, I suggest you pay her the same respect,” Kylo says, thinly laced threats hiding amongst his words.

“Of course your majesty, Princess Y/N,” She dipped her head in acknowledgement, realizing her embarrassing mistake. She kept her pride however; the King was not lost yet. But she couldn’t hide her grimace at the sight of his hand resting against your lower back, if this was a friendship, it’d have to be broken to reach her goals.

“Who was that?” You ask Kylo.

“Just another noble who thinks she can buy her way to the crown,” He brushes her off. You frowned, something felt off about her.

“Don’t worry Y/N, she’s not a threat to you, the only one who can threaten this relationship is yourself,” He chuckles, believing your frown to be out of jealousy.

“But that’s not what I m-“ You interrupt. “Never mind Kylo,” You sigh, this wasn’t a conversation for now.

“Dance with me,” He suggests.

“I would normally refuse to dance, but for you I’ll make an exception. Anyways I can’t let all of those stupid classes go to waste,” You justify.

You join the dance floor, guided by lilting flutes and bellowing strings into a waltz. To your surprise, Kylo was an incredible dancer; he moved with a certain grace that you had never seen from him. Normally he was like a bull in a china shop, an absolute predator, but this was something else entirely.

It felt like you weren’t really moving, it was more like you were floating and his arm on your waist was the only thing keeping you grounded. You didn’t talk, but you didn’t look away this time either. Your eyes were locked on his, trapped in his gaze. It made you question just what were you doing? Maybe floating wasn’t the right word, that wasn’t it. You were falling.

“Can I show you something?” Kylo breaks your train of thought.

“Now? Oh sure,” You say. He leads you away from the dance floor and through the castle hallways to a door that leads outside, his garden. It looks different under the moonlight, more mysterious. You were grateful for a break from the constant chatter of the party goers.

Kylo stares at you like he wants to say something, “What?” You ask. His face turns pink, suddenly he feels embarrassed about what he wants to do. So many filthy things are running through his head and he can’t stop them, doesn’t know if he even wants to.

Before you know it he pounces, crushing your rose petal lips with his own, ensnaring you in his arms like he’s afraid you’ll run. This kiss is the opposite from the first one, where it was gentle and sweet this one is rough and hungry, and this time you get to kiss back. You grab on to the back of his neck so hard that your nails almost pierce the skin and slip your tongue in between his waiting lips.

He welcomes it with a groan, though he doesn’t back down. He moves forward so that he can press you against a wall and therefore against him. He tries to keep his excited hands from tearing apart your dress, but eventually he gives up, placing them on either sides of the wall above you. He doesn’t want to get too ahead of himself, he wasn’t even supposed to be kissing you like this now. If anyone found you it’d be a horrible scandal.

“Fuck,” He curses, pushing against the wall and forcing himself off of you. He should not be doing this.

“Kylo! You can’t just kiss me like that and walk away, come back here,” You run after him.

“Please Y/N, not tonight. I shouldn’t have kissed you,” He pleads.

“Why? Why are you doing this? Weren’t you the one who said I need to kiss you, the one who was just making out with me against the wall,” You question him, raising your voice. It made you mad, confused. Just what did this man want?

“I know, I know. Just keep you voice down, we need to get cleaned up and get back to the party.”

“You’re worried about what they’ll think? They’re already suspicious of us, there’s nothing you can do to change that,” You say. Kylo doesn’t say anything to that; he knows you’re right, he’s heard what people have said. He just doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize this.

You could see that Kylo was upset, dealing with something that he didn’t want to tell you about. You decided you’d humor him, even though you didn’t really care about anyone in that party. “Alright, come on lets fix this lipstick.”

“Thank you Y/N, this way,” He shows you a secret way to get to some private bathrooms. As much as he’d love to still be kissing you, the longer you were gone the more suspicious people would get and he wanted to honor you more at such a public event.

You manage to reapply your lipstick and get it off of Kylo before getting back to the party. You’re return is noticed by a few people, but most are too drunk or distracted to suspect why the two of you went off alone with each other. Amongst the crowd you think you see someone familiar, but they soon disappear and you don’t get the chance to see their face.

Suddenly shots ring out in the crowd, screams erupt and the crowd scatters to the sides of the room. Leaving you and Kylo face to face with Hux and what’s left of his army. Kylo stands defensively, hand hovering over his saber that he always keeps on his belt.

“Y/N get out of here, I can handle this,” He says to you.

“If you think I’m leaving you then you really don’t know much about, besides I never go anywhere without this,” You say, reaching under your skirts to grab a dagger.

“Well, well, look what we have here. The monster and his whore,” Hux spits out. Kylo’s about to go after him but you hold him back, subtlety nodding to his Knights who hide amongst the crowd.

“I’ll handle this, give me you’re weapon, “ You tell him. Hesitantly he hands it over, trusting you with his most prized possession. It was heavier then what you normally used, but it’d get the job done.

“General Hux, or can I even call you a General? With that pathetic little army of yours that tried to attack my kingdom, who murdered innocents and tried to infiltrate my walls? I’m surprised that you’re brave enough to show your cowardly face,” You sneer at him, preparing to attack.

Hux tries to come up with a response, to gather his wounded pride, but before you can you strike. Kicking him in the gut and knocking the breath out of him. He looks around for his support, only to see them killed by Kylo’s Knights who stand above them. He gets up and brushes off his clothes, holds his chin high and pulls out his sword. There was no escape this time.

His combat skills are strong from military school but he doesn’t have the same skill with a blade that you have. It’s not long before you disarm him and down him, so that he’s staring up at your blade. Everyone is watching, not many really have a clue about what is going on, but it’s entertaining so they stay.

“I’m not going to kill you Hux, you don’t even deserve that, but I want you to remember this. Let’s see what I can do about that face of yours, this time there’s no one to take the damage for you,” You mock him. You slash him across the face, deep enough to leave a nasty scar.

“You monster!” He screams. “You’re just like him, you two deserve each other, you’re both murderers,” He spits out, he’s quickly silenced by a boot to the face from one of the Knights.

“Shut up, you lost already,” The knight says. Others drag him away, most likely to the dungeons. The people watch in awe, whispering to each other and spreading rumors.

“I’m sorry everybody but it looks like we need to cut this short tonight, my people will make sure that you get escorted back safely. Good night,” Kylo addresses the crowd.

“Kylo, I think I should go too,”

“Why? After all that I want you to stay Y/N,” Kylo says seriously.

“I just need to leave, I need to be by myself right now,” You reply softly, taking a step away from him.

“Don’t go please! You can stay in that same room, even my bed if you want I know you found it comfortable. Stay Princess,” He begs.

“Not this time, I need a moment. Good bye Kylo.” You kiss him on the cheek and turn away. Leaving him to stand and watch you go, he knew that he couldn’t convince you to stay.

“Martha, make sure she gets back safely okay,” Kylo asks. She nods and discretely follows after you.

Kylo felt overwhelmed, with anger, with worry, all of his feeling towards you and what had happened felt like they were crushing him. He just wanted you to be here now, even if it was for selfish reasons.

This time he had to learn to leave you alone.

#kop #kylo x reader #kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #renne writes