#Non WC Daily Drawing

[kinda-daily-warriorcat]

#Day 250 #Non WC Daily Drawing #Transgender #Transman #Transmasc #Furry #Not a serious doodle #Just something lighthearted for a big day for me #Syringe TW #Needle TW #2023 Daily Drawing Challenge

[sink-me-in-your-ocean]

The Light Over the Darkness

Lucifer Morningstar x Lilith!fem!reader

WC: ~5300

A/N: @endhisbloodlineinmyesophagus thank you for reading this first. And no thank you for getting me obsessed with a new fictional idiot.

Content warnings: fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, praise kink (if you squint and tilt your head). 18+ only. Minors DNI.

NSFW below the cut.

It is a gorgeous day in the Garden. Though, every day is a gorgeous day. Every single day is perfect beyond comparison. It would be even better if your companion did not exist. 

You went off on your own again, wholly unwilling to submit to Adam’s irritating daily routine of assigning uninspiring names to all of the things and creatures. Or - even worse - the non-routine version of simply lounging about lazily. This was your only course of action. You wandered far off into the Garden, and just as daylight began to break over the horizon, a sound caressed your ear in the lightest touch.

In the distance, you heard a voice. It sang a melancholy tune so far from the triumphant trumpet sound of heavenly melody you’d heard before. It was like a dream.

No, not a dream. This was a voice emitting an enticing tune you couldn’t resist. It called to you, pulled your very heartstrings. Your brows knit together in concern. 

You must find this beautifully tragic voice.

You strolled further through the Garden, clinging close to an idle river. As the voice drew closer, you stepped along a fallen tree that cast itself as a bridge over the river. You made it across and walked into the line of trees posing as guard to what lies beyond. Past several rows of thick trees there was a clearing, open and spacious, and filled with wildflowers. 

Wildflowers and the most beautiful creature you had ever seen. 

-

Lucifer was lonely, although not any more lonely than he had felt in Heaven. His brothers and sisters never accepted his way of thinking and there was no chance of him and his Father ever seeing eye to eye. 

He had purposefully gone to a most remote corner of the Garden, knowing his father would do something drastic again if he found him interacting with his two perfect human pets. 

Lucifer sighed, closing his eyes and singing how he felt. The agony in his chest flowed out and he felt slightly better. He figured that was as good as it would ever get. 

Until he turned over his shoulder upon hearing a snap of a twig, and he saw her.

-

The being attached to the - now silent - voice turned towards you and your breath caught in your chest. His face was beautiful, pale as the brightest cloud in the sky, with eyes that shone golden like the sun. His hair was the color of the very light itself, gorgeous and silken. 

He wore strange, white billowing coverings, and something nagged in the back of your head at the lack of your own cover. 

“Are you alright?” You chastised yourself for the tremor in your voice, but you couldn’t help it, your communication skills were lacking. Adam wasn’t a conversationalist in the slightest and the times you did speak to him left much to be desired. 

“No, no I-I’m not.” 

“What happened?” Your gaze snagged on the red pigment on his back, his covering gaped open - torn and bloody. You started approaching him before realizing you were moving, then you stalled out of apprehension.

“I was evicted from my place in Heaven. I am… I was… an angel. Now I’m here in the Garden, though I surmise I’ll do something to get myself kicked out of here before long too.” You had never known someone to sound so utterly defeated and broken.

You walked further towards the angel. “The blood. You’re hurt.” You shook your head, realizing you were quite literally just stating the obvious.

“Oh, this?” He gestured to his back and you nodded, continuing to draw nearer. “He took my wings. I can’t ever go home without them.” His eyes met yours, and concern colored his expression, “But don’t worry about me, the bleeding stopped, and it doesn’t hurt anymore. Well, at least not physically.”

The pity you felt for the creature grabbed your heart, wrenching it tightly within its grasp. You were about a handful of steps away from him now, and you stopped, leaving him his space as you changed the subject. Continuing to ask him personal questions felt too intimate and wrong. “Your song, it sounded beautiful.”

The sigh he let out was almost musical, “I was simply expelling the ache from my chest.”

“I see.” Your expression softened. “If you ever sang when you were joyful, I suppose it could move the very mountains.”

His demeanor changed, he tried to hide it by looking down, but you saw the smile on his face. He shook his head and raised a brow at you, “Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know, with a certain someone?”

“Who, Adam?” Your accompanying laugh was breathy and uncomfortable, “No, he, uh,” your tongue temporarily tangled itself, “he’s the worst.” The last three words were an admission of guilt, coming out like a tiny whisper.

His eyes widened exponentially. “He’s the worst?” He began to cross the last bit of distance between the two of you, ending up a step away. 

“The worst.” You reply, feeling a weight lifting off your chest with the confession.

“Hm.” There was a glint in his eye, something was inside him waiting to get out, you could sense it. “Would you like to spend your time with me today?”

The question left you temporarily silent, then you composed yourself.

“With a fallen angel?” You paused in faux contemplation, he watched you closely, his eyes begging for an answer, “Yes.”

Relief covered his face, “Take my hand.” 

“Okay.”

He led you through the flower field and back to the edge of the river you had crossed. He walked with you at a leisurely pace as the river carried along beside you, flowing downstream. 

The water rushed louder and louder as you continued down its serpentine path, and soon there was a drop off. Mist curled up from the edge and you followed the flow of water with your gaze. 

A glorious waterfall cascaded down the cliff side. Luscious greenery and florals edged the water - a soft border contrasting the roaring of water.

The spray of water made a strange coloring appear seemingly out of thin air.

“A rainbow.” He offered in explanation, following your line of sight.

You looked at him, the happiness that filled your soul at that very moment overshadowed anything you had previously felt in your life thus far. Even the day you discovered the taste of ripe peaches.

His smile was brighter than the morning sun cresting the horizon. It was warmer than the sun too, you felt it skin deep. 

The rest of the day continued in a similar fashion, with him guiding you to new sights and sounds and life. It excited you, enticed you. It made you feel almost like light itself, like you were glowing in his presence.

-

You returned to Adam that night, for no other reason than you felt that was what you were supposed to do. As Adam fell asleep nearby, your thoughts were on Lucifer. His beauty, his ethereal grace. He captivated you with a mere look and you were helpless to resist his complete charm.

When he had spoken of the heavens, you were left with one question: Why?

Why would his brothers and sisters not stand by his side?

One final realization permeated your thoughts and settled in an ache within your heart as you succumbed to rest: How lonely it must be for him. A former angel. Now cursed to walk in the Garden without anyone like him. Doomed to be without his family for… forever.

A single tear slid silently down the side of your face as you stared up at the stars from your place on the cool ground. You didn’t know how long it took you to fall asleep that night, but once it took you, you were deep under.

You heard his voice in your dreams that night.

-

The next day you rose before dawn as you always did, though this time with a fuel hurtling you along you had never felt before. A giddiness tingled in your fingers and toes with every step as you retraced your steps from yesterday.

Days, then weeks passed in a manner just as your first day of meeting the fallen angel, sans the melancholy of his newly fallen status as he accustomed to life in the Garden.

His life with you. 

He never brought up Adam again, not since your first meeting. In consideration, you didn't bring up his Father to him. It was an unspoken truce.

Lucifer took you everywhere you had not seen before, and he frequently hummed and fabricated sweet, alluring songs throughout the days. New creatures, new flowers and fruits of the trees. New feelings as well. Though that you figured was caused only by yourself, and you pushed it down, listening to him tell you about creation.

“He said, ‘Let there be light’ and I was here.” He paused, “Well, not here in the Garden here, but here. Alive. Existing.”

“So, you just floated up there somewhere?”

“Yes and no. It’s hard to explain. It feels impossible, actually.”

“If anyone can think of the words so eloquent as to describe something, it’s you, Lucifer.”

A pink color tinged his cheeks, and he looked down at the grass tangled beneath his feet. “You’ve got to stop saying things like that.”

“Have I made an offense? Oh, Lucifer, I only meant that you would be the most capable person to describe something so beautiful. You’re so beautiful so it must come easily to you to describe the beauty around you.”

His gaze timidly met yours. “You… you think I’m… beautiful?”

You felt compelled to say more than just a ‘yes’. “Of course. Lucifer, you’re the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen, or could ever dream of imagining.”

His cheeks reddened more. His golden eyes softened in a way that told you he had been waiting to hear those words for an eternity.

“Lucifer?” You took a shy step towards him.

“Yes?” He finally met your eyes fully, but took a step back until he was firmly against the bark of a willow tree.

You continued forward, propelled by a pull within your chest, until you were toe to toe with him. “Can I…” You searched his face. His soft, sweet face. “Can I do something?”

A slight smile lit up his face, brightening the space even under the dimmed canopy of the willow. His voice came out as a whisper. “Anything.”

Your hand brushed the light hair that had fallen between his eyes to the side. Your other hand touched his jaw, tracing along to the underside of his chin and tilting his face up. You angled your face slightly downward, eyes still locked on his, and leaned in. Then, you closed your eyes, letting your instinct guide you the last bit further.

Your lips met in a gentle kiss.

His apprehension and yours melted into the softness of the touch you shared. You pulled back for just a second, searching his face for reassurance. He responded by kissing you back, over and over and over again. His hands went to your face, as though he didn’t want to be apart from you for even a moment. 

Your fingers entwined themselves in his silken hair and he did the same with yours.

The two of you didn’t part from each other’s hold until the sun had almost slipped away completely. 

You barely had time to bathe in the stream before night fell around you. You missed his light.

-

The rest of the evening, even feeling the comfort of the fire made by Adam, you closed your eyes and your thoughts belonged to Lucifer. You watched Adam pass out unceremoniously and touched your fingers to your lips. The memory held there still tingled.

You felt something powerful surge within your middle. It was a deep hunger. An ache as sharp as a burr or a thorn. It dug into you, pulling and twisting within you. A thirst that could not be quenched by even the coldest stream water. 

An urge within you begged to return to Lucifer tonight, but you knew you couldn’t. You needed to wait.

Wait and see.

See if he felt the same way when the sun gleamed upon you tomorrow.

-

The instant you saw Lucifer the next day, warmth traveled from your head to your toes.

You smiled at him and he beamed at you, holding out his hand for you to take. Your fingers intermingled with his and you let him lead you to a part of the Garden you hadn’t been to yet. The grass began to fade into dirt and small pebbles, as though this part of the world had been forgotten by the green. 

“Where are you taking me?” 

Lucifer reassured you with a grin, “To see something I discovered last night. It’s not much further.”

He led you to a cave entrance. It greeted you with open jaws, its mouth stretching far and wide, ingesting the light with a neverending pitch darkness. 

You froze, your feet rooting themselves to the ground. You dropped his hand, placing your palm over your heart. “Lucifer, it’s dark in there. We’re not going inside, are we?”

He gave you one of those brighter-than-the-sun smiles again. “Don’t worry, we won’t be going far. It’ll be much lighter inside, I promise.”

You couldn’t so easily wipe the unsure expression from your face. He noticed.

“Take my hand. Please?” Lucifer extended his left hand to you. As you took it, the air around you cooled, bringing goosebumps to your arms, and you had a feeling that something was about to change.

You allowed him to lead you inside. The nervousness you had felt seemed to melt away with his soft hand enveloping yours. Once you were past the cave mouth, the darkness swallowed him and then you. You grounded yourself in the sounds of his feet and yours along the cave floor, which was covered with soft dirt and devoid of any sharp rocks.  

“Lucifer?” The trepidation came flooding back as soon as his hand left yours. You quavered and the darkness drowned out your voice. “Lucifer?”

“This way, my dear.” His voice offered you a beacon of hope in the black void of the space. You thought you heard him lightly chuckle, the sound beckoning you, guiding you onward without form or shape. 

Suddenly you saw a blue-green light. You approached it just as it faded out, leaving you in complete darkness again.

Your foot nudged something soft, then your other foot stepped into a puddle that glowed around your toes as the water rippled. You squinted and the color faded away once more.

A bright light made you wince, almost uncomfortably. Your hand covered your face to act as a shield. 

“Here.” You heard Lucifer speak close by, and as your eyes adjusted, you realized he held a ball of warm, yellow light in his hand. You also realized that the soft thing laying next to your foot was his rumpled white covering. 

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him. A tension wound its way into your chest. His pale shoulders, his trim waist, his… 

“Watch this.” He said, lifting his palm up and the ball of light suspended itself in the air. Lucifer created another ball of light, then another, warming the cavern with soft light. When he was finished, he grinned at you, “Are you ready to see what I found?”

“Wait, that wasn’t what you wanted to show me? That was - I, I have no words, you just - you just made light with your hands.” The startlingly impressive feat had you staggering between words.

That satisfied smirk of his was enough to silence the entire world and every question in your mind. He shook his head from side to side. You could barely believe it, he had even more to show you. There was nothing left to say, so you answered his question with a resounding, “Yes.”

“Watch me.”

As if you could do anything else. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, you were entranced as you watched him step into the pool of water which you realized, connected to the puddle you were standing with one foot in already. It was shallow at this end and he waded further out.

A light blueish-greenish color swished with his every movement in the water. Lucifer paused, waist deep in the water. A sharp exhale ghosted between your lips as you tried not to focus on the small of his back. The color went away when he stood still, but came back when he dipped his hand in, bringing it under the water and then to the surface, letting the water drip down from his fingers and open palm.

You didn’t know if it was intrigue or the allure of Lucifer that guided you further forward, to be ankle-deep in the water, but you divert your attention to watching the color grow and fade around your feet. “Lucifer, what is that?”

“It’s bioluminescence.” He replied, and sunk down into the pool, his body now mostly shielded underneath the water.

“What is bioluminescence?”

He turned towards you with a look that said ‘I’m so glad you asked’, and explained in great detail what it is.

Your eyes were wide as you listened to him speak. Sure as it did before, the water sparkled to life within the ripple you made, with blue shimmering below your feet as you stepped in, the water encircling your ankles. You couldn’t help the contented smile that made its way onto your face. You also couldn't help but move closer to him, going back and forth between watching the colors fan out from around your calves, then knees, then thighs, and watching his mesmerizing expression as he shared his knowledge with you.

You stood next to him, where he sat with his head and shoulders well above the water, and you couldn’t resist touching him. Gingerly, your fingers brushed through his hair, bringing it out of his golden eyes again. He looked up at you as you spoke, “Lucifer, thank you for bringing me here. For sharing this with me.”

Even in the dim light, you could see his face turn the color of a rose, his expression becoming timid suddenly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re divine when you teach me new things.” You answered honestly, you didn’t know any better.

His eyes softened. “Will you join me? Please?”

“Yes.” You took his offered hand. The gesture was innocent - he was bracing you as you fully got in the water - but it made you feel a way that you couldn't name yet.

His hold on your hand tightened slightly and his other hand slid up your thigh as you lowered yourself in. 

The two of you settled in the water, the blue fading out at the surface which sat at about mid-chest level. 

You slowly moved your hands through the glowing water, when you broke the surface tension the glow ran in rivulets down your fingers and forearms. You repeated the action, mesmerized by the incredible color. Then, you flicked the surface of the water, sending a splash in Lucifer’s direction. 

“Hey!” He exclaimed, returning fire by sending a tiny splash your way. “You’ll get my hair wet!”

“Oh sweet and wondrous Lucifer, I’d hate to ruin your majestic hair.” Your tone was saccharinely sardonic. You sent another splash of water his way. 

“Stop that.” His gaze changed as he spoke. Something dark hid beneath his surface, and you wanted to find out what it was.

“Why?” You playfully splashed at him again, your body succumbing finally to the warm temperature of the water, relaxing in its embrace.

“When you do things like that, it makes me want to kiss you again.” His gaze drifted downward.

“When I do what, exactly?” You crawled towards him, to the shallower area. “Tease you? Or when I tell you how perfect you are?”

He just nodded, biting his lower lip. You knew it was in response to your praise. “May I kiss you again?” His words were soft, contrasted by the heat of his stare. He looked at your lips with a hunger that dwarfed the pangs you felt before a meal. This was a predatory gaze, but you gave in nonetheless.

Absolute certainly colored your voice. “Yes.”

With your permission, he leaned in, brushing a strand of hair away from your face with a gentleness that rivaled a feather’s touch. You stayed stock still as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips ever so softly to yours. 

Lucifer pulled back slightly, and upon seeing your eyes still open, a question formed in his expression. He didn’t get to ask it before your lips were back on his. 

You kissed him like you needed him more than breath in your lungs. Your whole body felt ignited by the action. You kissed him over and over, planting close-mouthed to open-mouthed kisses to his soft lips.

The kiss continued to deepen from there, and soon you were tasting him with your tongue. Your tongue led an exploration inside his mouth that made your head feel light and airy. His taste was intoxicating. And he was just as committed to discovering your mouth with his tongue in an even give and take.

Lucifer was the forbidden fruit, and you were too weak a woman to resist. 

You were temptation incarnate, and he was too prideful to concede. Not when he had come this far. Not when he had already lost so much. He needed you more than anything. 

You opened your eyes to be greeted by a comfortable darkness surrounding the two of you. “Lucifer? Your lights, they’re not glowing anymore.” Though this time, you were no longer afraid. The blueish shimmering in the water was brighter without the yellow lights. It was enough for you to see the shape of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the sparkle in his devilish eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I guess I forgot about them when I was kissing you.” A tremulous breath left his lungs. “I could forget about the entire universe when I kiss you.”

“Then kiss me again.” The demand spoke itself before you could even think.

With the way he responded, you would have assumed he never intended to ask your permission. His kiss stole the breath from you, stole the thoughts from your mind. Every press of his lips to yours, every stroke of his tongue to yours, was shatteringly delicious. You could think of nothing except him. Him and a previously unknown need rapidly surfacing.

“Lucifer.” You felt a change happening in your body, a fire that started from the kindling of his kiss. Almost weightless in the water, your hands clung to his shoulders as you crawled into his lap and he sat back to welcome you. Your legs were bent on either side of him, your knees resting in the soft silt of the shallow pool.  

You lowered yourself down to sit in his lap and almost moved back, jolted by his body’s reaction to yours. Something hard and thick pressed against your middle. 

He pulled back, breaking a particularly heady kiss to offer an explanation you didn’t ask for. “This is how you make me feel.”

You understood. In that moment, your base instincts took over. His feeling was evident on the outside, while yours was purely internal. 

At least, you thought your reaction to him was all internal, until he moved his hand from your waist. His hand moved slowly around the swell of your bottom to where your leg met your center. 

“Lucifer,” you jerked slightly, nibbling his bottom lip, “that tickles.”

“I mean to please, not to tickle you, my sweet.”

You were about to ask him what he meant when his long fingers swiped along your center. A sound escaped your lips that sounded animalistic, almost a whine.

“I truly mean to please you.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “Tell me if you want me to stop at any time.”

You shifted in his hold, seeking his delectable fingers again. When you spoke your voice was low and demanding, “You’ve already stopped, and I want to feel that again.”

“Yes, my lady.” He nodded his head in reverence to you and his fingers found your center again. He parted your folds, rubbing the length of his fingers along your slit before brushing them against a part of you that sent a shockwave to your spine. 

You jolted this time slightly, your eyebrows pulling upward in surprise at the foreign feeling.

He noted your reaction. “If you need me to slow down I will.”

“Don’t you dare.” Your lips found his again, the blueish glow of the water sloshing up between the two of you as you sought to be closer to him. You slightly rose back up on your knees to give him better access to your intimate flesh. 

Lucifer continued his ministrations. He was only too happy to take advantage of your position. His fingers caressing your sex made you whine again. Then, he pressed one finger inside of you and you inhaled in a ragged gasp. 

“Is this okay?” You barely registered his words as he languidly pumped his finger inside of you. 

You nodded, delighting in the sensation his finger was providing, and delighting in him. Once you were used to the feeling you whispered, “More.”

He pressed a second finger inside you. Your body temporarily shuddered as it adapted to the intrusion. 

You felt an ache eclipse your body, deep inside you, and your instincts told you you needed to be closer to him. In a way that two people could be joined together. His fingers continued to stroke you and he kissed you deeply again, tasting you, cherishing you.

“Lucifer,” you pulled back, lightheaded, a pleasurable feeling was building in your middle, but you needed more. “I -”

Your words failed you as he removed his fingers. You were about to protest when you felt his hardness between your legs. Your center was throbbing with need, and you felt fevered and frenzied without him. Your body craved him.

“I need you inside me, Lucifer.” You wiggled your hips, sloppily kissing his neck and up to his earlobe.

“Are you sure?” His voice was so dark and low. 

“Yes.” Holding to his shoulders, you dragged your wet center along his length to punctuate your answer.

“How could I possibly resist you?” Lucifer’s expression was that of a man starved, and you were certain he meant to devour you. “Eyes on me, I want to see those beautiful eyes of yours as we do this.”

You obey him as you feel his hand reach between the two of you. Then you felt the tip of him. Right there. Right against your core. Just the tiniest movement and he would be inside you.

Greedily, you shifted your hips down slightly, never taking your eyes from his gaze. Unable to stop yourself from the all-consuming closeness you felt to Lucifer. Watching him, wanting him; all the while knowing there is no going back now. And yet, not wanting to miss a single moment. The sensations below and Lucifer - curse his name - drove you to this madness, this ecstasy. He pulled you down, his fingers digging into your waist. 

There was a sharp pain as you felt yourself stretch to accommodate his length. A burning sensation that made you want to move in the opposite direction. Then, as soon as it came on, the pain subsided. It was replaced by a delicious, honeyed heat that speared through your middle as he gave you more and more. He moved slowly, holding you as delicately as he could. 

You watched his lips change from a thin line of steely determination to an open-mouthed pant, a groan escaping from his throat. The two of you were finally hip to hip, as close as you could possibly be, with him hot and heavy and incredible inside you. 

You couldn’t tell if it was you that was trembling or him. Maybe it was both. His grip on your hips tightened, drawing you up, your sensitive spot grazing the plane of his pelvis in a torturous motion. 

“Open your eyes, my sweet, indulge me.” You didn’t realize you had closed them.

You obeyed his ask, “Oh, Lucifer.”

“How does it feel?”

“You feel - ah - better than anything,” you cried out as he snapped his hips to you, “What are you doing to me?”

“I’m acting on our desires, my sweet.” His breath stuttered, as though he was fighting something internally. “No one else will ever have you like this.”

“I’m yours, Lucifer, all yours.” Your sensitive spot grazed his pelvis again, making you gasp. “You’re perfect.” Your fingers tangled in his soft hair as you kissed him deeply, fervently. 

He responded by groaning into your mouth, and when you broke the kiss to lay siege to the skin of his neck, he moaned breathily in your ear. 

You were a quick learner. “Darling Lucifer, do you like it when I tell you that I’m yours?”

“Yes -” He hissed. His breath was rapid now, and he picked up his movements, meeting every thrust and guiding you with his hands on your hips.

You felt a buildup starting again in your center, picking up from where his fingers had left off earlier. The friction was driving you to a point of no return.  A moan tore its way through your chest, reverberating off the cavern walls.

“Lucifer, I’m yours, all yours.” You cried out his name as he slipped one hand between the two of you, using his finger to gently apply pressure to that spot that made the edges of your vision cloud over.

His name was a litany of prayer as he thrust into you over and over while his finger sated your clit. You clung to him with your remaining strength as you felt your body collapsing under waves of pleasure. The sensation was enough to drown you, to pull you under, but his continued motions kept you afloat. 

You gasped, whined, moaned for him, telling him with and without words how you felt. Your legs shook and your hands trembled as they went from his shoulders to around his neck, pulling him in so you were chest to chest. Your entire body felt like it was falling apart and being made whole simultaneously. Your release crashed over you in a multitude of waves.

“I’m yours, Lucifer.” You felt him still inside you, thrusting as deep as he could as he breathed raggedly, filling you with a deep, pulsating heat, a broken sound leaving his lips. He held you like that for a while, the two of you clinging to one another tightly. The rising and falling of your chests and shared breaths returning back to normal.

How could anything return back to normal after this?

With one hand you caressed his cheek, opening your eyes and seeing the weight of his expression, “Luci-”

“You meant that, didn’t you?” His eyes searched your face, looking for hints.

You didn’t need to confirm what he was asking. You knew. He knew the answer as well, but he sought reassurance. “I do. I’m yours.”

He sighed heavily, resting his forehead to yours.

You kissed him, savoring the feel of his lips against yours. “And you’re mine.” 

#hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin lucifer #hazbin lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer smut #lucifer x reader #for ducks sake

[nataliasquote]

Mustang | cowgirl nat au

Summary: The mayor’s daughter. A bounty hunter. One has freedom, the other does not. But will one fleeting night be enough to convince Natasha to leave everything she’s ever known behind?

Warnings: Natasha is a hot cowgirl, cowboy slang

wc: 4.3k

note: this is for all the cowgirl Nat simps out there (yes you know who you are @katyaromanoffpetrova ). And also for @milfs69420 who drew the inspiration for cowgirl Nat in this scene (i’m obsessed with that drawing no joke). I hope this lives up to expectations!

-⧗-

A loud yell echoed across the grassy plain, rising above the sound of thundering hooves and the distant shriek of a stream train whistle. One lone rider, racing across fields she knew like the back of her hand. Strong thighs squeezed the flanks of the midnight horse beneath her as she raised her arms above her head and tilted her face up to the sky, letting the golden rays of the sun soak into her skin. Not once did her balance falter, years of riding making her feel like an extension of the steed beneath her. Her cheeks started to burn with how hard she was smiling, so she placed both hands back on the reins and kicked her horse to speed up.

There really was nothing that Natasha loved more than riding. It was her escape, her outlet, her way of breaking away from her usual daily duties. Was she out on her horse a bit too often? Her father would say yes. But if there was one thing Natasha Romanoff hated, it was being told what to do.

She’d caught up with the train rolling steadily along the tracks and Natasha leaned forwards, scarlet hair, tied in a single braid, flying behind her from under her hat as she raced beside it, trying to keep up. She could feel the muscles of her horse flexing with every stride they took and the rusted green walls of the carriage were almost in reach of her fingertips if she stretched out towards it. The smoke puffing out of the chimney tainted the air that she breathed in, but she barely noticed it through her euphoria. She knew where this train was headed, towards the larger cities, so she broke away and turned back to her hometown, slowing up as they trotted under the town’s welcome sign.

Most walked their horses through the streets on foot, but Natasha stayed seated, guiding her horse through the swarms of townspeople and down to the large house at the end of the main street. She hopped down and tied him to the fence temporarily, making sure he had enough hay and water before she strolled into the house.

Not even bothering to take her boots off, Natasha waltzed into the kitchen and flopped down on a chair. She tossed her hat onto the table and let out a sigh, staring at the small red symbol on the front of her hat.

“Natasha,” a gruff voice called after her. She rolled her eyes. “Where the hell were you?”

“Out,” was all she replied. She didn’t turn around but could feel her father’s eyes boring into the back of her skull. And his disapproving tone was nothing she wasn’t familiar with.

“You were supposed to be home two hours ago, for the opening ceremony.” Without looking at him, she knew how he was standing. Arms folded across his chest as he took up almost the entire doorway. “Yelena was upset you weren’t there.”

Natasha scoffed. “No she wasn’t, she couldn’t care less.”

“I felt betrayed, actually.” Great, now her sister had joined in. “You’re always choosing Liho over me, don’t you feel my pain?”

“I’m sure you’ll live,” Natasha deadpanned, wanting nothing more than some peace and quiet.

But that was a rarity as the mayor’s daughter. Her whole life was scrutinized, and many people disapproved of her non-traditional ways. “Is there anything else required of me? Or can I leave now?”

Yelena appeared in the corner of her vision, leaning against the kitchen countertop. “Well, I was going to ask if you would come by the range, seeing as you-“

“Ok, so that’s a no.”

“Natasha, be nice to her please. It’s Yelena’s big day!” Alexei’s voice seemed to be in constant ‘public speaker’ mode, which was fine for pretty much everything except quiet conversations in the kitchen. He was too close, and Natasha scraped her chair back and reached for a glass to fill up from the pitcher of sweet tea on the table. Reluctantly, she offered one to Yelena, who accepted with a soft smile. Alexei took their ignorance of his statement to disappear back to his office, and Natasha breathed a small sigh of relief.

“I knew you liked me really.” Natasha deadpanned her comment but Yelena only stifled her giggle behind a sip, the sweet beverage coating her tastebuds deliciously. “I’m not mad, it’s fine. But promise me you’ll shoot this week?”

“I was planning to anyway,” Natasha admitted. “Do you have riding targets too?”

Yelena let out a ‘ha’ and leaned back in her chair, chin tilted towards the window. “What do you take me for, an amateur? That’s like asking if Barton sells beer.”

“Speaking of, fancy a drink?” Yelena gestured to her half full glass with an eyebrow raised. “I was going to go down to Barton’s if you want to join me?”

Yelena thought for a moment, watching a lone ice cube float around her glass. “I would, but I promised Kate I’d meet her at the stables and you know what she’s like if I cancel on her.”

“Suit yourself,” said Natasha. Ok, so maybe she did feel a little remorse over missing the ceremony, but never would she admit that out loud. “I’ll see you later. Oh, and tell Ma to not wait up for me at dinner. I’ll sort myself out.”

“Roger that,” Yelena gave a mock salute and Natasha just rolled her eyes in jest. She grabbed her hat, slipped it on her head and wandered back out of the door, but not before she slipped a few snacks for her horse. Liho was still waiting patiently for her and he swished his tail as he approached, rather fed up of just standing around in the sun.

As Natasha brushed him down and gave the stable a quick tidy, her mind wandered back to the open grassland. What she’d give to never return home, just riding to her heart's content and staying in whatever town she came across. Or just sleeping under the stars, listening to the howls of the coyotes and the thundering hooves of wild horses echoing behind the mountains on the horizon. She craved the freedom that the cowboys had and the small taste she could get would never suffice; she lusted for more.

With a small threat to Peter, the stablehand, to not hurt Liho, Natasha wandered back into the town centre, stopping off at the ammunition store on her way for a magazine refill. She shot the test targets to pieces purely for the fun of it, knowing her aim was impeccable. The owner just rolled his eyes but let her continue; this behaviour was expected. After all, Alexei was a well respected and slightly feared man, which rubbed off onto his daughters too. And Natasha’s fiery temperament was almost as famous as her father was. No one with any brains would ever challenge her to a duel if they wanted to keep their life.

The redhead’s eyes cast over the centre-most building, the brim of her hat concealing the sign on the front. But she didn’t need words to tell her what it was- she knew her second favourite place like the back of her hand. The heels of her boots clicked against the tiled floor as she pushed the wooden saloon doors to swing open, hitting the walls beside them with a crack.

With her hat still dipped low, she paused, surveying the entirety of the room in one fast sweep. Partially content with what she saw, Natasha tipped her hat from her head and tucked it under her arm, feeling strands from her messy braid to fall and frame her face. Green eyes darted across every familiar face, occasionally leading to the subtle tug of a smile to play on her lips if she felt particularly fond of someone, but not many had that blessing. She didn’t pay two minds to the rest of the townspeople once she’d locked on the one person who didn’t think she was completely crazy.

Wild yet utterly desirable, Natasha somehow held every single person captive within her presence. The general chattering subsided as she moved between the tables, even the men who spent their days airing their lungs over bottles of brandy and rum paused their drinking to take a good look at her. If Natasha even cared, she’d be repulsed, but noticing the way the men of the town looked at her had become a thing of the past. She would never settle down so why bother?

The red velvet-topped bar stools were smooth under her jeans as Natasha slid onto one, her hat coming to rest atop the wooden bar. She unbuttoned the cuffs of her green plaid shirt and rolled her sleeves up to her elbows, exposing her forearms with a sigh.

“Didn’t see you at Yelena’s gun range opening today,” the bartender commented as he slid an open bottle of beer in Natasha’s direction. He knew her well, and he should, as her childhood best friend. And Natasha may be unpredictable but her beer choices never wavered.

“Oh don’t tell me you were there too. I swear, if one more person asks me about that I’m going to put a bullet in someone’s head.” Her hand fell to her holster for effect, making the bartender step back, hands raised in surrender. Natasha rolled her eyes and smirked before taking a sip of her beer. “My Pa gave me an earful when I was barely through the door. I don’t see why it matters, Barton, it’s just an opening.”

Clint threw the tea towel he was holding into the sink over his shoulder. “I’m just talking, but she’s your sister, so isn’t it in your duties to go to that kind of thing?”

Natasha shot him an unimpressed look, her brow bone casting a shadow across her eyes in the dim light. “You mean that as her sister, or as the mayor’s daughter? I plan on using the range anyway, so why do I need to show my face now? It’s not even about me.” She puffed out her cheeks and rested her chin on the hand that was placed on the beer bottle rim. “If I was Lena, I’d be happy my sister didn’t show up. She can have the spotlight for a change.”

“Where did you go, exactly?” Clint was the only one who would listen to Natasha’s tales, so he just let her talk whilst he worked. Gave him something refreshing to think about instead of his unruly customers.

“I caught wind of a new group riding out by the Ridge yesterday, so I wanted to check it out. Saw nothing but Ol’ Joe moving his cattle. Swear that man digs for his cannon ev’ry chance he gets.”

“Well, he’s not the best with people,” said Clint, only realising afterwards that he’d just stated the obvious. “Is that what you want though? A group like that?”

Natasha pursed her lips. She hadn’t thought through the logistics of what her future looked like, she knew it involved a lot more open space and a lot less… people. “Not a group, I couldn’t handle that.”

“Nat, you know it’s not safe out there on your own. You need your home, a family.” Clint was family orientated to the core, but the same couldn’t be said for Natasha. “You know it’s even worse for women.”

“I can handle myself,” Natasha scoffed, feeling rather put out by his insinuation. “I don’t need a bunch of asshat guys telling me what to do!

“I know, but-“

“If I wanted an argument, I would have stayed at home,” she pointed out. Clint’s mouth opened before he closed it with a huff, thinking better than to protest again. Natasha’s hands tugged her hair out of her braid, reveling in the feeling of it falling loose around her shoulders.

She chewed on her lip, trying to suppress the anxious feeling bubbling low in her stomach. With each passing day, the small town life rattled her and the walls of the village seemed to close in. It had taken root in her chest since she was a child, that feeling of longing never quite subsiding.

Clint moved off to serve customers further down the bar, leaving the redhead lost in her own mind. Slender fingers tapped rhythmically on the glass bottle.

What did she want? Natasha knew how her dreams played out, but Clint was right; where was her stability? The thought of being alone was heavenly, but that was coming from someone who had never truly experienced it. She’d been surrounded by people since the day she was born, and those fleeting moments of freedom with just Liho for company were the best she’d felt.

But what did a future full of that entail? She’d idealised it to the point where she was biased, getting defensive whenever anyone tried to make her see sense. She may not see eye to eye with her father anymore, but the stubbornness she inherited from him was a clear determiner of her roots and more importantly, her home.

A cacophony of whistles erupted from the tables behind her, snapping her out of her spiral and Natasha turned on her stool to take a look at the source of the commotion. A woman stood in the doorway, dressed similarly to Natasha, which was rather uncommon in this town. Most of the women wore skirts, so seeing another in jeans that wasn’t Natasha, Yelena or Kate had heads turning.

Natasha watched the way the stranger’s hand instinctively flew to her holster as her eyes adjusted to the darkened room, a bitter contrast to the sun blazed street just outside. The saloon was always kept dark, just the way Natasha liked it, but it did look a bit intimidating from an outsider’s perspective.

Ignoring the outstretched hands of drunk men that grabbed at her from their seats at the closest tables, the woman picked her way through the crowd, her hips swaying in her jeans and brown fringed chaps as she rounded the final table and slumped down onto a stool. Natasha peered at Clint out of the corner of her eye and tried to hide her smile, taking a long sip of her beer bottle as the stranger sat four seats over.

“What’s the strongest stuff you’ve got?” The stranger asked Clint, her hat still sat squarely on her head. A strange move in Natasha’s eyes, but it added to the air of mystery around her and the redhead couldn’t help but watch her reflection in the glass opposite.

“I’ve got a couple bottles of whiskey if that’s what you’re after?”

“I’ll get a glass of that, thanks.”

Natasha pulled a face, impressed. “Going for the hard stuff, I see.”

The stranger didn’t turn her head, keeping her eyes down and focussed on her hands that rested atop the bar. “Something like that.”

There was something different about her, something refreshing. Natasha stood up, grabbed her beer bottle and wandered down the bar, now appearing on the seat beside the stranger. She leaned on the bar, one leg crossed over the other, accentuating the curve of her hips in her jeans. The stranger’s head moved slightly, trying to get the best view of Natasha that she could.

Clint read his friend’s body language like he was fluent, and quickly swapped her bottles so she was presented with a fresh drink. Natasha waited a couple of seconds before striking up conversation again, not put out by the stranger’s lack of enthusiasm.

“Is this seat taken?”

The stranger shook her head and scooted over, nursing her glass of whiskey with both hands. She was nervous and guarded and Natasha saw the twitch of her fingers that seemed uncontrollable.

“I’ve not seen you before. You not from around here?” Her southern drawl was laid on thick, emphasising the rasp in her voice that came out when she spoke properly. Natasha’s skill set didn’t stop at shooting. She was incredibly proficient at flirting and Clint loved to just stand back and watch her pick her next target that wandered into his bar.

The stranger finally turned to Natasha and lifted her hat from her head, revealing her face and piercing eyes that bore into Natasha’s. “Is it that obvious I’m not from around here?”

Natasha laughed around the rim of her bottle and readjusted her stance, using her movement as a way to take in the woman with a quick flick up and down. “I know my people,” she replied, gesturing to the full tables behind them. Her eyes fell to the stranger’s lips. “And I’d remember a face like yours, darlin’.”

The mysterious woman’s cheeks flushed red and she took a swig of whiskey, welcoming the burn that flooded her chest. The hot feeling racing through her body was purely alcohol induced… wasn’t it?

The brunette ducked her head down, embarrassed. “I’m only passing through. Had to stop off at the stables to get my horse’s hooves checked. Ran across a thorn patch, she did.”

“Well, Bishops’ will take good care of her. And in the meantime, does the gorgeous woman have a pretty name to match?”

Whiskey was by far the best choice she could have made- it could account for the now permanent flush that took residence in her cheeks. The woman turned on her stool and let her knees fall open loosely, her body language much less guarded.

“I’m Y/n. And you are..?”

“Natasha Romanoff, at your service.” The redhead quickly put her hat on and tipped it forwards, eliciting a laugh from the woman opposite. Clint eyed their interaction as he dried some glasses, grinning to himself at how effective Natasha’s charm truly was. She turned it on with the tip of her hat and a flash of her smile, making men and women alike stop dread in their tracks.

“You’re the mayor’s daughter?” Something flashed across Y/n’s eyes but it was gone as quickly as it came and Natasha couldn’t decipher it.

“Yeah,” she trailed off, frowning slightly. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all,” Y/n gave her a smile, nodding to the stool beside her. Natasha sat far too quickly, like an obedient dog. One glance from a gorgeous woman had turned her to mush- what was happening?

A couple of loud thuds resonated from the back of the room and Natasha rolled her eyes, knowing exactly who sat there regularly. “Hey, Romanoff, give us a dance, will ya?” A leering voice echoed above the general hum of conversation and Y/n watched as Natasha rolled her eyes and adjusted her gun that sat in a holster on her hip.

“Give it up, Stark, you’re barking at a knot.” The man in question jeered at her and banged his beer bottle on the barrel table, several men around him doing the same. “If you wanna watch me dance, you better pay me for it.” This only gained her more nonsensical yelling and a man on Stark’s table threw a dollar bill in her direction.

But Natasha just stood up, squared her shoulders and fired her handgun in their direction, the bullet slamming into the wall mere inches above Stark’s head. She blew the smoke off her gun with a cocky smirk and shoved it back in the holster. The entire saloon fell silent, aside from Clint’s mutterings about yet another hole to fix thanks to his fiery friend.

Natasha waited a second longer, almost daring Stark and his guys to test her again. But they didn’t, now only watching her warily as she turned back to her new woman who was watching with a slack jaw. Natasha felt a burst of pride surge through her chest and she puffed it out slightly, sinking down into her seat with one foot up on the footrest, her legs manspreading.

“I’m sorry about that, that was no way to treat a new lady.”

Y/n snickered, shaking her head. “Oh please, I ain’t a lady. I’ve seen worse men than that in towns over, they really never change.”

Natasha’s gaze had drifted to the way the brunette’s hair fell over her shoulder, and how soft it looked despite being so exposed to the elements. But at the mention of different towns she snapped, eyes wide.

“You’ve visited other towns?” She tried to keep her cool, but there was truly no hiding her excitement. This woman had everything Natasha wanted and more.

“I’m a bounty hunter,” she admitted, watching Natasha’s face change. “But I ain’t got much work at the moment. There’s not many people that trust a woman to do what a man can do.”

“So you’re just… floating between towns?”

Y/n nodded, taking a sip of her whiskey. “Yup, it’s just me and my girl. And the occasional over-friendly landlord who tries to get up in my business.”

Natasha’s mind was racing like a mustang. She felt almost childish, wanting to hear stories of her travels and what the world was really like. Y/n could see her curiosity, it was too apparent to mask, and it was like a breath of fresh air. All too often she was met with disapproving glances and was often the butt of circulating gossip, housewives and prostitutes judging her uncommon way of life. But she was happy, and no one was about to take that away from her.

“Where are you from?”

Y/n’s smile faltered and she traced the rim of her now empty whisky glass. “I don’t think about that. Doesn’t matter where I’m from, I’m never going back. There’s nothing for me there. My life is out here now.”

“I wish,” Natasha muttered, more to herself than anyone else. Y/n heard it but didn’t comment. After all, they were just two strangers in a bar, nothing more.

“So, if you’re the mayor’s girl, you must know what there is to do around here.” Her words had an element of teasing to them, which didn’t go unnoticed by Natasha.

Natasha shook her head with a laugh. Ten minutes in and already poking fun at who she was. Why was that so attractive? “There’s a barn dance later if you want to come?” Natasha suggested. “That is, if you’re sticking around for that long.”

“I’ve got a compelling reason to now,” Y/n teased, toying with the hints Natasha had been sending her way.

Natasha quirked her brow and raised an arm behind her head, her bicep flexing slightly under her scrunched up shirt sleeves. “Well, I never turn down the chance to take a pretty girl to a dance.”

“Sounds like you have experience.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes in playful accusation “Is that a problem to you?”

“Not at all. I like a woman who knows what she’s doing.” Her words were heavy and even Clint raised his eyebrows, having been listening in to their conversation whilst he polished glasses.

“Then you’re in for a real treat, darlin’.” Natasha held eye contact and took a swig of her beer, licking her lip as a drop escaped. Y/n stared back at her and then coughed, using that as her excuse to look away. Anyone could feel the air shift and Clint walked away, shaking his head with a smile. God, Natasha certainly knew how to play this game.

“Where did you say you were staying?” Natasha continued, probing yet more information out of the poor woman.

“Here, actually,” Y/n answered, gesturing towards the door that led to the small assortment of lodgings that the saloon housed “ ‘S the only place willing to take someone like me.”

“Barton!” The man in question looked around guiltily. “Keeping things from me now, are we?”

“You were out! When was I gonna tell ya?”

Natasha grunted and jutted her chin out at him, furious that he’d watched their interaction knowing exactly who this woman was. And Y/n found the whole ordeal rather funny, having made the connection that they knew each other a little while ago.

“Well, if you’re stayin’ here, I know where to pick you up later.”

“Inviting me to a dance and picking me up? Do all foreign girls get this treatment from you?”

Natasha winked coyly, sliding her hat along the bar where she’d left it. “Only the special ones.”

“Oh you’re flannel-mouthed!” Y/n exclaimed, to which Natasha only shrugged cockily. “I’ll be waitin’. Right here, so don’t be late.”

“Roger that,” Natasha responded, mimicking Yelena from earlier. She stood up with a flourish, placed her hat on her head and took Y/n’s hand to place a kiss on the back of it, treating her like a proper lady. Clint wolf whistled her, receiving an insult thrown his way before Natasha had disappeared back through the doors she’d come through, leaving them swinging back and forth with the momentum.

“She’s a wild one, watch out.” Clint nodded after the redhead, silently laughing to himself at her dramatics. Always one for the exits, she was.

But Y/n didn’t even notice his amusement. She was gazing at the gunshot hole left in the wall across the room, and more specifically, thinking about the woman that put it there.

“The wilder the better, I always say,” was all she replied, her mind now miles away. Sure, she said that about horses, but Y/n was starting to think that applied to the women she surrounded herself with too.

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Muzan Kibutsuji General Yandere Profile

Yandere! Muzan Kibutsuji x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, mentions of non-con, violence, graphic gore, mentions of cannibalism, verbal and physical abuse, murder, one brief mention of throwing up, brief mention of Muzan slutshaming you, mild sexism, verbal abuse, mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of low self esteem, fem reader, MNDI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 10K

DARLING PROFILE:

Human

Muzan is not one to easily develop feelings for others in any positive context.

He’s a selfish, cruel being, utterly bent on his own self-preservation with no regard for the lives of others.

He’s self-centered to the extreme, and as such, if he develops feelings for someone (especially romantically), it takes a very, very long time and can only be achieved under specific circumstances.

His darling has to be someone intelligent, quick-thinking, perceptive, ambitious, charming, and a whole list of other things that are almost impossible to achieve.

And yet, the biggest, most glaring trait they must possess is their humanity.

It’s strange and a juxtaposition to Muzan’s own inhumanity, but there’s just something that draws him in about the idea that his darling is so very flawed by the very nature of their being and yet so alluring and tempting and intoxicating.

It enrages him, quite frankly, but his darling must be a human in order for these feelings to form. He initially only feels a mild curiosity towards them – mixed with irritation and contempt, of course, but there’s this nagging feeling urging him to learn more about them, to interact with them, to understand why his pulse picks up ever so slightly when they’re around.

He likes the fact that his darling is so weak; he’ll never tell them, of course, but it only reaffirms his own superiority complex, convincing him that he’s the strongest, and his darling is the weakest.

They’re a pet, in a lot of ways, but Muzan finds himself oddly intrigued – his human is so complex, the emotions they feel and their motivations something he’ll never fully understand, but as time passes he finds himself hating their presence less and less, sometimes even desiring to touch them – a notion that makes his skin crawl in both disgust and a strange, potent sense of desire.

It’s frustrating and confusing, but Muzan’s darling will be a human – though not for long.

Intelligent

It’s no surprise, really, that Muzan is absolutely incapable of handling a darling that doesn’t possess above average intelligence.

They don’t need to be a genius, but his darling must have a strong grasp of both academic and social intelligence.

Where these intelligences lie is flexible; he’s equally impressed by a darling that can recite complex physics formulas and one that can analyze some of the most classical literature ever written.

It doesn’t really matter where the smarts lay, but his darling must be able to showcase at least some level of critical thinking in their daily life; Muzan is enticed by someone who can come as close as possible to being his equal, and as a creature that views himself as smarter and superior to all others, his darling must be something special, too.

(Of course, his darling will never truly be an equal – he’s still the most magnificent, perfect creature, tireless in his search to become immune to human constraints like sickness and aging, but there’s something endearing about a darling that can entertain some of his conversation, who can at least follow some of his logic when he’s feeling generous enough to include them in his plans. Besides, and he’ll never admit to it, he’s fond of hearing his darling’s opinion – he’ll continue with what he thinks best, of course, but if his darling present sound reasoning, Muzan will often entertain the notion for a bit, distantly surprised if his darling has considered an idea he hasn’t yet, or if they present a line of argument that manages to stump him.)

And so, in order for Muzan’s interest to be piqued, his darling must be intelligent and must be unafraid to showcase this – but as his attention is initially fickle (it does not remain this way, however), they musn’t be too proud of their intelligence.

Pride is a sin only he can indulge in, not some lowly human.

Perceptive

Muzan is, unsurprisingly, easy to upset.

Being in his presence is akin to walking on eggshells, with the repercussions of a single step out of line costing a life. And while he won’t ever kill his darling, but it’s still very much in their best interest to learn his triggers and what makes him particularly angry or calm.

His darling must be able to analyze others and understand them quickly – a certain level of empathy is needed, and while he’ll never admit that his darling can read him like an open book, in order to survive they must be able to.

He’s attracted to the idea that his darling understands when to speak and when to stay silent, when to approach him and when to give him space, even when to refer to him as my Lord rather than his actual name.

(He always prefers his actual name, as the way the syllables sound rolling off his darling’s tongue is heaven and sends shivers down his spine, but he must maintain a certain level of control over them and forcing such a title is a good way to highlight the difference in power between them.)

And so, a darling that’s able to pick up on these silent cues and patterns is immensely attractive to him – he has very little patience for idiotic people, and he already harbors enough resentment towards his darling for catching his attention that they must be able to navigate the treacherous waters he places them in.

Besides, there’s something indescribably pleasing when his darling knows exactly what he wants, able to predict his desires often before he can express them or realize them himself.

It makes him feel good, his ego getting stroked and relaxation spreading throughout his entire body, and of course, it only makes his feelings for his darling grow, taking root in his gut and twisting and turning these roots until they’re wrapped so tightly around his heart it may strangle it.

And while Muzan likes to think he’d never let someone hold such a grip on him, he’s simply in denial of how truly dependent he is on his darling’s presence – he’s in much, much too deep.

Quiet

Muzan himself is not a particularly talkative man – even during his human years, his voice was reserved mostly for complaints, yells, with a scowl sprawled across those pale pink lips of his.

He’s not one for idle conversation, and while he can force a pleasant smile and white lies and it suits his purposes, he generally doesn’t desire being in the company of those who talk incessantly.

It’s annoying, frankly, and Muzan isn’t exactly understanding or patient once he’s deemed someone irritating.

And so, a darling who is naturally less talkative is incredibly attractive to him – he likes that they’re quiet, that they only really speak when they need to, if only because he enjoys silence.

A more selfish part of him also enjoys the knowledge that a less talkative darling means a significantly lower chance of them interacting with other men – they aren’t likely to strike up a conversation with a stranger on the street, barring them from potential danger and potential suitors.

His darling’s quietness is pleasing, yes, but there are times when Muzan becomes annoyed by this particular trait, however; his darling should be quiet but still talk to him, when he desires it. They should be silent around others, sure, but they should still respond eagerly and enthusiastically when he initiates a conversation with them.

He wants to see them smile at him and treat his every word as if it were gospel, as if it were something precious and important and cherished.

And so, while his darling should watch their tongue around others (and around him too, really), they should be actively engaged when speaking with him.

But not too much – Muzan can tell when they’re forcing themselves to be eager, and it bruises his ego a bit to know that his darling isn’t being totally honest when they compliment his latest strategy in finding the blue spider lily or the Ubuyashiki manor.

It makes a wave of insecurity settle in his gut, a feeling he resents possibly more than feeling weak – it infuriates him, so it’s best to avoid laying it on too thick.

Really, being his darling is just one big balancing act – they’ve got to keep him pleased and happy, a task that could quite literally result in life or death.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Possessive

In general, your existence absolutely infuriates Muzan.

It takes an incredibly long time for his feelings to form, and even then, he’s entirely unsure of why he even likes you – you’re plain, weak, boring, worthless compared to him. Why is he wasting his time with you? You’re simply one human in a sea of them, all doomed to slowly wither away and die some miserable death, inevitably suffering and growing weaker with every day. Why would he ever find himself even remotely interested in a creature with such a glaring flaw?

How could he allow himself to ever hold even a flicker of intrigue towards a being with such obvious limitations?

Centuries and growing power have left Muzan with such an extreme level of arrogance that he’s equal parts enraged and in denial of his interest in you – early on, he tries his best to simply pretend that you don’t exist. Perhaps he’s having to live in human society for whatever reason, and you’re a neighbor or a woman he occasionally sees near his home.

Regardless, he’s making a point to not speak to you, to not even look at you, fully not acknowledging your presence all in the hopes that the weird, scratching feeling in his heart will go away and he’ll no longer be plagued by this weird, horrible awareness of you.

Except, while he likes to think that it works, the moment he sees another man look at you or converse with you, his nails sharpen and veins sprout along his temples, a new kind of irritation coursing through him. He doesn’t like the way you make him feel, but he likes this even less – this man, this human, who’s standing so very close to you and has absolutely no reason to.

The feeling is strange – it’s envy, he thinks, something he’d felt often back in his human days, but this is different. There’s something else, something sharper, something that’s twisting and burning, something that makes him grit his teeth, that gets his feet moving before he can really even think about it. He’s quick to separate you and the stranger, physically separating you with his body between yours, his breathing a bit uneven and strained, those blinding red eyes of his trained directly at the stranger.

He has enough self-control to not immediately slaughter the man (you’re in far too public a setting – killing every human in the crowded plaza square wouldn’t be hard by any means, but it’d certainly be a hassle), but he’s only brought back to reality out of the angry trance he’d been placed into when he hears your small, irritating, alluring voice saying the human name he’d flippantly told you.

Immediately he’s scoffing, glaring at the man for a final moment before turning on his heel, quickly sauntering away from you while trying to figure out why the fuck he’d just unconsciously rushed to your location. He’s unsettled, quite honestly, and angry, of course, but more than that he’s worried – he'd done that without his control, his body not waiting for his permission to approach you, to interrupt whatever that human had been trying to do.

(He personally raids a small village that night, slaughtering every human he can find in ways that leave blood pooling across every floorboard, his pretty, pressed clothing stained red and feeling wet and heavy against his skin.)

And even once Muzan eventually realizes that what he’s feeling for you is attraction – and, dare he say it, fondness – this possessiveness doesn’t subside. If anything, it grows worse. Because now, rather than simply being uncomfortable and angry with other men (and women) approaching you, he’s angry because they’re approaching something that’s his – you’re his human, his woman, his plaything.

And why do these stupid, irrelevant humans think they have any right to look at you, to steal your time and attention, or god forbit touch you? He’s overwhelmingly possessive, and while there is some part of him that feels something loosely resembling love for you, his feelings akin you much more to a beloved object rather than his partner. You are not an equal with him – he is in charge, and he’s the one who decides your fate.

And even once he’s stolen you away this feeling persists – he’s not loving, and he doesn’t really make any attempts to hide how he views you. He’s not particularly expressive, so there’s a very good chance you won’t be aware of his romantic intentions towards you until later into your captivity, but you’ll know that you’re below him from day one. H

e’s constantly verbally reminding you that he’s superior, that any efforts you take to escape, disobey him, rebel, or call for help can and will be dealt with accordingly – often with a few lives lost. He’s possessive and selfish, genuinely believing that you have no reason to interact with another living thing on Earth besides himself – you’re his partner, his woman, and although you’ll never be an equal, he should be absolutely everything to you.

So, you’d better get good at acting.

Obsessive

While Muzan never fully comes to terms with the level of his obsession with you, his actions speak much, much louder than his words. He may speak to you like you mean nothing to him, but if you knew the extent to which he’d stalked you, watched you, and collected information about you prior to kidnapping you, you’d become even more terrified of the demon.

He’s not particularly subtle about his emotions, but he keeps a very strict barrier between the two of you. He holds every ounce of control in the relationship – he knows everything about you, but you know very little about him.

You only know his name (and only Muzan, not Kibutsuji), that he prefers the small home he keeps you in to be extremely clean, that he doesn’t enjoy physical touch (at least, you don’t think he does – if you knew the extent to which he imagines touching you or the things he’s imagined doing to you, you’d never enter the same room as him).

You don’t know a lot of basic information about him that you really, really wish you did – why did he kidnap you? What is he? Does he want to kill you? Questions swirl in your head constantly, but the same can’t be said of Muzan – at least, not in the sense that you’re a complete enigma to him.

On the contrary, he understands you almost scarily well – courtesy of the extent to which he watched you before kidnapping you. Because he was so angered at himself for developing an interest in a human woman, he found himself desperately hoping that by finding out more about you, all of his interest would fade and vanish, allowing him to simply kill you and continue on with his life.

And so, he took to watching you – you’re remarkably weak, he finds out. You live in a home that’s very, very easy to break into, the locks on your doors hardly putting up a fight before budging under his strength. He scoffs at this information, though it does make a small sense of envy eat away at him – has any other man done this before? How often do you get visitors in the night? Are you secretly whoring yourself out to other men?

He finds himself digging through every corner of your small, modest home – every drawer is opened and searched, every cabinet thoroughly analyzed, every closet and shelf picked over in extreme detail. He’s noting each and every thing he finds, his eyes narrowing or his eyebrow cocking up because wow, there is nothing even remotely remarkable about you.

You don’t have any particular wealth, nor do you have any supply of medicine, nor do you even have any particularly enjoyable artwork or cooking materials. He’s disappointed, but as he moves towards your bedroom and slowly slides open the door, his breath catches. You’re laying on your back, the small gap in the window letting in moonlight that shines across your face, your eyes dancing rapidly behind your eyelids.

He frowns, his nails digging into the wood of the door, irritation settling deep in his gut. You aren’t supposed to have this affect on him. He isn’t supposed to lose himself momentarily just from the sight of you – you, who has absolutely nothing to offer in the face of his power, wisdom, and resourcefulness.

 And yet, here he is – staring at you like some sort of lovesick fool, his eyes unable to stop detailing the curve of your nose, or looking at the very vague outline of your chest from underneath the blanket. He leaves, that first night, finding an innocent to slaughter and only feeling marginally better. He’d hoped that one visit would be enough, trying to focus his mind on the fact that you’re so painfully average, that there’s nothing remarkable about you – but for every negative thought he has, a glimpse of your voice or the sound of your voice overpowers it.

And eventually, he convinces himself to return to your humble home, this time going directly to the bedroom. You’re asleep again, this time on your side, with strands of hair framing your face. Your soft breaths make his brows crinkle, and a sudden, fleeting thought runs through his mind – you’re so vulnerable in this moment, he could kill you with very, very little effort.

And soon his nails have grown sharp, and his elbow is cocked, adrenaline surging through his veins because if he could just kill you, perhaps this whole stupid infatuation could be done with. But the elbow stays cocked, doesn’t move, even as his eyes stay staring at you, not blinking, every nerve in his body screaming at him to end your life.

He can’t.

And that realization is the most upsetting of all – he can’t bring himself to kill you. Him - Muzan Kibutsuji, the Demon King, can’t bring himself to murder a sweet little thing like you. It’s comical, really, and although it infuriates Muzan, it represents a turning point in his feelings for you.

After that night, he no longer tries to force himself into forgetting about you or ignoring you – instead, he pushes himself to learn more about you, becoming fascinated with understanding why you of all people have caught his attention.

And really, this is where his more obsessive traits come into play. Suddenly he’s making a point to watch you sleep every night, always staring and watching your chest rise and fall, marveling at what power something as weak as you has over him. He’ll thumb through your closet, pulling each article of clothing out and appraising it, deciding if he likes it or not.

(Those that he doesn’t like are taken away with him, thrown into the trash and discarded so that only what he chooses actually adorns your figure, just as it should be. Later on into your ‘relationship’ this will still be true – he’s choosing what clothing you wear around the cabin, even what undergarments you wear. He’s particularly fond of silk and satin, liking the luxury feeling of the texture on you and the way it feels against him when he’s pressed up against you.)

He’s following you every night, walking around as your shadow and keeping a watchful eye on you, noting with disdain when you stumble or when you spend too much money on a snack or when you aren’t aware of your surroundings.

He’s especially stuck as your shadow when your period comes about – he’s on you like fucking glue, even going so far as to carefully pull back the sheets and spread your legs as you sleep, kneeling between your knees and pressing his face a few inches away from your clothed cunt, letting his eyes flutter closed as he inhales, smelling you you you.

(Masturbating feels beneath him, but the first time he smelled you while you’re menstruating, he’d decided his pride was worth sullying if it meant getting the release his body was desperate for – desperate enough to have soaked a visible portion of his slacks with precum.)

So really, while he’s an arrogant, narcissistic creature, your presence is his one weakness, his one guilty pleasure that allows himself to indulge in – if only just understand how the hell someone like you managed to snag the attention of someone as powerful and important as him.

Controlling

Muzan doesn’t see you as an equal. You’re a possession of his, something that he has full control over and can dictate every part of their life. He’s so much stronger than you, literally able to kill you with just his pinky alone, and this power dynamic is certainly not a secret to you. You’ll be very, very aware of just how liable you are to what he wants.

Even before he kidnaps you, you’ll be aware of the presence of something in your life – to you, Muzan is simply a loose acquaintance. You don’t know each other well, but he always seems to show up at the strangest of times – with excuses of just passing by, wanting to catch up, or some other innocent, plausible explanation.

And so, when he’s telling you at the fruit stand that pears really aren’t the best for your health, consider apples instead, you simply nod and thank him for his insight. (Of course you don’t know that he wants you to eat the apples instead because he can’t stand the smell of pears, and to have you reeking of the fruit would be a serious deterrent his experience of watching you for the rest of the day.)

When you decide to be bold one day and wear the pretty, colorful kimono you own, Muzan happens to run into you and comments on it, telling you that you look so lovely in more neutral colors, don’t you think? (You don’t need to know that he wants you to be wearing less flashy things so that others won’t notice you as much, so that you won’t draw too many eyes, so that you won’t be lusted after and pined after by so many men – you wouldn’t their blood on your hands, now would you?)

He’s subtle about it, never making you believe that you’re being swayed one way or another, but that changes after he’s stolen you away. Once you’re in his clutches, you’ll become very, very aware of just how much Muzan inserts himself into your daily life.

He’s obviously chosen where you’re to live, forcing you stay with him and keep you isolated from everyone else on Earth, just so that your dependence on him will grow, just so that no one else can see you, just so that he becomes your entire fucking world, just as he should be. But he chooses more subtle things, too – things that border on uncomfortable, things that really should be solely your choice.

 He instructs you on which clothing to wear each day – giving you a specific outfit, telling you to style your hair in a particular way.

He’ll tell you whether to bathe that day, and the order with which you should clean yourself – always hair first, then arms, breasts (this is part that he’s most fervent about watching, claiming that you don’t do a good enough job and he must be present to ensure that you’re truly clean), stomach, back, legs, and between your thighs.

(He’ll allow you to privately clean yourself there at first, but as time passes he stops allowing you to turn your back to him, instead standing over the washing tub and scrutinizing your technique with his eyes, insisting that you haven’t thoroughly spread yourself, that you haven’t pressed inside yourself deeply enough. And, once you’ve begun having sexual relations, he’ll insist that you aren’t capable of being fully clean unless something else helps clean out inside of you, too – something clean and meticulous and cared for like what’s between his legs, of course. So let him settle into the bathing tub and seat yourself on him, allowing him to maneuver you to really, thoroughly clean you.)

He’s even instructing you on what order to eat your meals – vegetables first, then protein, then carbs, those watchful eyes of his like a hawk’s making sure that you follow his commands to a tee. It gives him a sense of control, like a palpable sense of superiority over you – sure, you make him feel emotions that he has no control over, making his body respond in ways he despises, but at least he controls you. It’s a weak ploy at maintaining his ego, but it’s effective – because as time passes, slowly you’ll forget what it was like to live a life where your every decision wasn’t made for you, and the thought will honestly scare you – how did you survive? How were you able to stomach the thought of so many small decisions, so many unknowns, so many things that could’ve gone wrong?

And Muzan will feed these delusions – commanding you with a firm, almost bored voice and following it up with an weak women like you shouldn’t be making too many choices, you’ll always choose incorrectly. You wouldn’t have survived without me, don’t you agree?

Which connects to another key aspect of his controlling tendencies – Muzan is extremely manipulative. He’s a selfish creature motivated by his own personal gain, and he is gifted at deceiving others in order to get what he wants. He’ll never explicitly lie to you, but Muzan has no qualms with warping your world perspective a bit, feeding you delusions, forcing you into believing that you truly are nothing without him, that you truly need him in the way he claims that you do.

And it’ll work – all those comments about you being beneath him and unable to take care of yourself will eventually become a mantra for you, and while you’ll still be terrified of the demon, you’ll start slowly depending on him.

You’ll start needing him in a way that makes Muzan smug – because now, he’s not the weak one, right? You need him much more than he needs you. (This isn’t true, but Muzan convinces himself of it – it has to be true.)

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Quite honestly, it’s rare that you find yourself in a situation where another physical person is around you aside from Muzan. He’s very, very possessive over you, treating you more akin to a pet or prized possession rather than a partner. And because of this, he’s able to easily control the people who interact with you – who they are, when they see you, how long they’re permitted to be in your presence, even what words they say to you.

Generally speaking, if he’s feeling kind, you’ll be permitted to see the Upper Moons, but even then it’s in extremely sparing quantities.

He doesn’t like the way Douma touches you, clinging onto you like some sort of leech and getting his filthy hands all over you.

He doesn’t like the way Akaza bends to you as if you have some sort of power over him, as if you were equal to Muzan himself – it makes some part of him smug to think that his underlings recognize that you’re his, but it still bristles his ego to think that you’re even remotely close to his status, even if you’re objectively higher than other demons.

He doesn’t like the way Hantengu sneaks glances at you that Muzan very much notices, just the mere act alone making him scowl and slice off the demon’s neck, sending him squealing and scampering away.

He doesn’t like the way Gyokko is always complimenting your beauty – you’re gorgeous, true, but only Muzan is allowed to admire you. Only he is allowed to take in the curves of your face and body, the softness of your skin, your alluring smell, the gentle lull of your voice. Besides, only Muzan is allowed to compliment you – even that alone is a huge, huge struggle for him, if only because positive affirmations of anyone aside from himself is a foreign concept, and he simply cannot have Gyokko undoing all the hard work Muzan has undergone to break down your confidence and build it back up himself.

He doesn’t like the way Daki insults you, because although Muzan doesn’t want anyone to compliment you, it’s almost more offensive to have an underling openly mock and ignore you – can’t she tell that you’re so, so much more important than she’ll ever be?

He doesn’t like the way Gyuutaro openly stares and leers at you, licking his lips like some sort of animal – as if he’d ever let such scum touch you. Your body is his to touch and fuck, and for the other demon to even briefly entertain the notion of being intimate with you makes bile rise up the back of his throat and his nails to sharpen without his permission.

The only demon Muzan is somewhat likely (emphasis on the somewhat, because he still rarely ever lets you interact with anyone besides himself) is Kokushibo, simply because Muzan knows that the Upper Rank 1 will keep both himself and you in line. He trusts that Kokushibo, ever loyal to his leader, will not entertain any inappropriate thoughts or actions towards you. He also trusts that Kokushibo won’t allow you to step out of line, his punishing hand swift as he ties you up and forces you to await Muzan, the one who will give you your real punishment for nervously playing with your fingers.

(That’s unwomanly of you, Kokushibo will tell you, all six of his eyes glaring down at you. A woman capable of standing beside Muzan should be regal and confident, you are not worthy of him.)

And so, you effectively will have no interaction with another soul aside from Muzan – but before his obsession pushes him to the extreme of stealing you away, he was certainly no stranger to envy or jealousy.

It's an innocent thing, really – the man in the gray kimono was just trying to keep you from falling. The lantern chain you were trying to hang on the ledge of your roof wasn’t too complex, but the stepstool you were precariously balancing on was another story. Reaching high over your head to attach the chain to the wooden beam was extending your limbs to their furthest ability, leaving you wobbly and liable to fall at all any moment.

And, of course, you did – suddenly you were falling backwards, the lanterns slipping out of your hands and a yelp slipping past your lips. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace yourself for impact on the hard ground below you, but the air is knocked out of your lungs by a pair of arms slipping underneath your legs and below your back rather than the cold Earth below. The man carefully helps you stand up, laughing sheepishly as you profusely thanked him, rubbing at the back of his neck.

You’re smiling, Muzan can see from his spot at the end of the street, his gaze fixed on you even over the buzz of life at the nighttime market.

Your shop is easily one hundred feet away, but he can still smell you clear as day, your scent alluring and musky and rich, only now tinged with the slightest bit of embarrassment, appreciation, and attraction.

Muzan scowls, his dark brows drawing inward so tightly that wrinkles were sure to form. His fist curls in on itself, sharp nails already slicing into his palms and letting blood drip onto the ground below him. Every muscle in his body clenches, taut with anger, anticipation and the uncontrollable urge to do something, veins standing out against the paleness of his neck and forehead.

That man was touching you.

Helping you.

You, who was stupid enough to get on a ladder and hang up those incessant lanterns – you, who was careless enough with your own miserable, misfortunate human life as to potentially throw it away for some measly lights. Anger clouds his every thought, but he forces himself to stay still, to not immediately jump onto the man and tear him to pieces bite by bite until he was screaming and sobbing and begging –

Soon the man is on his way, leaving you behind as you disappear into the depths of your shop, the man tucking his hands into his pockets with a smile curling on his lips that makes Muzan’s self-control snap, his legs finally pushing him into action.

It’s not hard to snatch the man by the throat, his claws digging against the soft, thin skin and dragging him away to a deserted back-alley.

It’s not hard to hold him in the air, his feet not touching the ground as desperate fingers clumsily grope at Muzan’s, unable to break the inhuman grip the demon has on his neck.

It’s not hard to watch the man’s face slowly turning purple, his actions getting weaker and weaker, and it’s only once the man is right on the verge of losing consciousness that Muzan lets go, throwing him to ground and hearing a sickening crunch noise as the man wheezes. Muzan’s lips curl, his eyebrows still furrowed, his expression looking halfway between pained and exhilarated.

You worthless human. His voice is full of disdain, hatred seeping into every word as he kicks the man in the stomach, the action causing him to cough up blood, more wheezes and desperate heaves filling the back-alley.

Who gave you permission to breath? Who gave you permission to touch her? Who gave you permission to touch what’s mine? He kicks him again, the curl of his lip deepening.

The man is curled up into a fetal position, blood flowing onto the dirt below him. Muzan scoffs. Pathetic. You must think you’ve done a very heroic deed, saving her from falling.

Muzan’s smile drops. You did nothing. You are just a weak, useless human. What could you offer her?

He waits for a moment, just to see if the writhing mess of a man before him wasn’t as pitiful as he appeared, and his brows cock up ever so slightly when his wheezing, strained voice asks, then why didn’t you save her?

And with that, Muzan slices his head clean off, only the smallest of whimpers ringing in his ears, followed by the dull thud of the now decapitated head falling to the ground. Muzan’s chest is heaving, his red eyes wide, a few curls knocked out of place at the exertion, and for a moment he’s frozen.

There’s genuine rage swimming through his veins, and the sheer amount of that man’s blood staining his clothing makes him pause. Why had his words effected him so? He’d quite literally lost control of his body once he heard the question – why didn’t he bother to save you? Why had he only watched, allowing this other man to step in and keep you from cracking your head open on the ground?

Muzan’s scowl deepens, and soon he’s turning back to the body, sharp nails ripping and slicing at the man until all that remains are scraps of clothing and a face so disfigured that identifying him would be impossible.

And even then, Muzan doesn’t feel the sense of satisfaction that killing someone who insulted him would normally bring – instead, the rage is calmed ever so slightly by a strange feeling that makes his fingers tremble, his throat feel swollen, and his heart race in his chest.

And when he returns to the busy streets of the night market, inhaling over and over and over, he’s quick to catch your scent, trailing behind you with those red eyes trained on your form.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Because Muzan is in denial about his feelings for you for most of the beginning of his obsession with you, kidnapping you isn’t the first thing that comes to his mind. He tries to ignore you for as long as he can, holding out and believing that whatever it is that you’re making him feel will eventually go away if he doesn’t pay attention to it.

Except that it doesn’t, and as time passes he becomes more desperate to see you, to hear your voice and speak with you and be in your presence and – god forbid – touch you. And so, while not seriously considering stealing you away in the beginning, once Muzan comes to terms with the fact that his infatuation isn’t going to simply go away on its own he decides that keeping you by his side permanently is the only acceptable solution. It’s the only solution where he won’t lose his mind, honestly.

He grows so dependent on the idea of you that it starts affecting his daily tasks and life – he’s distracted, every moment he has to himself filled with idle thoughts of you and what you could be doing in that particular moment.

Are you eating enough? He knows humans have to eat more often than demons, and you have to be careful about balancing your nutrition and portion control – he’s sure he could a much better job at managing your dietary health than you can.

Are you sleeping enough? Demons don’t have to sleep, and as a result it’s been centuries since he’s had a full night’s rest, but he knows that you spend over a third of your day asleep – a massive waste of time, as far as he’s concerned.

(This doesn’t stop him from stopping by the measly apartment you call home, however, standing at the end of your bed with an unreadable expression on his face as he watches you sleep. Sometimes he’ll even get closer, kneeling beside you so that he can see your face better, perhaps even ghosting a few fingers over the curve of your cheek, your bedroom so silent he can hear his own breathing falling in time with yours.)

Are you with other people? Are you speaking with others? Are you wasting your time and energy on all of those ridiculous ‘hobbies’ of yours? Muzan wants to know – needs to know, and as time passes he simply can’t stand not knowing every single thing that you’re doing at all times.

And it’s not like kidnapping you would be hard – you’re practically defenseless, your reaction time not nearly fast enough to even pose the smallest fight against him. And so, it’s easy to scoop you up into his arms one night, picking you up out of your bed and taking a moment to lean down closer to your neck, his curls brushing against your jaw as he slowly, deeply inhales, the moment of vulnerability passing just as quickly as it occurred as he gulps and stares for a moment, only to immediately take off running towards the cabin he’s prepared to keep you in.

The cabin itself is in the middle of nowhere – in the countryside, at the base of a mountain, with tall trees and no trails leading anywhere. The cabin is wooden, with a fireplace and a meager dining area (only you’ll be using that dining space, of course, but Muzan grows fond of watching you eat – if only to comment on how pathetic it is that you need to sustain yourself with food so much more often than he does). A futon has been placed in the corner of the cabin – it’s big enough to fit two people, but thankfully he hasn’t tried to share it with you yet, not that you’re confident he will.

(You’ve woken to see him sitting beside you on it, however. He was still fully clothed, with an expression on his face that you’re not sure how to describe, but he’s never actually joined you in bed. Thank god.) t’s not horrible, per say, but your life within the cabin will far from idyllic.

Muzan is not a kind man. He’s not even a man – and this becomes apparent to you very quickly. It’s not unusual for him to return home from long periods of time away with blood staining his clothing, that familiar sour look on his face as he stares knowingly at you, expecting you to grovel at his feet and thank him for finally returning to you.

You’ve never seen him eat – he doesn’t touch the food he brings to you (and it’s good food, too – nutritious and surprisingly delicious, making you wonder exactly how he obtained it), and almost seems disgusted when he has to touch it.

You know there’s something wrong, but multiple things bar you from ever asking why his nails grow so long in such short intervals, or why he’s so inhumanely strong, or how he can be so silent when he moves – those things being the many silent, unspoken rules he has laid out for how you should act. He’s controlling in every sense, and although he doesn’t communicate exactly what he expects of you, you’ll quickly learn that he's picky, and he won’t settle for any behavior less than perfect.

Most of these rules revolve around the fact that you aren’t allowed to escape or disrespect him. Attempting escape is a rebellion against being his woman, and just as an owner does a dog, he will punish your ill behavior and pulling your metaphorical leash much, much further than you should.

Plus, your attempts to escape are a form of rejection in his eyes – he never makes it explicitly clear that he’s romantically interested in you, but he feels that you should just know this, and thus your insistence on getting away from him feels like a personal slight against him, like a slap in the face designed to hurt him in the most acute, intimate way possible.

Of course you don’t know this, but after each escape attempt, he’ll punish you, then promptly return to his office (a small, adjoining room in the cabin that you’re strictly forbidden from entering), sitting on his leather couch and letting his head sit in his hands, taking deep breaths and willing himself to stop letting such stupid, weak, human emotions affect him so.

The only thing that works, though, to calm his heart is to once again watch you as you sleep, allowing himself to get close to you, closing his eyes and inhaling your scent, perhaps even holding a shirt in his hands and imagining the way your skin would feel against the fabric. It’s a reminder that although you were disobedient and tried to leave him, you weren’t successful – you’re still here, with him, as you should be.

Disrespecting him is also, of course, a severe infringement of the unwritten code he expects you to follow. He has to maintain some sense of superiority over you, and the moment you disrespect him either with words or actions, this fragile hierarchy is threatened, and you come dangerously close to the uncomfortable truth – that despite all his grandiose talk about you being beneath him, he would be absolutely nothing now without you.

He would be a mess, unable to function, unable to find purpose in avoiding death and sickness, unsure of how to move forward with a life that now no longer seems worth continuing. And so, as long as you avoid those two major triggers, most of your time spent in the cabin will be passed with Muzan simply sitting in your presence, those red eyes watching you like a hawk and making you beyond nervous. He scares you – he’s a monster and you know it, he’s stolen you away from your life and forced you into some strange, pseudo-relationship of roommates, though his intentions are much more sinister than you can imagine.

The one silver lining of being stuck with Muzan is that his crippling fear of rejection bars him from making any sort of sexual advance on you. Of course, he very, very much wants to fuck you (thought the thought shames him, because you’re a human woman, and the idea of touching a human and being touched by a human makes his skin crawl), but the idea of you not being as passionately and needily engaged and eager as him is enough to stop him from attempting anything.

This has an unfortunate side effect though, which is that he channels this anger and fear of being rejected by you into meanness directly at you – comments of how you’re clumsy or loud or irritating slip past his lips. And although he doesn’t often mean them, the venom in his voice will get you shutting up, fearfully and self-consciously staring down at the floor.

He feels the smallest pang of guilt when this happens, because although he’s a sadistic creature, seeing you upset isn’t nearly as pleasing as he’d expected. But it’s a necessary evil in the larger scheme of things – he has to keep you in line, and by stealing you away so that he can keep constant surveillance on you and control your meal times (he decides when you eat, even if you’re not hungry or don’t want the meal he’s brought), how often you bathe yourself (often he’ll watch the process, those red eyes raking up and down your figure, making sure to wear loose bottoms so that you don’t see how the sight of you wet, soapy, and embarrassed effects him), and make sure you interact with no one, he’s ultimately fulfilling a self-serving goal: preserving you, and keeping you all locked up and safe for him to enjoy.

And only him.

PUNISHMENTS:

Despite Muzan’s strange fondness for you (or, more accurately, his dependence on your presence), he’s by no means a gentle lover. He’s cruel, demeaning, incredibly strict and harsh with you, with expectations that he never clearly communicates with you. It’ll leave you guessing in the dark, hoping and praying that your every action, word, and even thought won’t trigger some sort of negative response from him. He’s fickle, his mood changing quicker than you keep up with, and because of this, Muzan finds himself angry with you much more often than he’d care to admit.

He was resistant to developing feelings for you at first, embarrassed, disappointed and frustrated with himself for stooping so low as to develop an attraction with a weak human like you, but as time passes he finds himself growing less resentful and more desperate. He’s still angry with himself, ashamed that he’s allowed himself to let you become his one weakness, and because of this he’s a bit trigger-happy with punishing you.

He’s always looking for reasons to belittle you, to put you down in order to make himself feel better. He’s an egotistical, narcissistic creature, and just because you’ve managed to worm your way into his heart doesn’t mean that you are exempt from this aspect of his personality.

He’ll find ways to twist your words and actions into somehow being displeasing to him, whether by being disrespectful to him, or an attempt to escape.

You’re quiet and avoid speaking with him or looking at him? Sure, you’re scared, as you say, but this could also be an attempt lulling him into lowering his guard around you, like you’re waiting for the right opportunity to try and run or hurt him. (Just the thought along is laughable – as if you could ever do serious damage to him.)

So, he’ll force you into speaking simply by threatening any remaining family you have. That’ll get you spluttering and talking, he’s sure – your weak sensibilities and this absurd devotion to your family that you seem to possess is perfect to exploit. (Plus, it’ll get you to stop ignoring him, something that makes his heart feel like a knife is twisting inside him, making every part of him ache and bile rise in the back of his throat. But you don’t need to know that – he’ll never admit it.)

You’re refusing to eat the food he’s brought for you? You ungrateful thing – he’d gone so far as to get the best quality, fanciest food he could find for you – things that he could imagine himself stomaching back when he was a human. Things that – despite you being below him – you deserve as his pet. He’ll merely scoff, throwing the food off to the side, before returning a few hours later with something warm and wet and fresh – blood is dripping off the pretty white plate he’s dished the human heart on, his face carefully neutral aside from the smallest of smirks while he tells you to eat up, you wouldn’t want an ended life to be in vain, would you?

It’s cruel and it’s evil and it’s horrible, but pinning your compassion and disgust at him murdering innocent people because of your rebellions against you is the most successful and effective tool he could use to keep you in line. It works – every single time.

And Muzan has no qualms with using every possible resource at his disposal – sure, you may be angry at him, perhaps even hate him, but he’s confident that with time, you’ll realize that he’s all you have left. You’re weak and incapable and you’ll never, ever be rid of him, so why won’t you just obey him like you, as the inferior life form, should?

Your fingers are trembling as he nears you, that same unearthly silence to his steps that makes every muscle in your body stand at attention, your fight or flight instincts begging you to run as fast as you can away from the monster in front of you.

There’s nothing in his hands, but that doesn’t make you feel better – you know what he can do with those hands, and you curl up tighter against the corner you’ve sat yourself in.

Muzan’s got a half-smile on his face – it’s the closest he can get to a genuine smile, you think, but it still makes your skin crawl, unease and dread eating away at your gut. He stops in front of you, crouching down so that he’s at eye level with you. His curls sit around his face, the casual white dress-shirt he sports perfectly pressed and rolled up at the elbows.

Hello, how are you faring? He asks, and immediately you grow suspicious – this is unusual. He never directly asks you about yourself – he normally talks about himself, only occasionally dropping a comment or two about you that lets you know he recognizes your presence in the room.

What is he playing at? How do you respond?

I’m okay… you start, nervous that he’s looking for an answer that you don’t know. At your response, he makes no noticeable change, but instead stands once more. He’s still staring down at you, those red eyes feeling heavy and piercing.

Come with me.

And then he’s walking, and you’re scrambling behind him to keep up with his long strides. He settles down onto a leather couch in his study, and for the briefest moments you hesitate at the threshold, having never been allowed in this room.

He notices your resistance, and rolls his eyes slightly. Come here.

You do as you’re told, and carefully, tentatively sit down on the other end of the leather couch. It’s silent for a few moments, before Muzan breaks it, his voice a bit deeper than before. Come here.

Confusion settles over your features, but you slowly scoot over a bit, so that you’re an inch or so closer to him. Muzan’s still staring at you, you can see it out of the corner of your eye, and a frown sits on his lips.

You scoot over a bit more, continuing when he doesn’t say anything until there’s just the smallest sliver of space between your bodies. You can hear his breathing, having never been so close to him before. He’s still looking at you, but you focus your gaze on your hands in your lap, trying desperately to not visibly show your nerves.

Are you afraid of me?

His question startles you, and you stiffen up, peeking at him for just a moment. Unsure of how to respond, you merely nod, your voice small as you murmur yes. Muzan hums, and suddenly there’s a hand sitting on your thigh, his skin cold and dry, the weight feeling heavy. And although you try to stop yourself, knowing the consequences will be anything but pleasant, the unforeseen physical contact makes you jump, scooting away from him ever so slightly.

The room is still for a moment, before you hear his sharp inhale, literally seeing his face morph into one of rage. He’s breathing hard as he gets to his feet and practically storms out of the room, his steps still nearly silent. You’re still frozen, trying to process what you’ve just done – you rejected him.

Obviously you don’t want him, but this surely must be one of the unspoken rules you’re supposed to follow – surely such an arrogant man wouldn’t appreciate being you being so blatantly repulsed.

Unsure of what to do – does he want you to leave his study? Stay? – you stay in place, every part of your body shaking in fear and horrible anticipation at your punishment for such a grave offense.

You don’t have to wait for long – ten minutes later he’s barging through the door, dragging a woman by her hair into the space. She’s already stained with bits of blood, her hair matted with it and her pretty clothes darker than they should be.

Muzan’s staring at you, a wild look in his eye, his hair a bit messy and a few more buttons of the dress shirt undone. He throws the woman to the ground, and you notice how shallow her breathing is – she must be on the verge of death.

Muzan’s voice is deep, husky in a way that stills you to your very core as he growls out you will never, ever reject me. Do you understand? You have no place or authority to reject me. You are nothing. I am the only worthwhile thing in your life. Do you understand?

You nod, over and over, eyes flashing between his piercing gaze and the woman who’s slowly trying to get to her feet. Every time she gets close, Muzan pushes her back to the ground, the tears clouding your lashes just barely letting you make out the way her face twists up in pain.

You are nothing. You are nothing.

Muzan is repeating it to himself over and over again as he picks up the woman, forcing her to face you. Briefly, you’re shocked – you’ve never seen this woman in your life, but something about her seems oddly familiar, like you’re looking in a mirror.

Her hair is remarkably similar to yours – the same texture, the same color, just a different length.

Her nose is similar to yours, her skin color, even her eye color.

Her body is similar, too – a similar build, proportions, and suddenly you’re sick.

This woman is you.

Muzan’s still breathing hard, his face contorted into that ugly scowl, and without a word, his hands are tangled in the woman’s hair again, pulling and yanking upwards until a wet squelching noise fills the room, and suddenly her body falls backwards, limp, with her head still held in the air, his forearm flexing.

You can’t stop yourself from vomiting, the sight and sound too much for you to bear. Muzan watches with pursed lips, his eyes still wide and barely blinking. You look pitiful like this – shaking like some sort of scared mouse, staring at him like he's a monster, like he’s the Devil himself.

And as he stares down at you, something pleasant settles in his gut, because while he’d prefer your adoration, the way you’re looking at him now is good, too. Because you’re looking at him, giving him the attention he was craving earlier.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have tried to be kind in his approach at initiating physical contact with you. After all, it’s not as if you really have a choice – it’s such a strange, human desire to want to touch another, and really, isn’t it your fault that he’s feeling this urge?

(Isn’t it your influence and doing that he wants to touch you, to feel you, to be inside of you?)

He bares his teeth, an eyebrow cocking up. Do not reject my advances. Your death will not be as merciful as hers.

And to that, you simply nod.

OVERALL DANGER:

10/10

Muzan is, undoubtedly, a nightmare to have infatuated with you. He’s so deeply in denial in the beginning that he forces himself to stay away from you, only for that to make him crave you more, to realize that his feelings for you aren’t simply going to go away.

He’s possessive and controlling, seeing you as his in every sense of the word and feeling completely justified in taking over every aspect of your life.

He’s paranoid, always keeping an eye on you because being this emotionally tied to another living thing is incredibly nerve-wracking, your weak human body and disposition making him nervous that even the wind will send you knocking on death’s door.

And even then, he doesn’t express this worry in any healthy way – he’s not afraid to verbally degrade you, using harsh words as a shield so that you don’t see just how pathetically deep his obsession and attraction to you is.

It’s demoralizing, embarrassing to a degree that forces him to treat you like a pet of sorts – punishing you with threats, stealing you away to be stuck in some remote cabin in the woods where not a soul will dare near the home, smelling both him and the scent of death strongly in the air.

He’s so emotionally out of touch, and as a result your life with him will be a constant series of walking on eggshells around rules and expectations you don’t even know about. It’s difficult, and frankly you’re viable to find yourself quickly losing your sanity.

But don’t worry too much – Muzan may not act like it, but he does care about your health and safety, and you’ll be in capable hands to help reshape and remold you into the perfect little human partner.

Perhaps you’ll even become a demon – a very, very likely event, considering the fact that as a demon, you have to obey his every command.

(Just the thought of you completely obedient and submissive makes him smile, his eyes narrowing a bit and his nails tapping on the nearest surface, those slacks of his feeling a bit too tight.)

He wants you to be his, and a man as selfish as him knows no bounds. So really, get ready – you will be his, and will never escape him. Lucky you.

#yandere kny #yandere demon slayer #yandere muzan #_lee's profiles #_kny #_muzan kibutsuji

[bloodmoonmuses]

it waits for dawn | lee taeyong

requested by an anon! send me an ask!

genre: taeyong x reader, friends to lovers, summer coworkers, non-idol au, fluff sorta kinda :)))

wc: 2.3k

warnings: mentions of blood, some swearing

summary: while working your summer job, you meet an eclectic boy who's obsessed with stars and the beauty of the universe.

Working at the planetarium was an odd summer job, sure, but it was about the same pay as the ice cream shop or (God forbid) the zoo. The facility remained pretty empty most days, save for the occasional field trip or savvy tourist. For the first two weeks you worked there, it was just you and the manager, Taeil. Then, one day, Taeil says he finally found another lackey- some guy who just finished his undergrad. 

You’re not sure why a college graduate would be slumming it at a planetarium, but you don’t question the matter any further. At least now you’d have someone to split responsibilities with. 

“He’ll be here any minute,” Taeil tells you.

When he walks in, you’re a bit taken aback. His cotton candy hair and smattering of tattoos almost clashes with the nerdy polo and khakis he’s wearing. You assume this is his attempt at looking “professional”, which is funny because you’re in a band tee and cut-off shorts and Taeil is practically in pajamas. 

“I’m Taeyong,” he says bashfully, dipping his head as a greeting. 

You shake his outstretched hand and his ears turn red. He has the biggest eyes you’ve ever seen, like a drawing almost. The prevailing word at the front of your mind is “cute”. He’s very cute.

Taeyong is a sticker book come to life, eclectic and vibrant against the dullness of the overcast day. You’ve never seen him around before. You would’ve remembered. He must be new in town- or a figment of your imagination. A part of you wishes it’s the latter.

“I’m ____,” you say, fixated on your still conjoined hands. When Taeyong realizes he hasn’t broken away from the hand shake, he drops his arm quickly, coughing to fill the awkward silence. Taeil is none the wiser. 

“If you could show him around the place, that’d be nice.” Taeil says nonchalantly. He walks back into his office, going to take his daily three hour nap. Taeyong looks at you confusedly.

“If you had any worry about this being a strenuous or uptight job-” Taeil’s snoring interjects, “-I can assure you, it is not.” you contend. “It’s like a movie theater, honestly. We run the projection presentations every other hour, and when there’s field trips, we walk the kiddos around for about 45 minutes or so.”

“Ah, really? That’s it, huh?” Taeyong looks a bit disappointed.

“Yeah. Pretty easy,” you say, shrugging. “Oh, and we stock the gift shop.”

—

The next day, Taeyong somehow manages to bomb his first real shift.. You’re shelving plushies in the gift shop when you hear a loud crashing sound. When you make your way to the supply room to see what happened, Taeyong is buried in a pile of commemorative cups on the floor. 

“You okay?” you ask, trying not to laugh. The moon phase tumblers are the most popular of the gift shop items, constantly needing to be restocked. 

“I think so,” he says. As you help him stand, you notice blood on his hand.

“Need a band-aid?” Taeyong’s eyes shimmer with tears, and he places his cut finger into his mouth, pouting a bit. He nods and you grab the first aid kit off the wall. It’s covered in a layer of dust from lack of use. You blow on its surface.

“How’d you cut your finger?” you ask, still giggling a bit.

“I tried to catch the box as it was falling.” He winces as the air hits his wound. “Ouch.”

You “tsk” at him, shaking your head as you open the first aid kit. “Taeyong, you gotta be more careful. Taeil doesn’t care if we live or die!”

He chuckles. “That’s not true! I think he has a soft spot for me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this cleaned up.” You take some alcohol and soak a cotton ball. Then, you clean his (minor) cut, unwrapping a bandage and securing it around his finger. He looks at you with wide eyes.

“Kiss it better for me?” he asks, jutting out his lower lip and extending his hand towards you.

“You wish.”

—

Taeyong and you become quick friends. If he comes in for a shift after you, he brings you ice cream. If the two of you close together, he walks you to your car. If you take a day off, Taeyong sends you pictures of Taeil sleeping.

He’s a great conversationalist as well. You learn a lot about him over the summer. He wanted to be a firefighter before falling in love with art, dancing and music. Now, he has a bachelor’s degree in visual art. He shows you videos of him dancing and lets you look through his sketchbook. He talks about his sister and how she’s just as kind as him. He tells you about his love of stars, and how he mediates on them as if they’re lost lovers. 

Despite the warmth Taeyong’s eyes fill you with, there’s also an underlying sadness in them- stress beyond his years swimming beneath their sparkling glory. He doesn’t speak much of it, but you can feel it. You can also see that stress leaving his body everytime he cranks up the projector for the solar system presentation. His favorite planet is Saturn.

You’re quite fond of Taeyong. You realize this when you catch yourself staring at him on a particularly slow day. A few elderly couples have come to see the permanent exhibit in the front of the facility, but other than that, it’s just you and him here. Even Taeil has taken a day off, the sloth of summer’s near end seemingly blanketing the entire town. The day progresses in slow motion.

Taeyong’s sleeves are rolled up, exposing his arms. You study his tattoos, committing them to memory.  His ever changing hair has been black for a few weeks now, which was a bit out of the ordinary for him. He looks a bit pedestrian, if that’s even possible, and not elven like his usually colorful hair makes him seem.

Despite the snail pace of the day, Taeyong is working way more than is actually necessary- always a self-starter and ready to please. 

“Take a break, Taeyong. You’re gonna have a heat stroke.” The A/C unit is busted. Again. You’ve plugged in a few portable fans, but they’re not doing much.

“Inventory’s gotta get done eventually.” You’re enamored with the multitudes of Taeyong’s character. He’s often an easy going guy, but stern when it counts. Not a killjoy, or anything to that extent, just more upright than you’d assume at first glance. Such is the issue with assumptions; they’re just asking to be subverted. 

You feel bad watching Taeyong lug around boxes by himself, so you push your laziness aside and begin helping.

“I got it,” Taeyong says.

You continue to lift a box, following him on the trek from the supply closet to the gift shop. “I know you’ve got it, but you’re gonna die if you carry all of these on your own.”

“I’m not gonna die,” Taeyong says, blowing a few strands of hair out his face as wobbles about.

“Tell that to the red flush covering your whole body, Superman.” 

Taeyong huffs at you. “You’re so mean to me,” he says. There’s that lower lip again. It’s becoming your weakness, the more he pouts at you. Sometimes you tease him just to see it more often.

“Fine. Want me to stop?” you say, putting down the box you’re carrying. You pretend to walk off.

“No, don’t leave! I feel like I’m gonna die!” Tayong shrieks.

You deadpan at the cartoon of a human standing in front of you.

__

It’s a field trip day and the planetarium is packed. Unlike the usual, Taeil is actually helping, saying something along the lines of “all hands on deck” as if that doesn’t entail a total of six hands. The children stream in like a school of fish, neon summer camp shirts glowing in the bright sun. They’re beaming at one another, skipping and running around with boundless energy. Their liveliness sparks something in you, smiling so much that makes your cheeks hurt. What hurts more, however, is seeing how sweet Taeyong is with the kids. He takes the lead on showing them around the permanent exhibit, explaining the solar system and composition of stars and other space rocks. You watch from the back of the crowd, blaming the flush of your face on the temperature and not on the fact that Taeyong’s smile makes your breath hitch.

You should think he’s the nerdiest person in the world right now. This whole exchange would be great material to tease him with (-something about how he’s a softie and a loser or whatever). However, all you feel is a terrifying fondness taking over you, ripping at your chest as if it’d been ravaged by a lovesick wolf, its claw marks creating deep caverns where your heart lies. It fucking hurts how much you simply like him. You don’t even want to imagine- no, you can’t  even imagine what’d it be like to fall in love with him. 

One of the kids asks about Saturn and Taeyong nearly erupts with excitement. He talks in detail about its rings, tracing his fingers along the ridges of the replica of the planet. His eyes are sparkling, mirroring the faux stars above him. 

When kids leave, you glance at Taeyong. A tired smile is plastered on his face and he contently sighs. “That was so much fun.”

“I’m not sure who enjoyed it more- you or the kids,” you state. Taeyong chuckles. 

“Definitely me. I almost don’t wanna go home,” he says. 

“Then let’s stay.”

After finishing your closing duties, you and Taeyong meet in the planetarium’s theater. In the center of the rows of seats is a projector.  

“Lemme start the presentation,” he says, queuing up a video about Navajo astrology and constellations. “I’ve never actually gotten the chance to watch Southwestern Skies from the seats.” 

After he presses play, the two of you sit right in the middle of the theater. The video comes to life on the dome shaped ceiling. Your jaw drops in wonderment, feeling less self conscious when you see that Taeyong’s mouth is also agape in your periphery. Then, you’re drifting in outer space with him, your seats floating away into the ether as you become completely absorbed into the stars that surround you. You rest your arm on the divider between your chairs, subconsciously inching your hand towards Taeyong’s. As it draws nearer, your desire to interlace his hand in your own grows. The nerve endings at your fingertips buzz. Taeyong is magnetic. 

“This is my favorite part,” Taeyong whispers, awestruck. You try to break away from looking at him, to instead look at the display above you, but you can’t. Instead, you watch the stars in the reflection of his eyes. 

The dome bursts with an explosion of stars as various constellations fade into view. Orion’s Belt, The Big Dipper, Libra and Virgo- Taeyong had told you about them in detail, insisting on thumbing through his astrology textbook as he explained. (He stole it from the library, leaving five bucks on the counter to rid himself of any lingering karma.) Finally, the Milky Way comes into view- referred to as It Waits for Dawn by the Navajo people. Taeyong audibly gasps. 

“I think the whole thing is your favorite part," you tease. 

“Mmm.” He nods in agreement.

Distantly, your mind wanders to how the summer is coming to a close. You’re not sure what will come of you and Taeyong’s friendship. You hope he won’t be a memory, or strangers like the two of you started as. You want him to be a fixture in your life- a constellation to familiarize yourself with and never tire of, even as the universe expands.

You realize you’ve been laying your head on Taeyong’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” you mumble as you move to sit up. 

“It’s okay,” he says. Then, he places his hand on your head, guiding it back to his shoulder. “Unless your neck hurts, or something. Then, I won’t force you,” he adds hurriedly. 

“No, no. It’s good. I’m good,” you say, returning your head to its original position. When the presentation ends, the lights in the theater automatically come up. Suddenly, the moment feels too intimate for daylight, and Taeyong must agree, because he’s tense. You can feel it in his shoulder, the anxiety radiating off of him in waves, but he doesn’t tell you to move, so you continue to rest your head on him 

“Does the universe scare you? All the stars and planets and the unknown...” Taeyong says out of nowhere. Before you can respond, he says, “Ah, nevermind. Forget I asked.” He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck as he backtracks.

“I like the question, silly!” You consider your answer for a moment, lost in thought. “ How infinite it is, yes. But the universe as a concept is very romantic. Like, philosophically speaking.”

“How so?”

You shrug. “It brought us together.”

“What a pretty thought,” he says. 

Life’s a bunch of little universes sewn together. Self contained and finite worlds that exist within infinity. Like your summer with Taeyong- a blip in the grandeur of your life, simply due to how little time he’s spent in it. You want to sew a little bit more of him into your universe. To make him more than a blip. To make him your entire universe. 

“Can I kiss you?” you ask suddenly, throwing caution to the wind.

“I’d like that,” he contends. 

You lift your head from his shoulder and place a delicate peck to his cheek. Taeyong gently grasps your chin, guiding your face to his. He then kisses you on the lips, tenderly, his lips just barely grazing yours. The moment seems to stretch on for infinity, though only lasting a few minutes, and you make haste to sew it into the fabric of your memory.

a/n: unedited + feedback is always appreciated!

#bloodmoonmuses #nct 127 #lee taeyong x reader #taeyong fic #taeyong fluff #nct 127 fic #lee taeyong #nct taeyong

[cozyjae]

confessions- j.jh 🥂🎙️

info: roommate au, drunk confessions, jaehyun x reader

wc: 3.1k

warnings: alcohol consumption

a/n: i’m posting my old drafts <3

A loud crash and a subsequent string of low giggles late at night draws you out of your room, cautiously approaching your living room with curiosity and slight concern, only to find your roommate staring at a mess of records strewn across the floor.

It takes all of three seconds for you to realize Jaehyun is drunk, noting the way his head whips around to you suddenly, surprised to see you- as if you don’t live together, before breaking out into a wide smile, skin obviously flushed a deep red.

“Hey!” He says loudly before wincing at his own voice, frown immediately forming as his dark eyebrows knit together. “I didn't wake you up did I?”

“No, I haven’t gone to bed yet,” you wave it off, watching the way he stands up slowly as your eyes drift to the opened bottle of wine on the coffee table, “I was just making sure you were okay.”

In the almost year that you had been roommates with Jaehyun, you don’t think you have ever actually seen him drunk. Occasionally he would come home late at night, a little louder than usual with hooded eyes and red ears, accompanied by his friends- but you have never seen him anything past tipsy.

“Have you been drinking?” You ask rhetorically, already knowing the answer that he confirms as he nods, “You want some?”

“Uh,” you hesitate but are easily convinced by his hopeful expression, wide eyes looking at you with anticipation, “sure, I guess.”

Jaehyun grins, sitting on the sofa and patting the cushion next to him as he pours you a glass, overly concentrated on the simple task as he hands it to you, fingertips brushing against yours. He bumps his glass with yours before he drowns the wine quickly, making you laugh into your glass, only taking small sips.

You watch him with interest, having never seen Jaehyun like this. You were comfortable with your roommate but not drinking wine together at 2 am comfortable, yet he seemed completely content.

Before your former rommate moved out to live with her boyfriend, she introduced you to Jaehyun- a friend of a friend who needed a place to stay as soon as possible after transferring universities.

Since then, you’ve fallen into a non romantic- yet domestic, routine with each other that brought a comforting normalcy and company to your daily life. You took turns grocery shopping and cooking meals and split up chores and kept a shared to do list.

Although Jaehyun was a relatively private person, he was still extremely polite. He played music but it was always at a considerate soft, volume- never too loud. If he stayed out late, he would always tip toe back in and if he had an early class and you were still sleeping, you could always hear his endearingly quiet movements through the walls of your apartment and sometimes the clatter of pots followed by a muttered curse word.

During the first few months of living together, whenever you felt like doing something and your other friends were busy, you always found yourself naturally drifting towards Jaehyun as he did the same with you, often appearing at your doorway with a timid invitation to watch a movie that he rented.

But as time passed, you slowly began to go to Jaehyun first, spending time together not just when your other friends were unavailable as Jaehyun simply became a friend himself.

As much as your friends pestered to you and made obvious the potential relationship between the two of you, you never really pursued anything with Jaehyun. What you had together right now was enough, and you wouldn’t want to ruin everything and lose your roommate and now- friend, by an incorrect assumption. 

Said friends also befriended Jaehyun after he moved in with you as your individual friend groups began to intertwine. Like earlier today, when Donghyuck was over studying and catching up with you, Jaehyun hung around as you ignored the not so subtle hints and ques Donghyuck attempted to give. Even after Jaehyun left, your friend continued with his declaration that you and Jaehyun were obviously infatuated with each other, which you rolled your eyes at and refuted.

You don’t deny that now and then, you could notice a certain level of tension between the two of you, whether it was when the cashier at the grocery store assumed you were a couple or how Jaehyun always listened to your late night, stress induced rants, nodding along as you confide in him and offering kind advice. 

You could always see the two of you moving forward with a relationship, you already lived together and were comfortable with each other- but you can never truly know what Jaehyun thinks and you were definitely not going to outright ask him. 

And so, your budding feelings for Jaehyun stayed between you and Donghyuck- much to your friend’s dismay as you reprimanded his meddling and turned your focus back on the schoolwork he had come over to complete.

Jaehyun’s abrupt movements snap you out of your thoughts as he leans down, reaching for the discarded records, suddenly fixated on opening a specific one. “Do you need help?” You ask warily, watching the way his tongue pokes out in intense concentration.

“No,” he says distantly but his actions say otherwise. You lean down anyways as he fumbles with pulling out a specific disk, taking the record from him gingerly and pulling the sleeve off easily. 

“Do you want me to put this on?” You ask softly as he nods, sitting back up to watch the way you move across the room, staring at the way your oversized shirt hangs off of your frame, legs exposed under the thick material as you stand on your tiptoes to reach the device that Jaehyun brought with him when he moved in. 

You fiddle with the record player, carefully putting on the record that instantly fills the room with soft, melodic jazz that echoes through the player’s speakers with a low, soothing rhythm.

Jaehyun smiles at the familiar song, arm thrown loosely across the sofa, “this one’s my favorite,” he says quietly, making you hum in appreciation. You move back to where he’s sitting, about to join him before Jaheyun reaches out to grab your hand. “Dance with me,” he whispers seriously.

“You’re really drunk,” you say matter of factly, biting back a laugh at his determined expression as you let him use your weight to pull himself up to stand, swaying slightly as he stares at you with hooded eyes.

“Yeah,” Jaehyun agrees before a smile breaks out across his features, dimples appearing in the soft pink, tinged skin of his cheeks, “I can still dance though.”

You laugh silently as he looks at you for a few more moments, smile slowly turning into a small pout. Before he can say anything else your tongue pokes in your cheek as you mutter a quiet, “fine.”

Jaehyun’s arm quickly comes to circle around your waist carefully, almost testing how the touch feels. It felt different, him touching you in a way he never had before. It wasn’t like your usual, accidental touches, like when you bump into each other in the small space of your shared kitchen while cooking and he places a hand on the small of your back while moving past you. 

This felt so intentional, touch weighing heavy on your skin, feeling the way his fingertips each move individually on your waist. Jaehyun looks at you for an okay and you nod your head, “yeah,” you say softly, letting him pull you closer. Your hand comes to rest on his shoulder, skin covered by the simple black t-shirt he’s wearing.

He sways both of you from side to side, hands warm as one stays on your waist and the other holds your own hand delicately. He’s silent from his overwhelming concentration, mind filled with only buried thoughts of clouded admiration and attraction. 

Jaehyun rests his head in the crook of your neck, burying himself into your shoulder as you feel his lips pull into a smile that ghosts along your collar bone and his nose press further into your skin.

The short duration of the song goes by in a hazed quickness that you don’t notice until the song fades out slowly, offering only a few seconds of low static before the sound cuts abruptly and silence fills the room. 

Jaehyun waits before reluctantly breaking and immediately plopping back down on the sofa, letting his body sprawl across the cushions. “That was nice,” he mumbles as you frown at his new position, already concerned about the possibility of him falling asleep there. 

“Here, why don’t you let me help you into your room?” You say gently, knowing his current position on the small couch would only lead to neck crooks and aches in the morning to go along with his already predictable hangover.

Jaehyun hums distractedly, mind elsewhere, not disagreeing but not making it easier for you to help him.

You hoist him up, holding his forearm as his fingers graze over your hand, rubbing your skin softly. His fingertips run over your wrist then hand, grasping onto you for stability.

“How did you get this drunk on wine?” You complain more to yourself, realizing the extent of his lack of dexterity as Jaehyun just laughs breathlessly, mumbling something incoherent into the material of your shirt.

He lets you lead him into his room fairly easily with little resistance. You move him to your side, letting him wrap and arm around your shoulder for support.

You open his door and Jaehyun suddenly breaks away from your grasp to flop onto his bed, sprawling out comfortably.

You smile watching him squirm on his bed, shifting to get comfortable, even drunk Jaehyun was endearing. You make sure he’s in a better position than before and then move to leave, figuring you would see him in the morning with Advil to help the hangover he was bound to have.

“Don’t go,” Jaehyun says lowly, voice laced with realization, trailing off as you turn back to face him. 

“You need sleep,” you say and Jaehyun doesn’t respond, instead he looks at you intently before suddenly groaning and frowning exaggeratedly, his full lips forming a small pout.

“I’m so embarrassed,” he groans, not making eye contact as his thoughts begin to spill freely with no filter.

You sit on the foot of his bed while his gaze follows your movements. “Don’t be,” you say, voice laced subconscious sincerity, “It’s fine. Remember how you helped me when I was drunk after Johnny's party last month? That was embarrassing.”

He laughs, shaking his head, “no, that was cute.”

You give him a small smile, not bothering to disagree. It’s quiet for a few moments as you watch Jaehyun, his eyes close as his eyelashes brush lightly against his skin. You watch the slow and steady rising of his chest, shirt hanging off his frame, exposing the warm skin of his chest and collarbones. 

You start to think Jaehyun fell asleep until his eyes suddenly flutter open to meet yours directly as he sucks in a deep breath, pausing for a few seconds before speaking. “I love you,” he blurts randomly, making your lips part in complete surprise.

You’re momentarily stunned by his words, unable to process any of your own as Jaehyun continues casually, “like,” he breathes out, “really.” He giggles lightly, different from his usual, low laugh. Jaehyun’s eyes widen before he covers his mouth with his palm, seemingly realizing what he just confessed, mumbling a muffled, “oops.”

His words ring in your mind continuously but you refuse to let them completely register. Jaehyun was drunk and you couldn't allow yourself to bask in an admission that you doubt he would remember in a few hours. You smile wistfully, “I’m gonna go,” you say quietly, patting his leg.

“Wait- what do you say to my romantic confession?” He whines, reaching his arms out as his hand plays at your fingers to try and keep you next to him.

You let out a small laugh, letting his fingertips rub over your knuckles, eyebrows raising jokingly, “That was your romantic confession?”

Jaehyun doesn’t respond at first, only staring at you as his gaze flickers down to your lips, obviously lingering too long on your lips. You laugh again, causing Jaehyun's eyes to snap back up to meet yours, matching your smile and laughing airily.

He shifts, hair splayed across his pillow, “yeah,” He says simply.

“You’re drunk. I don’t-,” you stop, trying to find the right words to seriously break down what he said, “we can talk about it in the morning.”

He sighs, air puffing out his cheeks stubbornly, “Technically,” he cranes his neck to look at his bedside clock, “it’s morning right now,” he says, staring at the glaring, red 2:49 AM.

You roll your eyes, turning and looking away to hide your smile as Jaehyun grins at your reaction, “do I make you laugh?”

“Yes, Jaehyun,” you say with endearment, noting how he looked like a child seeking validation with wide eyes and concerned, furrowed brows, anxiously awaiting your response.

“Do you think I’m funny?” He asks again in a small voice.

“Yes,” you reiterate gently as he continues, propping himself up by his elbows. “Is that why you laughed today when Donghyuck asked if you liked me?” He asks pointedly, only blinking as he awaits your response. ‪

Your chest constricts and your mouth opens in surprise, confusion reading across all your features, “Jae, what? You heard that?”

Your mind instantly replays the conversation you and Donghyuck had earlier that afternoon when he asked if you liked Jaehyun after the elder had left. 

You remember laughing awkwardly at Donghyuck’s question, choosing avoidance over straight up denial, but it still didn’t stop a wide grin from appearing on his features, looking at you like he had confirmed his suspicions, “Oh you totally do.” 

“So what?” You mutter, shoving your textbook away from you to lay on your bed, “it’s not like I’m going to do anything about it, and I don’t know, I doubt he feels the same way.” 

Now, Jaehyun sighs loudly, making you realize he must have only heard the first part of your conversation. “You don’t like me.” He says matter of factly.

You look into his searching eyes, lips twisting as you think of what to say. “Of course I do, Jae. I just- I don’t know, I thought I didn’t know if you felt the same way,” you explain, giving him a small smile, “And besides, I didn’t want to admit something that to Donghyuck in the first place.”

He hums, seemingly content, “I like it when you call me that.”

“Jae?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, hand reaching back out to hold yours as you hesitate. “I- I, think we should finish talking about this in the morning.”

He blinks, retracting his own hand. “What does that mean?”

“It just means you’re drunk right now.”

He seems to take that as an acceptable explanation, satisfied with your response and reaction to his admission. When you bid him goodnight he only smiles, relating a soft, “good night,” before you’re closing his door quietly, rubbing your face in confusion.

Jaehyun’s words leave you lying in bed unable to get rid of the fluttering feeling in the pit of your stomach and unable to sleep due to the feeling of eventually confession and discussion the next morning would entail.

You wonder what you would even say, what Jaehyun would even say, and if he even truly meant or remembered what he admitted. It makes you nervous, so nervous that you fall asleep with a feeling of dread overshadowing any excitement or anticipation you would have otherwise felt.

-

“Morning Jae,” you say knowingly, amusement monetarily overpowering your nervousness as your obviously hungover roommate comes into view.

Jaehyun turns from his seat at the kitchen bar with messy hair and tired, narrowed eyes due to the light that streams through the large bay window in your apartment.

He laughs tensely, hand on his mug as he looks up at you nervously. “Yeah, really nice,” he says sarcastically, smiling with you before he clears his throat, expression instantly changing and making your voice immediately catch in your throat. “About last night,” he starts, turning away from the countertop to face you.

You bite your lip, awaiting the worst rejection stemming from his own confession, waiting for him to deny and apologize for any admission from his drunken consciences

“Well- first, I'm sorry about that, that was,” he pauses, struggling to find the right words, “uh- not me and very embarrassing.”

You nod, not really knowing what to say as he continues. “But thank you for helping me,” he gives you a smile that you return easily.

“Yeah, of course,” you say, feeling his choice of words had completely affirmed what you feared.

“And I remember some of the stuff I said and I just want to say- I mean, that was not how I wanted to talk to you about my feelings. But I want you to know that I really do like you.” Jaehyun says everything in one breath, adding a small, “if haven’t ruined any chance I had with you.”

He pauses to read your expression that doesn’t look immediately negative as he’s encouraged to carry on. “I overheard your conversation with Donghyuck yesterday and then,” Jaehyun visibly cringes as he continues, “I got kind of sad and drank the wine Yuta bought me from forever ago. I shouldn’t have listened and I shouldn’t have done,” he gestures wildly with his hands, “whatever that was.”

He looks at you with a rawly vulnerable expression that you have never seen before, wincing as he recounts the events from last night while he awaits your response.

“I mean, I really like you too,” you say quietly, making his head snap up in surprise, “really?”

“Yeah,” you say, thinking it was pretty apparent. “Of course I do. I really like living with you and I really like spending time with you,” you twist your fingers subconsciously, shifting under his gaze, “I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“I guess I made that easier,” Jaehyun laughs and you so do you, taking the seat next to him and resting your elbow on the counter, looking at him with raised eyebrows in agreement, “it was a very bold approach.” 

Jaehyun’s smile widens before he bites his lip, “Can I kiss you?” He asks shyly before rambling, “I mean I’m pretty hungover right now so maybe not but-.” 

You cut him off, moving closer than you already were, leaning up and reaching up to press your lips into his sweetly, breaking apart after a few seconds only to smile up at him- your roommate who had suddenly become so much more, “I don’t mind.”

#nct blurbs #nct imagine #jaehyun imagine #jaehyun scenario #nct scenario #jaehyun fic #nct fluff

[softpascalito]

Raised on little light - 2003!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: You don't have anywhere to go on Christmas Eve. Much less anyone to celebrate with. A neighbour down the street turns out to be your personal Christmas miracle.

Relationships: Joel Miller xF! Reader WC: 1500 Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Forehead Kisses, First Kiss, Pre-Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Pre-Cordyceps Outbreak Joel (The Last of Us), Christmas, Christmas Eve, Author needs therapy (and sleep), domestic abuse Read on AO3 full advent calendar (updated daily)

notes: hello loves. today is another sad one. please read the tags. the abuse is not very detailed but it's there. this fic is very personal to me and (partly) based on how i spent christmas last year. any comments are very appreciated. i'm sending you all all my love &lt;3 also i wanna mention that this has similar tropes to a longer story idea im working on so feel free to let me know if you like the vibes of this and would like to read more :) title from the song northern attitude by noah kahan and hozier

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

for everyone who has spent christmas alone.

The worst part is the shouting.

You can ignore the passive-aggressive snides, mumbles that reach your ears in passing. You can ignore the absence of the feeling of safety. You have even learned to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach when you apply another layer of concealer.

But the shouting seems to follow you. No matter how many rooms you put in between them and you, the sounds crawl through the house, slipping under doors and into hiding nooks that you’ve long outgrown.

It makes you freeze in your tracks, every time it starts. You stand still for a moment, listening, trying to hear what it is about, how bad it seems. There is always the gnawing fear of them running out of words and turning to actions instead. And despite the fact that you’re a grown adult, that you’re technically not the helpless child you once were, it still scares you like nothing else does.

It’s exhausting to exist in a violent house.

You silently let the front door fall shut behind you, stumbling a little as you make your way to the street. Your feet seem to have a mind of their own, carrying you out into the night without a goal in mind. Just get out of the house.

It’s surprisingly cold for Austin and you draw your jacket a little tighter around your shoulders as you move down the sidewalk. The houses on your street are lit up with Christmas lights, stars dangling in windows, colorful fairy lights wrapped around fences, a lit up reindeer figurine a few houses over. 

A truck drives by, the engine humming quietly, before it pulls into a driveway two houses ahead of you. When you pass the house with your head down, the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut makes you jump slightly.

The voice that follows doesn’t.

“That you?”

It only takes Joel a few strides until he’s in front of you, brown eyes searching your body for god knows what. There is a brown paper bag in his hand but you don’t dare lift your head higher to look at his face.

“Whatcha doing out here? Escaping the family gathering?” He jokes lamely, remembering the way he used to sneak off during the holidays if it got too overwhelming.

“Something like that,” you mutter back, trying to put on something resembling a smile. Either it doesn’t work or Joel is too smart to be fooled by it. Because he nods softly, bending his back a little to try and get a look at your face, “Can you look at me for a second, darlin’?”

Oh, he’s so not playing fair. He knows exactly what that nickname does to you, especially coming from him. And he’s shamelessly abusing that.

You swallow, hard and lift your head enough for the porch light to hit you. Joel’s face instantly changes. The somewhat cheerful, joking manner he’d been in a second ago is replaced by concern and something else. Something that almost seems like anger.

He drops the bags of groceries to the floor, bringing both hands up to cup your face. He’s mere inches away when he suddenly stills, eyes softening a bit, “Can I?”

You give a small nod and right away, he closes the distance, turning your head a little to get a better look at the black eye that is undoubtedly getting worse by the second. He should get some credit for not flinching away, you think, for not pretending not to see it like everyone else does.

“You put ice on it or anything?” Joel mutters, his gaze flying over the rest of your neck, clearly checking for more injuries. You barely have time to shake your head no before one hand is on your back, steering you back towards the Miller’s house. “We’ll get you patched up, okay?” Joel asks softly. When he sees your gaze, he adds, “Won’t take long, promise.”

The mood inside the living room could not reflect yours less. There is a bright tree by the window, colorful lights twinkling away. You’re barely inside when you hear footsteps coming down the stairs and you stop in your tracks. Of course Sarah would be home. You’ve gotten to know her rather well this year, after she almost failed Biology last year and when Joel mentioned it in passing, you offered to help out.

You don’t plan on letting her see you like this. She’s smart, like her dad and your afraid that just like him, she’ll know instantly what’s going on.

Joel tugs on your sleeve, motioning for you to stay. Then he turns the corner, catching Sarah at the foot of the stairs before she can reach you. Her voice still carries through to you.

“Did you get the ice cream?” Joel chuckles softly, “I did, dessert is safe. Listen, I gotta- I mean, Santa’s gotta do some last minute preparations. You mind staying in your room for a bit? And no peeking.” The girl grumbles something under her breath but heads back upstairs and a moment later, you hear her door close, a small breath of relief escaping you at that.

Joel's head appears around the corner, “Come on. I’ve got some stuff in the kitchen.”

He pulls out a first aid kit, disinfecting your wound carefully before wrapping a few ice cubes into a towel and dabbing it against your cheek a few times before holding still. The cold immediately seems to work and you involuntarily let out a sigh of relief.

Joel smiles a bit, his hand still pressing the cool sensation against your skin, “That’s better, hm? Just don’t leave it on too long.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease, bringing your own hand up to take the towel from him. There is a small moment, merely a few seconds, when your hand sneaks below his, your skin pressed against him, somehow fitting more perfectly than you ever couldve imagined. It feels even better than the ice.

Joel let go after a moment, taking a step back and turning to the kitchen that is messy with dinner preparations.

“She made you get ice cream?” You ask softly, hoping to steer the conversation into a somewhat pleasurable direction.

“Yeah, yeah, she did. You know how she is,” Joel smiles softly. It doesn’t last long. He clears his throat, glancing down at his feet.

“Listen, I know it ain’t my place. But this is not- it’s not normal. Not even close.”

“It is to them.”

Your voice is quiet. You don’t even want to say it. But something about Joel has always made you open up faster and more intensely than you have with anyone else, “It doesn’t happen that much.”

“Ain’t supposed to happen at all, darlin’,” he argues softly. His eyes fly to the window for a second. There’s a string of lights hung up in it as well. You think there’s not a single one at your house. You were raised on little light.

“We’re making dinner in a bit, Sarah’s pick, and Tommy can’t make it so we are one person short.”

You furrow your brows slightly, wondering for a moment why he is telling you about his dinner plans. But then- it washes over you.

“I couldn’t- I’m sure you have a lovely night planned and-”

“Won’t change if you’re there. It’ll still be a lovely night,” Joel says softly, nudging your foot with his. “Come on, let me- let me do this for you.”

You let him. There is dinner, luckily with no more questions about your slightly swollen face. Joel offers you some wine, lets Sarah pick a movie, pretends to hate that it’s some cheesy Christmas movie. You still catch him smiling at the screen throughout the film.

The teenager falls asleep halfway through and Joel gives you an apologetic look before he carries her to bed. When he comes back and sits down, his hand almost automatically finds your knee. Between the romantic movie and the second glass of wine, the atmosphere between you has changed.

“You know our door is always open, right? Sarah loves having you here.”

“Only Sarah?” You raise a brow, leaning into Joel’s broad form a little more and his eyes soften as he looks down on you, “You’ve had a long day. We shouldn’t add any more to that.”

“What if I want to?” Your face is hovering inches from his. You don’t remember even being this close to him, “Joel, please.”

He can’t resist your begging. He doesn’t think he could if he tried.

Christmas Eve brings you your first kiss with Joel. He runs his hands over your cheeks, always careful to avoid the bruise and even when you pull back to catch your breath, his mouth stays on your face, kissing your chin, your nose, your eyes.

He kisses your forehead an hour later when you’re wrapped into his sheets, after you’ve moaned and then cried immediately afterwards. He holds you through all of it, his voice barely a whisper to not wake Sarah.

“I like having you around too, darlin’.”

notes: thank you for reading. i love you &lt;3

#pedropascaladventcalender #softpascalito #advent calendar #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel / reader #joel x reader #joel miller / reader #joel miller / you #christmas tree #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #moodboard #mb #sarah miller #christmas #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #tw abuse #abusive family #cn abuse #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #pedro pascal fanfiction #angst #hurt comfort #abuse #domestic abuse

[tbmunson]

Tattoos & Trig - Gareth Emerson x Fem!Reader

Summary: You sit next to Gareth in math class but he draws on you daily instead of paying attention. Eddie, your older brother, tells you to tutor him. (Gareth is a senior. Everyone is 18+)

Warnings: Fluff. Nudity, non descriptive and nonsexual.

WC: 1100ish

NSFW part 2 here

Masterlist

Being Eddie Munson's baby sister had its perks. You had a big brother that would go to war for you at the drop of a hat. You had a bond with someone, and could tell them anything without fear of being judged. You had a friend group of the most tight knit misfits you could have asked for. You had everything you needed.

"Hey, Y/N, Gareth needs some help with trig. Can you help him out?" Eddie asked as you settled down at the Hellfire table.

You looked up at the puffy haired boy and smiled. "Oh, I know he does." You chuckled, knowing because you shared the same second period math class as him. "Who do you think draws on me all day?" You added, pulling up your t shirt sleeve.

"I can't help you let me distract myself." Gareth countered, rolling his eyes jokingly at you.

"I can't help you don't know what the hypotenuse is." You countered, smirking at the boy.

"You're gonna teach him though. Hellfire room. After school. I'll be back at six to pick you up." Eddie said, tapping his fingers on the table.

"Three hours?" You raised your eyebrows at your brother and groaned.

"Yep. I wanna make sure you get a good first lesson." He smirked, going back to his food.

Eddie was well aware of the crush you had on his bandmate and good friend. He also didn't mind the idea of the two of you getting together. He knew Gareth was a good kid, and you were willing to bet Eddie couldn't give a shit less if he could calculate anything about triangles.

Gareth chuckled and reached for your left hand. "I wasn't finished." He grabbed his pen and resumed his work on the rose, adding vines and leaves to go up your arm as high as the short lunch period would allow.

You let him work while you ate, filling the air with random conversation until it was time to go.

The rest of the day went by easily and you met Gareth down at the Hellfire room to get to work.

"So I figured we could go back over the vocabulary for the first little bit. You need to know what the words mean before we start doing the actual math." You explained, hauling the textbook from your bag.

Gareth nodded, watching you closely. "You know, I could just copy your homework insead. That would boost my grade enough." He said, resting his chin in his hand.

You looked over at him and chuckled. "Yeah? What would we do with the rest of our two and a half hours?"

"I actually have this really cool idea for the sleeve." He said, motioning to your ink covered arm. "But you don't have to because you'd have to take your shirt off." He blushed bright and looked down.

"What did you have in mind?" You tapped the eraser of your pencil against the table.

"Just some more vines and roses up your arm and down your back, maybe a little on your chest." He answered, his bright red fading to a softer pink.

You nodded and smiled. You'd always enjoyed his hands on you, granted it was never to that extent but the idea excited you. "Yeah, sure. Copy." You handed him the sheet you'd finished in class and put the text book away.

Half an hour later you were laid across the table in only your jeans and bra as Gareth worked the pen across the upper part of your arm.

"Do you wanna be a tattoo artist?" You asked curiously as he hummed.

"Mhm. That's why I practice on you so much." He replied, dragging the pen up your shoulder until it hit your bra strap.

"You can move that." You said, looking up at him.

He hooked his finger around his and looked between it and your shoulder. "To where?"

You shrugged and grabbed it before sliding it down your arm and off of your body. "There."

He nodded and hummed happily as he continued working.

Another hour had passed and you were now laying face down on the table with Gareth working close to your bra. "Can I unhook this? I need to get all the way down your back." He sounded more confident than he had when asking you to take off your shirt.

You shrugged, nearly asleep from the relaxing movements of the pen. "Go ahead, Gare."

It wasn't until you felt his hand slide over your skin and his fingers dip under the lace to unhook the bra that your eyes widened. You couldn't stop the chills that raced over your skin as the tips of his fingers skipped across your skin.

"Chilly?" He asked casually tucking the fabric under your body to keep it out of the way.

"Something like that." You answered as he went back to work.

Neither of you realized the time had flown by. It was 5:45 and Gareth had just finished the elaborate drawing on your skin.

"Can you take some pictures of it so I can see?" You asked, fishing the polaroid from your bag.

He nodded, grabbing it. "How do you want to..." He wasn't sure what to ask.

"Take some up close. I want to be able to piece it together. Get a couple a little farther away too." You instructed, pushing your hair over your right shoulder. Your right hand covered your boobs, bra hanging at your elbow as he photographed you.

"You're beautiful." His voice was so low you almost didn't catch it, but you did.

"Thank you." You blushed wildly as you dressed yourself, facing away from him.

He spread the pictures out on the table to let them develop.

"Wow. I need you to actually tattoo this on me." You smiled, picking up one picture of yourself from the back, looking over your shoulder at him.

"That's my favorite." He commented, looking at it with you.

You offered it to him. "You can keep it. Don't let your girlfriend see." You teased, knowing he was just as single as you were.

He laughed a sarcastic 'Ha ha' and took the picture. "I'll keep it somewhere private." He replied, pulling out his wallet and sticking it in there.

"You gonna keep it there?" You asked, grabbing at the rest of the pictures to put away.

He shrugged and sat. "Thought about it. Does that make you uncomfortable?"

You shook your head and tucked the pictures into your bag. "No."

He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards him, down into his lap. "Good."

You felt like you couldn't breathe. You rested your hand on his shoulder to balance yourself. "Are you going to kiss me or not?" You asked, squeezing his hand.

His free hand rested on the back of your neck, pulling you down.

"Stuck between 'What the fuck are you doing to my sister?' and 'It's about fucking time dude.'" Eddie's laugh broke the moment and you pulled away from Gareth.

You glared at your brother and flipped him off. "You couldn't have been just a little bit late?"

#gareth emerson x reader #gareth the great #gareth stranger things #gareth emerson #gareth emerson fluff #gareth emerson x y/n #gareth emerson x fem!reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things

[apocalyptic-byler]

🎶✨when you get this, put 5 songs you actually listen to, then publish. Send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers/mutuals (non-negotiable, positivity is cool)✨🎶

HIHIHI THANK YOU FOR THE ASK!!! <33333

THIS SONG SLAPS I LOVE IT SO MUCH like the whole vibe of it is just so. i love it. been on repeat for a couple days now

HE GOT THAT BOYISH LOOK THAT I LIKE IN A MAN I AM AN ARCHITECT IM DRAWING UP THE PLANS HE’S SO OBSESSED W ME AND BOY I UNDERSTAND (boy 👦 i👁️ under⬇️ stand🧍🏽‍♀️) OHHHH ✨✨✨ LYRICAL SMILE INDIGO EYES HAND ON MY THIGH WE COULD FOLLOW THE SPARKS ILL DRIVE

THE PART RIGHT BEFORE THE BRIDGE WHERE HE SINGS BLEEEEEDS AND HE CARRIES THAT NOTE INTO THE BRIDGE AND THE BEAT DROPS OHHHHHH IVE ASCENDED TO HEAVEN THIS IS DEFINITELY ONE OF HIS BEST SONGS

daily song to cry about. YOU DONT REALLY WANNA HEAR THE TRUTHHHHH DO YOU???? IT’S OBVIOUS TO ANYONE WHO EVER KNEWWWW YOUUUU that one meme that he posted on his story that was had the video of this guy going LALALA LALALA and the text was like conan after writing the most devastating lyrics I FOUND THAT SO FUNNY I WISH I HAD THE VIDEO

A CERTAIN FANFIC GOT ME RE-OBSESSED WITH THIS SONG SO THAT HAS ALSO BEEN ON REPEAT FOR UH. A WHILE NOW AAAAAA LOVE THIS

I KNOW IT SAID FIVE SONGS BUT I REALLY WANTED TO INCLUDE THIS ONE TOO BECAUSE LIKE. IT IS WCS WHO WOULDNT INCLUDE THIS??? this song. THIS. SONG. i think it speaks for itself. IF CLARITYS IN DEATH THEN WHY WONT THIS DIEEEE YEARS OF TEARING DOWN OUR BANNERS YOU AND IIIIII LIVING FOR THE THRILL OF HITTING YOU WHERE IT HUURRRTTTSS GIVE ME BACK MY GIRLHOOD IT WAS MINE FIRRRRRSSSSTTTT

#I SPENT SO MUCH TIME ON THIS LMAO #i put much thought into this #THANKS AGAIN FOR THE ASK I LOVE RECIEVING THEM!!!! <3333

[ren-therose]

Mornings Like These

Dad!Peter Parker X Mom!Reader

Summary: Peter and you are parents, raising your kids out of your home and the rebuilt Avengers Headquarters. Needless to say, your kids came with some...unique quirks.

WC: 1.3k words

Warning: Minor FATWS spoiler, Mentions sex, but mostly just cute kids and fluffy parent content

A/N: So, I am a nanny, if you can't tell by my depth of detail. The family I currently am working for has a baby and a elementary kid, and they are both SUPER CRAZY. So much energy, so much love, and a little mischief. The baby is crazy strong and a busy bee, while the brother is non-stop moving. I love my kids so much, and they were my inspiration for this.

Big, chocolate eyes were looking up as you, while you wiggle your fingers. Two small hands reached out to your index fingers, gripping on tightly as you smiled down at the baby laying below you. He was wearing a red Spider-man onesie, no doubt one of many your team had gifted you. You probably had at least 12 Spider-man related onesies, but you didn't mind. Benji held quite a resemblance to his father. His hair was a little lighter, but his curls were quite prominent on the back of his head. His eyes, so big and warm, reminded you so much of your husbands, the way his lashes would flutter when he sleeps.

But the thing that he really resembled was how strong this baby was. A lot of people don't realize how strong babies are, ultimately underestimating them. You were right not underestimate his strength, except he is no ordinary baby. As he laid on his changing table, gripping your finger, the two of you faced off before the daily struggle you would both face.

It started with poking him all over, getting him to relax. He loved it when you played with his feet, nibbling all over his toes and up to his chucky thighs. You would blow on his tummy, making him laugh and grab your hair. When you were loose from his grip, you would then carefully unsnap his onesie, trying to be discreet with your actual intention. He continued to wiggle his way out, which ultimately helped in your favor. Now was the difficult, free of his restraints, he started rolling around, not unlike an alligator, as he attempted to make his escape. When you turned to grab a new diaper, he made his move, practically launching himself off the table. Quick reflexes wasn't your superpower, in fact, you didn't even have one. Your dad thought it was funny calling himself a mechanic, but you soon inherited his title. But when you became a parent, some type of spider-sense developed in you too, and you became even more inept with catching babies and hurtling objects.

Speaking of spidey-senses, Peter suddenly appeared in the doorway, his own brown curls slightly matted to his face, as though he had just been running.

"Did you catch him?" he panted, looking frantically for the baby. You turned around, revealing that the baby was holding onto your arm like a sloth. He was smiling like he had just succeeded in a heist, which in a way, he did- he stole our hearts (cheesy but true). Peter laughed as he walked over to the dangling baby, grabbing him and the diaper from your hands. "I am so sorry, I was trying to get the spider monkey off the walls and ready for daycare." He glanced back at you to see your response. You quirked your brow up, leaning your head to the side. "Dressed?"

Peter turned back to Benji, pulling his onesie back on the happy baby and holding him out to you. "No, but I got this one changed!"

You groaned, wishing that Peter wouldn't always be so sweet on the kids, but you knew that even you weren't immune from their love and charm.

"Toni! Get your butt in here NOW!" You yelled, marching down the hall to the other room. As you were walking, you felt someone drop behind you. Turning around, you saw your oldest smiling at you with a toothless grin. "Hi mommy."

"Girl, if you don't get into your clothes now, we are going to have a problem," you say cooly, ruffling your daughters hair as she ran past into her room.

"Daddy said that I could go with him to the tech lab today!" Toni beamed, but the look you had on your face was not one of excitement. Turning around, you caught Peter trying to sneak by you with the baby, but you had already caught up to him.

"What did you tell Toni about going to the tech lab?" you hissed. Peter jokingly covered the babies ears, whispering back "I couldn't think of anything else! She wouldn't get down."

You scooped Benji from his arms, strumming your finger back and forth across his tummy, eliciting a laugh from the baby. Kissing his chubby cheeks, you sighed as you used your other hand to pull Peter in by the collar of his shirt.

"You are gonna fix this problem, because I checked our schedule and we will have about an hour of free time at work, but if you take her to the tech lab, she won't leave us alone," you defended, leaning into his lips. His hand met your back as he kissed you with a little more force than usual. Times of passion and heated kisses grew slim, but were a special task when given the chance.

"Fine. But only because office sex sounds great," he grumbles against your ear, before smacking your ass and walking away. You yelp as you turn watch him enter Toni's room, hearing her squeal as he picks her up and starts tickling her.

"That wasn't the offer!" you call out, hearing him playfully roar at Toni.

You roll your eyes, happy that he was so good with handling both of the kids. You kissed benji once more on his squishy cheeks, going into the kitchen, thinking about the rest of your day.

Baby on your hip, you started brewing coffee and making everyone's breakfast. Everyone had a pretty set breakfast when it came to their weekday routine. You would make coffee and bagels for you and Peter while the baby stayed on your hip. As the bagels toasted, you would get out the cereal and milk for Toni to pour herself. Then you would strap the baby in their high chair with a bottle of milk, while you did up the bagels. Setting the bagels down on the counter, you would go back to the coffee maker, pouring sugar and creamer in mugs with the coffee (Peter never grew out of his love for sweet coffee). By the time the coffee hit the counter where three chairs were placed, set for two adults and one kid, they were filled by you, your husband and your daughter. You on the edge with the baby, feeding him squeeze pouches, soft bars and yogurt (he was a hungry baby), while you leaned over to read Peters latest file. As your head rested on his arm, he kisses the top of your head before taking a sip of the coffee you made. When you looked over at Toni, she was coloring a Captain America picture, while eating her cereal.

"Baby, who is that for?"

"It's for Uncle Sam! Look, I made him brown!"

You almost spit out your coffee, and Peter choked on his bagel. You both turned to look at the coloring page and stifled a laugh. It was indeed Captain America, but it was of Steve, not Sam. Well, it would have been of Steve if she hadn't colored him with a brown crayon.

You went over and ruffled her again, the curls frizzing out a little more. Plopping a kiss on her forehead while you squished her face, you smiled at her art.

"You know, that might actually be Uncle Steve."

"You know, the one I defeated when I met your mom for the first time," Peter interjected. You shot him a warning look as he stuck his tongue out at you. You looked through the book, trying to find Sam as Captain America, he was towards the back of the book, probably because of his rebranding. It had only been a decade or so that he was Cap, while Steve was Cap for 80 years or something.

Pointing to the page, you said "Do you want to color this one for him too?"

Toni nodded eagerly as she began drawing again. As you walked back over to your seat, you stopped behind Peter and wrapped your arms around his chest. He rested his head against your chest as your hair fell around his face.

"We are so showing Sam when we get to work," Peter snickered.

"Bucky might pee himself," you laugh.

#peter parker #spiderman #spiderdad #peterparker x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker dad #parents #kids #parent au #baby #daughter and son #mcu #marvel #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader

[bakughostly]

ask me to bleed (for you i will)

getou x reader(ish)

wc: 3.1k

a/n: wrote this bc i couldn’t get it out of my HEAD lmao i have... so many Thoughts about Things. spoilers for jjk manga (gojo’s past arc)! a lil bloody a lil unhealthy. this is tbh more of a character study than anything but.... i love him your honor. tw mention (singular, in passing) of domestic violence, canon typical violence.

Life hinges on balance. A feather weighed against a beating heart on the scales of judgement. In order for there to be a perfect world, there has to be a vessel in which the imperfect is stored.

The vessel never sees absolution. It must be destroyed in order for everything it houses to be destroyed as well. It was decided for Suguru long ago that he would be this vessel.

He couldn’t name the moment that this was decided. Perhaps it was as early as his birth, when he was gifted the innate talent to absorb and manipulate cursed spirits. Perhaps it was later, when he pushed himself to his limits to redefine his own understanding of strength beside the man he’d always considered the feather to counterbalance his beating heart.

Or perhaps it was the moment that the bullet met Amanai Riko’s temple, passing through her skull and robbing her of the light in her eyes, on the tail end of his promise to take her home.

The exact moment doesn’t matter. It was decided that Suguru would be this vessel, and he is okay with this, because he knows that his are the only ideals that are unflawed.

He knows that he is right.

He’s tracking a cursed spirit to potentially add to his collection when he meets you. The curse is still manifesting, in the closest thing to a fetal state that a non-human entity can be. It resides in the proofing oven of the oldest bakery on Sanbangai Street, sandwiched between a clothing boutique and a used records shop.

Each day, it grows stronger.

He doesn’t care to know what, exactly, is feeding this manifestation of greed and guilt and grief. He only cares to make it his own. Another useful tool, another knife for his sharpened collection, all glittering like incisors in the back of his mind, teeth gently scraping cerebral membrane.

He likes to sit at one of the bistro tables within the bakery, paying two hundred yen for a small almond croissant that provides him no level of sustenance compared to the waves of energy put out by the growing curse.

There were always people that told him his energy was twisted, made different by his proximity to cursed spirits. Perhaps they were right. Suguru is aware that he is a monster. He is under no impression that he deserves salvation. He is the vessel—these things come with the territory.

It’s one of the many things that Suguru could choose to meditate on, though he stopped meditating the day he left Jujutsu Tech. There are too many voices inside his head, so many of them his own. Some of them not. Old friends, useless memories. So many voices full of doubt, another thing that Suguru left behind along with his former life.

He focuses on you because you are the one that does the baking. Each morning you lower dough into the proofing oven, let it breathe in the growing malice of the people in the bakery, the building, the entire city block, and take it out when it has risen so the sins can bake into bread.

The croissants never taste like hate. This is something Suguru allows himself to notice before his focus returns to the task at hand.

You will most likely be the one that the curse kills first when it reaches maturity. You are a non-sorcerer. You are oblivious to the danger lurking in your own proofing oven. Suguru cares little for you, though tries to be polite when he orders so as to not draw unnecessary attention towards himself.

He is unsuccessful. This becomes obvious when you, without fanfare, add something new to his daily plated croissant. The first words you speak to him outside of the commonplace give-and-take of cashier and customer are: “Do you not like chocolate? I have a few vanilla wafers I can give you instead.”

This is in response to him asking what the scalloped-edge chocolate biscuit is doing on his plate, dusted pretty with powdered sugar, the same as his croissant. The sweetest thing he allows himself these days.

He tells you that the biscuit is fine. He eats it at the table once he has finished his croissant. He listens to the murmurs of the curse, growing in its womb-like oven, becoming more and more sentient with each passing second. Suguru no longer meditates, but he allows himself to sit quietly enough to hear the employees speaking in the back, to tune everything out of his brain except for the voices past the swinging metal door of the kitchen.

I think it was sweet, one of the non-sorcerers says. They begin to sound the same to him. Complaining and begging and sobbing. It’s all noise.

It was embarrassing, you say. Your voice rings in his ears. Not unpleasantly. He ate it just to be polite.

Suguru no longer mediates, but he sits with this information for longer than he perhaps should, lets it click against his teeth like hard candy. One of the voices in his head that he no longer listens to teases him, says, You always were a heartbreaker, Suguru. He ignores it.

You have taken notice of him, and this will not change anything. He is here for a curse, and you will be the first to die.

It is difficult for Suguru to put a finger on when you started reminding him of Amanai. There’s something in the half-moon curve of your smile when you take his order, letting him tell you what he wants though you already know what he’s going to say. Something in the care with which you line up assorted treats in the pastry case, the action meticulous but seemingly effortless.

Or perhaps it is simply the death sentence you wear like a badge, so obvious to Suguru, though you do not feel its burden.

He once thought that a death sentence was an easy thing to change. That he could make a difference. Now that he knows the weight of a life taken, he has realized the futility in trying to save someone that has already been condemned.

You persist, however, with your foolish actions. Offering him a cup of coffee to go with his croissant, of herbal tea after he has told you he’s not a fan of caffeine. Putting little biscuits on his plate each day—sugary cocoa batons and heart-shaped butter cookies and brightly-colored miniature macarons.

There is a creature borne of the filth of humanity brewing in the proofing oven in the kitchen behind you and you’re trying to provide quality customer service.

Suguru has long been disgusted by non-sorcerers, but this is just another thing that makes his days drag long—that make waiting for this curse difficult. Every day he’s forced to interact with you is another time he has to look upon a human resigned to their lot. No ambition. Happy to work their fingers to the bone for nothing but scraps.

Suguru knows that he does not deserve salvation, but he also knows that he has at least lived his life with more purpose than the non-sorcerers he interacts with every day.

You disgust him with your simplicity, with the human way in which you’ve come to believe you deserve nothing better than the minimum, with the quietly pleased look you get on your face when he thanks you for the food. It’s disgusting, he tells himself, despite the fact that some mornings he wakes with the curve of your smile still etched into his subconscious.

It is not until your efforts to manipulate him into some kind of symbiotic relationship cease that Suguru realizes what about you, exactly, reminds him of Amanai.

The day that things change, you are one of two people at the bakery. This is unusual—though the front isn’t often well-staffed, he can usually feel the muted energy of three or four non-sorcerers running around in the back, doing mundane tasks that will fulfill them until they die.

You greet him with a smile, but it is more tired than usual. There is no half-moon quality to it, no quiet radiance.

Suguru cares little for you—for this bakery, for anything but the curse he is here to acquire—but old instincts force him to ask what is wrong. Too polite, too gentle, too kind. You’re a bleeding heart, Suguru. These are things people used to say of him before he slaughtered a village of humans that didn’t have the capacity to learn how to be grateful. Before he learned what a heart really looks like when it bleeds.

“We had a bunch of people quit with no notice,” you tell him. The skin under your eyes is lighter than usual. Make-up, he realizes, and he wonders briefly how dark the circles are that you have hidden. How badly you slept last night because of stress that you have never seemed to succumb to before.

The power of the curse grows daily, its influence reaching tendrils further and further, drilling into the hearts and minds of anyone it can reach. Perhaps you have finally succumbed to it.

“The owner, um. He…” you begin to say, but a sharp look from the older woman behind the pastry case quiets you. You apologize to him though you have done nothing. Wordlessly, you tap his order into your register and plate his croissant, never fully looking at him though you have had no problem meeting his eyes before.

Suguru knows that his convictions are true. He knows that he is right. That although he bears the weight of his own sins, he is only doing what is best for the world.

However—it is, perhaps, something of a shame that he is right. It was that light in your eyes that reminded him of Amanai. That ineffable quality to find joy in the mundane, to wish for nothing more than to live your life how you want to live it.

It’s a freedom that not many have. That Suguru has never had. It was decided for him long ago that he would be the vessel. That he would never see absolution.

And Suguru is okay with this. He has always been okay with this.

Despite everything, it saddens him that your freedom and joy must be sapped out of you before your inevitable death. Amanai died with the idea in her head that her saviors were going to take her back to her home. That she would live freely, the way she wanted to, because Suguru foolishly believed that he was strong and that his counterbalance made him stronger.

But he is not a god. He is not anything more than what he has always been. He is simply the beating heart on the scale of judgement, collecting sins like arteries.

You will die just as every other non-sorcerer dies: alone and afraid. And Suguru will let it happen, because he knows he is right.

When Suguru walks into the bakery and sees blood soaking the tile floors, he believes it is time to collect his curse. He calls his allies to him, twisted figures that fight beside him in shadow, and allows the stores of his cursed energy to flow through his limbs, alighting each bone, each knuckle and joint, with a thrum of power that quiets his too-loud mind.

It is when he walks into the kitchen, stepping over the corpse of the harsh-looking woman that had silenced you the other day, that he realizes he has been too hasty in his judgement.

The curse still grows in the proofing oven, its skin stretched taut over too-long bone, its sharpened teeth gnawing at its own arms. It laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and there is no blood on its hands.

The watery breath that Suguru hears from the body crumpled at his feet is not that of someone with a wound delivered by a curse—but, rather, a human.

Though Suguru kneels for no man, he kneels for you. You’re still breathing, though your throat is cut rather badly, blood no doubt making its way into your esophagus, slowly drowning you in your own life force.

More gentle than he has been in a long, long time, he brushes your hair back from your face. Runs his knuckles down the curve of your cheek. You’re a bleeding heart, Suguru. Pleading eyes meet his. You cannot speak, but he can hear you asking him for help. Begging, just like every other non-sorcerer on their death bed.

It’s strange—Suguru always knew you would be the first to die, but this feels wrong. It feels like your life has been cut off too early. Someone else, greedy, has taken the kill from that which had already claimed it.

Suguru doesn’t even notice the man standing at the other end of the kitchen until he starts yelling. It’s unintelligible, not worth wasting the energy to try to understand. Your skin is warm. He wouldn’t expect this from someone who has lost this much blood.

“Was it him?” he asks you.

He means many things by this. Was it him that caused you to lose that spark of joy you always seemed to carry so effortlessly? Was it him that stopped you from sneaking whatever extra biscuits onto his plate that you could get your hands on?

Was it him that hurt you?

You nod.

There are many ways to create a monster, and Suguru has seen plenty of them. He is the product of plenty of them. So he will continue to do what is expected of him—all of him: the monster, the god, the sorcerer, the man.

And Suguru no longer meditates, but if he did, and if he gave himself time to listen to one of those voices that have again and again expressed their doubts, he might consider that perhaps, this whole time, he has been wrong. Perhaps the blood on his hands has stained more than skin. Perhaps—though he does not deserve salvation—there is a chance that it could somehow be allowed.

This, he realizes, is a foolish train of thought. Suguru has been a monster for far too long to pray for forgiveness. How do you stop a monster from repenting?

You give it reasons to be monstrous.

In an instant, the man that hurt you becomes nothing but blood and tissue caked into the far wall of the kitchen. It’s an unpleasant sight, but not as unpleasant as the one before him—you, haloed in blood, your shaky fingers entwined with his, skin glowing in the halogen aura of the overhead lights.

He thinks, if things were different, he might have spoken to you. He might have asked your name, your hobbies, your aspirations. Why you feel the need to cling to life this dearly, despite its mundanity. He might have known you—such a delicate notion. Bird-bone fragile and tucked into the breast pocket of his coat like a good luck charm.

So many things he might have done. So many things he must do.

Days from now, Suguru will learn that the man he splattered across the white-tile wall was the owner of the bakery. That he had beaten his wife to the brink of death just days before, causing most of his workers to quit, excluding the two employees that didn’t have a security net to fall back on. That he made bail, came to the bakery to hide, and had lost his temper when you protested.

At this moment, all Suguru knows is that you’re rapidly losing both blood and consciousness.

You are a non-sorcerer. You are amongst those he has condemned to death because of the pain you bring to the world. The negative emotions that are so strong, so potent, that they can create beings that take pleasure in maiming and killing the sorcerers that put their lives on the line to protect those that will never understand the lengths of such sacrifice.

But it’s difficult for Suguru to find the negative edge to the half-moon smile you gave him as you tucked a few extra Belgian waffle cookies underneath the flaky edge of his favorite pastry. You’ve never brought pain to him with your offerings, with your warm skin and kind heart—and he is the monster. He is the one that is supposed to thrive in pain. He is supposed to be the vessel for it.

But he wonders: can any vessel truly be without limits?

Suguru learned the weight of a life taken at a very early age. He has seen countless die, many at his hands, many at the hands of others. It’s a silence that sits in the eddies between bones, in the filaments of each muscle, pulling a body taught enough to crumble inwards.

The weight of a life saved is much more profound.

Everything in him seems to be pulled outwards, things that were once forgotten drawn to the forefront. Suguru no longer meditates—but he takes the time to sit under a blooming gingko tree in the Shinjuku Gyo-en Park, just upwind of the river. He takes the time to breathe in the scent of spring, the breeze of new life replacing old rot. He takes the time to ponder the value of your life versus another.

You’re a bleeding heart, Suguru. Perhaps he is.

Not every life is precious. Not every soul is kind. Suguru knows—though he has come to realize that the things he knows are not always set in stone—that his path cannot be diverted. He is just the same as the current that propels the river in front of him, as the way the chrysanthemum blooms sway in the wind. Nature has its course and Suguru has his.

You, however, were worth staunching the flow of fate. He watches, silent, unmoving, his legs crossed beneath him, as you walk across the bridge further down the river, laughing prettily at whatever the non-sorcerer you’re with has just told you.

Suguru thinks that out of everything he has ever done, preserving your half-moon smile was the most important.

He knows that he can never touch you again. The tides of your life are inextricably tied to all he stands against. But he can at least make sure that no matter what happens from here on out, you will still be able to smile.

All vessels have limits. All monsters have souls.

Suguru is under no impression that he deserves salvation—but when he sees you taking joy in the simple act of being alive, throwing your head back in a laugh and exposing the bone-white scar that runs across your throat, he thinks he might have found it.

#getou suguru #jujutsu kaisen #getou x reader #suguru getou x reader #literally......... i have so many thoughts about him #am i procrastinating posting the last two chapters of in the dark of morning? yes #am i guilty about this? also yes lmaooo #i might do more of this! just like. little things. idk #if anyone has ideas. maybe send em in? idk. i can only write if i am like really into the topic that's why i don't do requests or anything #just wanna write more!!!!

[kinda-daily-warriorcat]

Some birds! They're a lot of fun to doodle from reference

#Day 314 #Non WC Daily Drawing #Nothing cat related was turning out good idk #2023 Daily Drawing Challenge

[lovemayari]

If you’re not busy, could you do a Druig imagine where he realizes he likes the reader but he now has no idea how to approach her so he attempts to annoy her to get her attention but she sees straight through his plan?

i thought you'd never ask

editor’s notes ; big brain HHADSHDSHAAHSHAH also, i am kind of busy but like, i wanted to write so i did this HSHADHSAH thank you for requesting, and i hope you like this, let me know what you think ! (i'd probably close requests for imagines soon HSAHASHDHDA it's hard to do more than 1k sometimes <//3)

wc ; 1.59k

warnings ; a few eternals spoilers, cursing, a bit of angst if u squint, corny/classic pick up lines, cuteness overload HAHADHS, also, this may be not following canon as it's been a while since i watched eternals HASKJDHAK so im not sure exactly what happened so pls forgive me KSDHKAAD

summary ; druig did what he thought was best to get your attention, however, you always saw through his plan or the five times druig annoyed you to get your attention and the one time he just said it

pairing ; druig x eternal! reader (fem! reader, but no gendered pronouns if you wish to still read! beautiful is always non-gendered for me but druig calls u that at the end)

want to subscribe to the daily bugle ? [join the taglist]

the first time was just a few days after he noticed he's taken a liking to you. if anyone asked him about his lingering stares, of course, he'd deny it. but with this comes a bigger problem for druig…how would he get you to notice him? and after researching on courting customs of mortals, well, he went with the most obvious choice, be the most annoying shit to capture your attention and then, sweep you off your feet! what could possibly go wrong?

"y/n," he called you as the others danced in front of the fire. you looked at him, narrowing your eyes at him. "what? i'm not doing anything…yet."

"that means you have a plan," you said, a closed-lip grin on your mouth. "well, then, goodbye."

"wait," his hand shot up to yours, he ignored the tingling as he touched your arm. "can i ask you something?"

"alright, what is it?"

"have you ever tried painting or sculpting maybe, arts, in general?"

you looked at him, curious and calculating. "i have, some of the people we've met had taught me. why did you ask?"

"that must be why you're so good at drawing me in," he grinned, raising his brows at you.

you rolled your eyes and laughed, "that is horrendous and i've heard better."

you shot druig a pointed look before going to kingo and sprite, understanding his intentions. sure, druig wasn't the first person to have taken an interest in you, but as an eternal, and being born for quite a while, you were used to men and women, alike, flocking over you. you just wished druig just told you directly…maybe, someday.

the second time was the day before you all separated. you were conversing with some of the locals when druig pulls you aside. you saw the glint in his eye, making you prepare for what's about to come.

"yes, druig?"

"what, i can't greet you, y/n?"

you smiled, eyes narrowing. "of course, that's not what i meant, but you know that, so what is it?"

"did it hurt?"

"when i fell from heaven? no. but it burned, when i climbed back from hell." you smiled, patting his shoulder. "i need to go, sersi's calling me. maybe next time?"

sersi understood immediately what happened when you huffed next to her. "he did it again, did he?"

"of course, he did. he knows how to be insufferable, just like every other person who tried to woo me by annoying me with these lines."

sersi laughed, looking at you. "but you do enjoy them, do you?"

you sighed, a faint smile lingering. "well, yes, i do."

"but not the others?" she said, pertaining to previous suitors.

"no."

"druig must be special," she said wistfully, making your cheeks feel warm.

you didn't admit anything, thus turning to her. "and ikaris must also be special for you, sersi."

her cheeks warmed, eyes wide at you. you laughed, talking with each other into the night, not noticing the eyes subtly looking and watching you like you're his whole world.

the third time, which is a charm, some humans have said, was when you chanced upon each other in the forest he was in. you knew he stayed, you just didn't think you'd be encountering him once more, because you thought he wouldn't want to…you know, interact with you, that is.

"y/n, fancy seeing you here." he said, falling into step beside you.

"hello, druig, how's the hundred years treating you?"

"good, good." he smiled at you, making you smile back. you missed him, of course. when the eternals had split, you went on a journey all over the world, taking in all the culture, as many as you could. "say, could i ask you something?"

his tone was hopeful…is this it? the confession…?

"if you're here, who's in charge of heaven?"

you huffed, not even hiding the smile on your face. "well, darling," you ignored the way his ears reddened. "i'm actually in charge of hell now, they must have changed it. let's go back."

you grinned, pulling his arm. his eyes traveled to your hand holding his, making him smile. if anyone ever said that annoying someone you liked didn't work to get their attention, tell druig, he'd vouch for it.

the fourth time was when sersi and the others informed you of ajak's death. you were visiting druig that day, it was definitely a constant thing in your lives as you talked with the other villagers, sometimes with druig by your side.

you were fighting a deviant, which you thought was vanquished, its last one a hundred or so years ago. druig was behind you, fighting with you when he called you, "y/n!"

"what is it, druig?" you said, grunting. "a bit occupied here!"

"are you a magician?"

"what the, now is not the time, druig!"

"what? it's strange!" he paused. "it's like, everytime i look at you, everyone else disappears!"

the others within the vicinity internally groaned. sersi has half a mind to actually punt druig and just tell him to confess but of course, she isn't like that.

you cursed under your breath as you smiled at his antics, before rolling your eyes. "druig, please shut up, it's really not the time. behind you!"

druig did shut up, but a playful smile was on his lips as you two moved in sync. you laughed, and said loudly, "and that is it for my final act, druig finally listened to me!"

the others bit back a laugh, druig looked incredulously but he knew it's all in good fun. he'll admit it one day, that he did have feelings for you, but not today.

the fifth time was when you finally reunited with the other eternals, set off to the island to try and take over the mind of tiamut and prevent the emergence.

"y/n, after this, do you maybe want to go tennesee?"

"very specific, druig, why?" you asked him, actually knowing the line but it's druig, so you gave him a chance.

"because you're the only ten i see," he grinned. makkari and sersi gave you a teasing smile as you rolled your eyes, not hiding the smile from druig.

you were about to reply, to finally finish it all, but decided not to as you got ready to stop ikaris and sprite from trying to stop you and the others from doing this. you were all connected to druig with the uni-mind, but you couldn't stop gasping when you saw how druig was blasted by ikaris. your heart stopped for a moment, as you waited for druig to reemerge, but he didn't. overturned by the anger with ikaris, you and makkari worked with each other to render ikaris weak, revenge for killing druig.

your heart broke as makkari screamed, knowing how close she is with druig as well. and you swore to yourself, he wouldn't have died in vain. you'd make sure of that. you chased your breath as you looked at ikaris with a hard look as phastos contained him. thena was preoccupied with one of the deviants, kro. you and makkari stayed silent, waiting if sirse was able to go to tiamut. ikaris was, unfortunately, able to break free but flew off to where sirse was, before you could do anything. hopefully, sirse could continue, still.

you felt yourself glow and rise, indicating sersi's success. when you dropped to the ground after, you were waiting in bated breath, but nothing happened. the eternals stopped the emergence! you smiled, hugging makkari, thena, and phastos for the success of stopping it. you waited for sersi's return, hugging her immediately, not noticing the person behind her.

the one time he was ready to tell you his feelings, he was blasted by the bastard, ikaris. and then, upon waking up, he saw sirse get stabbed by sprite, so of course, he had to help sirse, because he cannot try again, and so, encouraged sersi to do it. he swore, after this, he'd tell you exactly what he wants. but for now, to stop the emergence.

he watched you hug sirse, a smile on his face, grateful that you seemed alright. he didn't speak, makkari and the others understanding what's about to happen, and gave you space. and suddenly, everything stopped when you locked eyes with him, tears brimming in your eyes as sersi steps aside to talk with the other eternals.

"druig," his name sounded so good when you said it, especially after what almost happened. "druig!"

he opened his arm as you barreled towards him, your arms around him as you hugged him tight. his hands settled on your back as he placed his forehead on yours. "are your eyes the ocean or something, because i'm getting lost when i looked you in the eyes."

you laughed, slapping druig's arm. "please just go ahead and tell me directly, or i'd kick you after ikaris."

he laughed, his hands now holding your cheeks. "my beautiful, beautiful, y/n, i have feelings for you. will you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner this evening?"

the others grinned to themselves when they saw what's happening, finally, ringing in their heads as they averted their eyes to give you both privacy once more.

you grinned, looking at him. "i thought you'd never ask."

and if the kiss he bestowed upon you was one of the sweetest and the most awaited kiss you've had in the many years you've been on earth, well, no one but druig should know

© lovemayari ; do not modify or reupload anywhere else but reblogs are greatly appreciated !

#—lovemayari #—cheeseburgers from eternals #druig #marvel #mcu #druig x reader #eternals #marvels eternals #the eternals #eternals x reader #druig eternals #marvel imagines #marvel x reader #eternals marvel #eternals x y/n #mcu fluff #mcu x reader #mcu imagines #mcu fanfiction #no i wont stop using my beautiful #beautiful y/n #in druig fics #HSHADSHHD

[chokemeanakin]

Aggressive Negotiations (part one)-- Anakin Skywalker x fem reader

Okay so I’ve gotten a lot of requests for Anakin seeing reader dressed up for the first time, and I also got a “stuck-in-the-closet” trope, and a “handcuffed-together” trope, so I thought I’d knock out three birds with one stone and just combine them all. Enjoy ;)

(Ps I hope you all don’t mind that I always make reader a non-jedi? Idk I just prefer it when they both have their own strengths.)

Masterlist

Read it on ao3

Wc: 2.6k

The thin material of the dress stuck to your legs, and you tugged it down self-consciously. Fancy red dresses were not your usual cup of tea, but tonight you had a mission, and the entirety of it depended on your ability to seduce the Prince of Krygo.

For once, you wished Anakin had failed at a mission. He had been sent before you to drive Separatist forces away from Kygo before they could take over the rich mining planet, and had succeeded in not only that, but saving the Prince’s life. Of course, this meant a banquet of celebration was to be held, with Anakin as the guest of honor. 

Then, rumors of Count Dooku’s presence at the ball were revealed, which is where you came in. Anakin could not get the information alone-- he needed a more… direct source to the knowledge, one where the Prince would have his guard down and he’d be completely open to divulging important information. The Council was obviously “under-the-table” about suggesting you fill this role, and still won’t explicitly tell you what they suggest you do. But you got the idea. 

Not that it made you uncomfortable. You were perfectly fine with exploiting a man’s weaknesses for your own good-- in the most respectful way possible. It was mostly the fact that it was Anakin who would be by your side tonight, and it was also Anakin who was your secret lover, and Anakin who had a bad habit of becoming possessive and jealous whenever he felt like his attachment to you became threatened. Therefore, you had to have a talk with him before all this.

“Anakin, sweetie, baby, my love,”

“Hm?” 

“Pookie pie. Boo bear. Apple of my eye.”

“Yes, Y/n. Cut it out with nicknames.”

You leaned over the couch where he was sitting and reading his war reports, looking at him sideways. “You know I love you, right?”

“I do...” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Then you know that whatever happens at the ball, between me and the Prince, it means nothing.”

“What are you planning on doing, exactly?”

Now he was sitting up, alarmed. You hugged his head to your chest, kissing his cheek from behind to try and diffuse the situation.

“Nothing too elaborate. Just get him in a position where he has no choice but to tell me where and why he’s hiding Count Dooku.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“It’s nothing like that, Ani. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“But he might.”

“I won’t let it get that far.”

“You’d be surprised how hard it is to control someone in a situation like that.”

“You speak from experience?”

“No-- no of course not. I just don’t want you to be in that position.”

“Anakin, I know how to handle myself.”

He was rigid beneath your arms, quiet.

“This wasn’t supposed to be that elaborate.”

You drew patterns into the leather armor over his chest, as if you could draw the stress out through your fingertips.

“It’s not. I just thought I’d warn you, in case you see something you don’t like. I don’t want you to think I enjoy his presence, or him. I love you, and that’s all that matters at the end of the mission. Okay?”

“I still don’t like this,” he sighed, finally relaxing back into your arms. “But I trust you.”

“Thank you,” you kissed the top of his head, inhaling his scent. You could feel his unease, but both of you knew there was nothing you could really do to help the situation. You had to get the information out of the Prince, and he was notorious for favoring human women like you. The setup was perfect-- all you had to do was lure him in, set the trap, and then spring when the moment was right. You both knew you had it all under control, even if it did make Anakin nervous.

The one thing you didn’t really think about before agreeing to this, however, was the fact that you would have to dress up. Like… dress up, dress up. It was a formal ball, which meant the ladies had to wear gowns and men had to wear suits. You didn’t know much about fashion, and what was expected for this ball specifically, nor did you even own anything fancy enough to wear. So you went to Padme, who more than gladly lent you a dress that was both elegant and sexy… more so than was probably appropriate.

It was a necessary evil.

Step one was getting the dress, and that part was over. Now began the more difficult phase of the mission: actually putting on the dress and becoming that seductress, even though you had never really done anything like this before. Even more nerve-wracking— you’d have to face Anakin, who had never seen you in anything but your daily clothes before. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your dress down again. It’s not like you had anything to be nervous about— you looked amazing. The dress clung to every inch of your body, the red hue of it popping out against your skin color. Your hair was styled and draped over your shoulders, and you had done your makeup dark and alluring. 

You were just nervous to see Anakin’s reaction… or was that excitement?

A buzzer startled you out of your train of thought, signaling that it was time to head down to the party. Anakin must be right outside, waiting for you. You took one last look in the mirror, and then turned to open the door.

The sight of him took your breath away, as per usual. He was dressed in a black suit, form-fitting and dark through and through. You’re not sure why he favored the black theme, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t flatter him. He looked dangerous, and the tilted smirk he was giving you added to the bachelor aura. 

“Y/n…” he murmured, immediately fitting his hands around your waist. 

“Yes?” You asked when he didn’t continue. He held you a couple inches away, admiring every inch of you. You squirmed under his greedy eyes. “Do… do you think it’s good enough?” 

“Good enough?” He finally met your gaze, lifting his brows incredulously. “You’re enchanting.” 

Your cheeks flooded with heat, the intensity behind those words loaded with truth. His voice was low, slightly raspy as if he was holding himself back from dragging you into the room and having his way with you here and now, mission be damned. A big part of you wanted that, but a bigger part of you enjoyed standing here, being inspected as if you were the most beautiful girl in the galaxy under his intensifying gaze. 

The shift in Anakin’s eyes made you feel like you were on top of the world, like you could do anything. If he thought you were so beautiful when he looked like that… well, maybe you could do anything.

“You look incredible,” he breathed, sliding his hands further around your waist to pull you closer. It was only when he nudged your arms around his own waist did you realize what he was doing— he wanted you to feel the lightsaber he had under his suit jacket, reminding you of the mission, how he’d be watching and protecting you from afar.

You should have known before even opening the door that you would be watched every second of this ball, even now in the hallway of the palace. Something shady was going on on Krygo, and you two were the main targets.

“Let’s head down to the main event, yeah?” He suggested, pulling away and offering his arm. You gathered your composure and hooked your arm around his elbow, allowing him to lead you down the stairs, through the grand hall, and into the ballroom.

It was exactly what you’d imagined— a small orchestra on the stage, playing slow violin waltzes, elegant lace dresses spinning around the room, dress shoes tapping over glossy marble floors, and an overwhelming floral scent from the thousands of purple roses adorning the room. 

You spotted the Prince across the room— he was dressed in a delicate white suit, accented with silver and gold, black hair gelled back with a single curl hanging over his forehead. He was striking, but in a different way— a mischievous way. Those mossy eyes were hiding something. 

The Prince stopped the whole room with a raise of his glass. He tilted it toward Anakin and you, thanking him for his service to himself and the planet. A murmur of gratitude travelled around the room, and his glass lowered. The ball resumed, but the Prince’s eyes stayed locked in your direction— this time, landing directly on you. He flicked his head, motioning for the two of you to approach.

“You have your knife with you?” Anakin grit between his teeth as he led you toward him.

The arm that wasn’t hooked onto Anakin’s brushed by your side, feeling the minuscule lump of the knife you had slid into the band around your thigh. Your dress had a slit on that leg, providing you easy access for when the time came to use it. 

“I’m all set,” you whispered back. He looked at you quickly, his eyes full of hesitance and fear. It was gone in a blink.

“Anakin Skywalker,” the Prince purred as the two of you approached. The rest of his company filtered away. “Or should I say, General Skywalker?”

“Please, Anakin,” he smiled, charming as ever. 

“How are you enjoying the ball so far? Does it live up to your Coruscant-ee standards?”

You didn’t like the Prince’s tone of voice. He had a playful lilt, as if everything he said was mocking, a game. It was irritating and unnerving, and made it seem like he knew something you didn’t. 

“I can’t say we have many dances at the Jedi temple,” Anakin answered coolly, accepting the drink that the Prince handed him. “But this far exceeds any expectations I might have had.”

“I’m glad you think so— you are the guest of honor,” the Prince bowed his head, lips curling impishly. “And for you, my lady,” he handed you a flute of champagne, similar to Anakin’s.

You took it, smiling sweetly in response. Inside, your nerves were firing out of control. You couldn’t do this— how were you supposed to flirt this man up with Anakin right next to you? It felt too unnatural, too wrong… You needed him to leave, and soon;  before the Prince dismissed you, and your only chance at getting him alone for the night was gone.

“I regret coming off as ungrateful, but I believe I see Captain Wel-Solley. We haven’t talked since the battle of Geonosis. You don’t mind, do you?”

You sighed in relief as Anakin excused himself, unhooking his arm from yours.

“Of course not, go ahead,” the Prince encouraged, ushering him with a sweep of his hand. Anakin nodded once and left, fingers lingering on your arm. You knew what he meant by it— 

Be careful.

You took a sip of the champagne so you could have a moment to gather your thoughts before hurling yourself headfirst into this mess of a mission. The Prince was already looking at you as you lowered your glass.

“And what do you think of this ball, m’lady?”

“Call me Y/n,” you smiled a bit, leveling your gaze at him. “And I think it’s beautiful. I’ve never been to a ball this extravagant before.”

“So you’re experienced in gallant culture?”

“My mother was princess of Fauna, before the Separatists took over,” you lied. “I grew up in a palace much like this one.”

You’re not sure where that story came from, but you always were a terrific liar. You knew you needed to find a level ground with him, create some kind of unifying factor between the two of you. Why not choose his status? You trusted your gut to just go with it.

“The daughter of a Princess. So that makes you… what? A princess as well?”

“I’d assume so,” you laugh prettily. “It’s no matter to me. I’m not bound by a royal lifestyle anymore.”

“So what do you do? Travel with Republic war generals to keep their morale up?” 

“Actually, I’m more of a diplomat,” you swirled the champagne around in your glass, feigning absent-mindedness. “I negotiate treaties, keep the peace when possible.”

He tilted his head, scanning your figure. You could see the appreciating glint in his eye but pretended not to notice. Funnily enough, his face was his weakness. While his voice and demeanor gave you the impression he was spinning a trap around you, his face gave away all of his emotions. You could almost read his thoughts— how you looked so enticing, elegant but teetered on the edge of scandalous. How could an outside like yours be paired with an inspiring, intelligent interior? And a member of royalty, at that? It must be too good to be true.

“Besides,” you continued nonchalantly, “you know the Jedi… their morales don’t require much upkeep.”

“Oh?” The Prince was intrigued. “And what are you implying?”

“Well, they teach against that sort of attachment,” you inform him, a sly smirk spreading across your lips. “A pity, really. It’s been a while since I’ve had any… fun.”

The Prince picked up on that quickly. His grin turned equally sinful, eyes darkening just a shade.

“Well, if you finish that drink, I’m sure we can find something more worthwhile to do.”

“Yeah?” You took a sip and bat your eyes innocently. “Like dancing?”

“Like dancing,” he confirmed, and you both laughed.

Got him.

You scanned the room for Anakin as you took your next sip, finding him dancing with an older woman by the window. He immediately turned to catch your eye, just barely nodding.

You swallowed the last of your champagne, setting it on a silver platter as the server walked by. “So where would you like to continue this?”

You attributed your newfound boldness to the alcohol in your system, as well as the high you got from your recent success. It was almost too easy how he fell into the palm of your hand, but you weren’t going to question it. Now, you had to get him all alone.

“My bedroom is quite large,” the Prince suggested. “There’s lots of room for dancing.”

“I’d hope,” you played along. “I can get quite… sloppy with my steps. No one ever taught me how to dance like a lady.”

“A princess with a dirty technique? I guess I’ll just have to teach you how to do it right.”

His arm stretched out to you, and there it was. Your golden ticket to success. You hooked your arm around his elbow, and he began to lead you out of the ballroom. Anakin’s eyes were palpable on your back as he watched you leave.

Just as you crossed the threshold, you began to feel funny. Your head grew light, vision blurring in and out. Your stomach dropped, and you suddenly felt very faint.

“Are you okay, m’lady?” The Prince paused. “You’re complexion has turned a little pale.”

“Excuse me, I’m alright,” you held onto his arm a little tighter so you wouldn’t fall. “My excitement is getting the best of me.” 

“I must admit, I’m just as eager.”

You continued on through the halls, but with each step your grew worse and worse. Before long, your knees could no longer hold you up, and you could barely see two feet in front of you. The last thing you saw before blacking out was the Prince smiling cruelly down at you as he lowered you to the cool, marble floor.

#Anakin Skywalker #anakin #skywalker #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin fic #anakin skywalker fic #anakin x reader fic #anakin skywalker x reader fic #anakin fluff #anakin banter #star wars prequels

[ajokeformur-ray]

Hey...? I’m here for a matchup for both Arthur and Joker pls? OwO I’m 19, and I’m 5’0. I’m plump, because of my breasts and hips, so it’s curvy?? But I’m super insecure, and shy. I love drawing, reading and writing. I have anxiety, I keep all the negative emotions buried, because I don’t want anyone around me to carry the same emotional baggage w/ me. Anyway, I’m also a loner at school. My past experiences give me a hard time to trust ppl. I hope these are enough. Love your matchup thingy

Thank you, my love! I hope that you enjoy this!💝

Total wc: 1, 580.

Arthur // wc: 801.

There is an eight inch height difference between yourself and Arthur which means he has increased protectiveness over you. It is not because you are small that you are weak, but Arthur even still loves nothing more than to fold his upper body into yours; drawing you so completely into his chest and keeping you safe. You melt into his body so easily and Arthur likes to rest his chin on the top of your head, his arms tightly around you, or to rest his forehead on the curve of your shoulder,periodically turning his head so that he can kiss your neck if he wants something more intimate and comforting in nature. The both of you are insecure and shy, so it takes a fair while for the both of you to get a relationship going. However, Arthur can sense in you a kindness, a goodness, which other people don’t carry on their sleeves like you do, and he gravitates towards you like a moth to a flame. With you, however, he is not burned, but nourished and loved, cherished and treasured. One thing is for sure, and that is that he loves all of you for precisely who you are and he wouldn’t want you any other way than how you are right now, reading this. You are his one and only and he loves you so deeply and so completely.

You are artistic and creative and Arthur gravitates towards that, so musically inclined a soul is he and though he wouldn’t ever ask, he would like to read the things which you write if you are willing to share it with him. Sometimes he wants to share his journal with you and he will invite you to sit on his lap while he reads to you, his strong, dark brows furrowed as he reads it out, his sea green eyes darting up periodically to see your reaction to his thoughts. When you engage in your creative hobbies, Arthur likes to join in by way of you spending time together separately. You will be sat on the worn sofa with an old film playing quietly on the television, and Arthur will be sat at the small kitchen table writing in his journal. Occasionally will he read out a joke and if you laugh, he will add it to his show. Your reactions to his comedy ends up tailoring his performances to your sense of humour over the months. Arthur knows well what it means to be anxious, and he never thinks of you any less for it. He only understands, and he reassures you whenever and wherever possible, and even with his own struggles he puts you first. You keep your emotions to yourself, as does Arthur, though for different reasons. Even so, the two of you learn to open up and to trust one another. There is no burdening of the other person, when the other person is only too willing to help you carry your emotional baggage. You grow together and you live together and Arthur can only wonder how he lived at all before he had you in his life. All he knows is that now he has you in his life, he never wants to go back to the time before such a miracle; you’re his everything.

You’re nineteen and Arthur worries that he’s too old for you; he’s almost if not actually twice your age, but you don’t let it deter you! You’re a fully consenting and informed adult, as is Arthur, and you know yourself and your mind. You love him and you show him every single day, so strongly that not even his demons, shouting at him daily, can convince him otherwise. Arthur can relate you being alone even in a crowded place, for he has been socially isolated for his entire life. You have had bad experiences in the past which have impacted upon your present, especially when it comes to friendships and trusting people, and Arthur understands that all too well. It isn’t easy but he does what he can to help you to learn to trust him, and in teaching you does he end up relaxing as well. It takes time, for the both of you are shy, but there’s something in his smile, something about Arthur, which you can’t put your finger on, and it’s the very same for Arthur when it comes to you! You really grow together slowly and then all at once and neither of you would have it any other way. Two lonely souls, one destitute city, and a whole lot of love makes for a tale worthy of the big screens; made for each other are you! Arthur loves you for all of you and that has never and will never be any different!

Joker // wc: 779.

By the time, some months later, Arthur comes home dressed in a three piece crimson red suit, greasepaint smeared and his hair a mess, the two of you are fully comfortable with one another. Changed though he may be and unpredictable is his nature, one thing remains the same and it is this: Arthur loves you for all of you. He adores all of you and if ever you become physically insecure, Arthur is there to reassure you. Fussed is he not with his partner’s appearance, just so long as you are safe and comfortable within your own self, and he often is insecure of his own appearance. He feels like he could be stronger, richer, and someone all around better for you, and even as Joker does he have these same insecurities. These insecurities are both worn them like armour so they can’t be used to hurt him and being shed by him at the same time. A walking contradiction is he. You are insecure and shy and by now, Joker knows how to reassure you, how to protect you and how to be there for you, even through the haze of his now non-medicated mind. There is nothing that he won’t do to protect you, dearheart, you’re his greatest treasure and his strength, his joy and his saving grace. You’re his entire life and he will spend the rest of his showing you the true depth of his devotion to you.

You are creative and whereas Arthur used to want to ask if he could read the things you have written or view the things you have drawn, Joker now expresses it clearly. He will come up behind you when you’re sat on the worn sofa drawing or he will slide up on the bed with you, and those strong arms clad in crimson will curl around your waist or your shoulders. “Can I see, darling?” or “that’s a lovely look on your face, doll. What’s it about?” His voice is soft and raspy and if you say yes, then he breaks out his journal and the two of you spend long hours sharing your artistic works together and talking about your inspirations and your feelings about certain things. If you say no, then Joker shrugs it off and he will simply ask you at a later date. it’s not that he pesters you about it, but you can’t say no every time; you will say yes eventually and he can be patient. You have anxiety and Joker knows you. He knows you and from a single glance can he almost always accurately read you and your mindset. He knows how to help you and he knows when to help you. He has his anxieties, too, and with him werewolfing out on the streets often, it can cause your anxiety to spike, especially when he is gone for all hours of the day and night without so much as a note, but he always makes sure to come home to you. You are his one and only, the only one who makes sense to him, and you’re his home. Joker is unpredictable and there is no telling what will set off his outbursts, but by this stage in your relationship, you’re safe with each other and Joker always encourages you to talk to him. “Come on, talk to me,” is his usual soft plea. He wants to be there for you; he lives for you. A problem shared is a problem halved, and if you keep sharing each half as it decreases in size, then soon there’s no problem at all!

You have been deeply hurt in the past, as has Joker, and the two of you have built up a relationship of mutual trust and respect, from which blossomed love so intense that the both of you wonder just how you survived without each other in the past. The both of you help and support one another and it’s not easy; some days it’s infinitely harder than others, but it’s worth it because of the love which exists between the two of you. Joker sees you, he knows you, he loves you, and there’s nothing that he wouldn’t do for you; just as there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him. You are so so supportive of each other and so in love that any outsider’s looking in have their hearts broken in the best way just from seeing how tender you are with each other. You’re much younger than Joker, but he doesn’t see that; he only sees the woman he loves, the woman who loves him, and that’s all that matters to him: always you.

#starguardian0319 #Requests closed #arthur fleck matchup #arthur fleck #joker #joker matchup #joker 2019 #joker 2019 matchup

[monstasxbebe]

𝕯𝖊𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖘 𝕮𝖍.1

Teaser # 1 | Teaser # 2

Pairings: Hoseok/Kihyun/Minhyuk (Endgame), Jooheon/Changkyun/Hyunwoo/Hyungwon (Endgame)

Genre(s): Angst, Drama, Romance, Smut, Fluff

Pairing: Explicit (18+)

Tags: Puppy Play, Slowburn, Bondage, Poly Relationship, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism BDSM Dynamics, Explicit sex, Voluntary Feminization,Shibari, Enemies to Lovers, non-idol Au, Member x Member

WC: 2.7k+

Ao3 Link

“Harder!”

The bed rocked below them, the combined sound of the frame groaning in protest being accompanied by the headboard knocking against the wall. 

“You’re giving a lot of orders here for someone who begged me to fuck you.”

There was a muttered protest, but it was cut off when he bit into the cream colored shoulder in front of him. The larger man couldn’t help the grin stretching across his lips as the younger man below him whimpered from the sting. They had been going at it for a while, and he could tell from the tightness around him and the way his partner’s fists tightened and pulled in the sheets, that they were nearing the end. 

He put his hand between the whimpering man’s shoulders, pushing him until he was face down, his hips slapping hard against the other man’s ass with every long, hard thrust. The moaning beneath him peaked, and he could feel the other man trembling below him, his breathing ragged and uneven.

“Moan my name.” He suddenly panted, leaning over the lithe man’s frame, pulling his hair to get his attention back on the demand. Silky brunette locks peeked out from between his fingers as the man looked back at him, eyes shining in a flurry of mixed emotions that almost made him cum right there. 

“H-Hoseok, please-”

“Moan my name. Or you can finish yourself off.” Hoseok’s lips quirked at the way the other man’s eyes darkened. He glared daggers at him, but one roll of the hips in a certain direction, and he was putty in his hands, gripping his forearm so tight it hurt as he cried out for him. 

“Hoseok! Fuck, faster faster! Hoseok!” He cried, his walls tight around Hoseok’s cock. 

Satisfied, he pressed his sweaty chest against the man’s back, fucking him for all he was worth. He came first, but he smirked as the other man came untouched, his entire body tensing before he trembled, falling face first into a pillow once Hoseok stopped supporting him. 

He smirked, slapping his ass. 

“Good boy, Kihyun.” 

Kihyun turned, tiredly looking at him with that same mixed swirl of emotions in his eyes. He opened his mouth to retort, and Hoseok was sure that it would be some declaration about how much he hated his guts, but all Hoseok could hear was a horribly familiar screeching. 

‘Brrrng! Brrrrng!’

Hoseok grunted, cracking an eye open, hissing when the stream of light peeking from between his curtains flooded his vision. Groaning, he extended his arm, reaching over to silence the clock blaring at him from the corner of his nightstand. Rubbing his eyes, he sighed, his thick arm falling to the side, dangling off the edge of his bed as he tried to collect himself.

He’d been having dreams like that ever since he’d been moved into his new department. They were always the same, with him roughly fucking his Team Leader, Yoo Kihyun. It left him with more than enough stained boxers and frustration and looking down, he could tell today was no different. 

Just great. 

He rolled out of bed, yanking his shirt over his head and his boxers down his hips, tossing them in the hamper at the corner of his room, disappearing into the bathroom. He rolled his neck as he turned on the water, trying to gather his thoughts as he let it warm up. 

Today wasn't just any ordinary day.

It was October 21st, a day circled several times on the ramen calendar he had hanging on the wall near his door. 

The day his team started working on their 20th anniversary special magazine. 

Hoseok stood under the spray, his shoulders tense.

He worked at Starship Inc., a fashion company based out of Seoul. They had expanded their brand, selling magazines as far as Europe and America. He had worked in the Communications team for over a year until he was abruptly transferred over to the Magazine Team.

That’s when his life began to take a chaotic turn. 

Apparently, someone from the Fashion Magazine team had a breakdown and cracked under the pressure, quitting abruptly just a week before the team had to start working on the magazine. Kihyun, the head of the team, had looked over people from multiple departments, seeing if anyone had similar qualifications as the now missing employee and by the luck of the draw, Hoseok was the one that had been selected. 

The man stepped out of the shower, walking over to the sink to look at himself in the mirror. He brushed his bangs out of his eyes and set to start blow-drying his hair as he got lost in thought again. 

Kihyun was a bit more than a perfectionist. He didn’t hold anything back, speaking his mind whenever someone did something he found unfavorable or unproductive and Hoseok could respect that, to a degree. However, it seemed the man had it out for him specifically at times, scrutinizing everything he did. 

It annoyed Hoseok to no end. He was a rookie to that particular department, dealt with the shitty hand of fate, and now he had to be on the receiving end of Kihyun’s tangents almost daily. 

In the next room, his phone rang. 

Hoseok blinked out of his daze, sticking his head out into the cool bedroom so he could hear who’s ringtone it was. When he recognized the familiar, slightly off-key sound of him and his coworker Hyungwon singing a karaoke cover of Sexy Back, he crossed the room in a flash, nearly dropping his phone from how quickly he snatched it up. 

“Hello?”

“Hyung, where the hell are you?” 

Hoseok tensed, cursing under his breath when he saw the time. He’d lost track of time again while he was in the shower. His shift started in 10 minutes. 

“Fuck, stall for me.”

“What? And deal with Kizilla myself?”

“I swear, I’ll treat you to as many Americanos as you want, just please stall for me.” Hoseok grunted while hopping around, one of his legs in a pair of white pants. He could hear Hyungwon sigh from the other end, but he could almost see the smile on his face. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll hold you to that. Just get here.”

The line went dead at the same time Hoseok stumbled into his nightstand, eyes growing wide as the lamp at the edge teetered and began falling. He reached out hastily, cringing as his hip collided with the edge of the wood.  

Great. His morning was already off to a chaotic start. 

He quickly put the rest of his clothes on, and rushed out of the door, nearly colliding with a couple on the street as soon as he did so. 

“Sorry!” He tossed over his shoulder, continuing his mad dash down the block. He ran the scenarios through his head over and over again. He was a few minutes late, yes, but working under Kihyun had all but turned the man into a track star when it came to making into the office before the Team Leader could notice his absence.Hoseok had gotten lucky, securing a condo not too far from Starship Inc., which made his morning mad dashes slightly less hectic.

If he was lucky, he could slip into the office before Kihyun got there and everything would be fine. Hyungwon was a master at stalling, in the event that the redheaded Team Leader got there first. 

Hoseok’s face lit up as Starship came into view. 

He’d been working for the company for well over a year but it still took his breath away every time he saw the building. It was a tall building, with an impressive 42 floors. The exterior was decorated with beautiful flowers and bushes (planted by some of the employees just a few months ago in spring). They had little cotton cobwebs and small ghost cutouts on them to remind the employees that Halloween was fast approaching and as soon as Hoseok rushed through the doors, there was an explosion of color. 

The tiles of the lobby formed a beautiful stained glass-inspired image of a starship, the logo for the company. 

He didn’t have time to admire it, however, as he rushed into the elevator, leaning against the wall as the doors began to close. He panted, closing his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. He kept them closed for the time being. His stomach always did flips when he got on the elevator. Hoseok had serious acrophobia but he usually was able to suppress the fear if he could keep his eyes closed or keep himself distracted. His mind drifted back to his current situation and how he could sneak into the office and not be noticed.

Maybe Hoseok would get lucky, maybe he wouldn’t run into Kihyun before he got safely into the office and join the team meeting before the brunette arrived-

“You do know you are to report to the team meeting at 8 o’clock sharp, right?” 

...Fuck.

Hoseok cracked his eyes open, swallowing down a curse as Kihyun stood in front of him, leering at him. He bowed slightly, biting his lip to keep the sarcastic retort he had on the tip of his tongue from coming out. 

“S-Sorry, I woke up late.” Why the fuck aren’t you at the damn meeting, then?

“Woke up late? The first day of the most important project this company will see for the next couple of decades, and you woke up late? That’s the best you can come up with? Unbelievable.” Kihyun laughed humorlessly in disbelief, rubbing his temple. Hoseok stood up straight, scooting aside so Kihyun could press the button to their floor. 

God, this was going to be an awkward elevator ride. Hoseok silently wished there would be one more interruption, just so he and Kihyun didn’t have to be alone in a steel box slowly taking them to the 39th floor. He already felt anxious every time he had to go into the damn thing because of his acrophobia and this wasn’t helping.

His wish was granted when the doors began closing once more, but a converse wedged itself in between them, effectively stopping them from fully closing as a man scooted right in. He situated himself right between Kihyun and Hoseok, running a hand through his hair.

The man looked like he had just rolled out of a private school, with a sweater on underneath a gray plaid blazer. He adjusted his tie and Hoseok let out a small sigh of relief now that there was someone to buffer the awkward tension between him and his boss, and keep his mind off the elevator's ascent. It was a win-win scenario.

“I wasn't aware you'd be coming back today. No one informed me.” Kihyun spoke after a moment, watching the third man out of the corner of his eye.

“That's because I specifically made sure not to mention when I'd be back.” the other man quipped, checking under his nails for imaginary specks of dirt. Hoseok glanced between the two men for a moment, blinking in surprise when he recognized the man to be Lee Minhyuk. 

He was Starship’s Logistics Manager, which would usually place him somewhere in the Accounting Area, but apparently he took up several other jobs Hoseok wasn’t immediately aware of that landed him a chair and a sub-office in the Magazine Team’s office. The younger man didn’t look like it at first, but he was an incredibly hard worker. 

A hard worker with a clear disdain for Kihyun, so the two often came to butt heads in their office, with the rest of the team scrambling to stay out of the line of fire. 

Realizing he hadn’t greeted him, Hoseok sent him a small smile after he stretched. 

“Welcome back, Minhyuk-ah. You were gone for a while this time, huh?” He turned his body to the taller man, missing the side glance Kihyun sent the two of them before he rolled his eyes, going back to scrolling through something on his mini tablet as they ascended. 

“Yeah, I usually don’t have to go to the warehouse to check the goods, but there was an issue this time around. It’s good to be back, I hope you all didn’t get too comfortable without me.” He hummed, sending Kihyun a nasty look when the man snorted from his corner of the elevator. 

“Anyway, if I may, what happened to your hip?” Minhyuk inquired, those bright eyes drifting down Hoseok’s abdomen to land on his hip. Hoseok blinked, tilting his head. 

“My hip?” 

Minhyuk hummed, stepping closer. Long, nimble fingers moved downward, lifting Hoseok’s shirt ever so slightly to expose the discolored splotch, brushing against the skin slightly. Hoseok flinched slightly, feeling a sharp pain. He looked down, grabbing the end of his shirt, lifting it a bit higher without a second thought. His lips pulled down into a frown when he saw the size of the bruise. 

“Aigoo, it really did a number on me.” he mused. 

“Yah! Put your shirt down, where do you think you are?!” Kihyun scolded, startling the older man. Hoseok jolted before clearing his throat, lowering his shirt. Minhyuk snickered behind the clipboard in his arms. 

“Leave it to Kihyun to have dirty thoughts, hm? Better watch out for such a perverted boss.”

“Says the one that lifted his shirt in the first place!” 

“Quit getting your panties in a bunch, I'm sure you've been in your fair share of inappropriate situations at work.”

Hoseok stayed silent as both of them leered at one another. He wondered what the story behind that was.

There was plenty of rumors that had circled around the office about how exactly Kihyun got his position. Things like him having illegal ties from some mafia family, blackmailing the CEO, or the most popular rumor: that he slept his way to the top through Choi Seokwon, the son of Starship's owner and CEO.

Hoseok didn't pay them any mind. Most of them were outlandish and crass and he tried not to put labels on people if he could help it. Kihyun was probably the most abrasive boss he'd ever worked under and it hurt his pride whenever the younger man went off on him, but he was still an amazing worker, nonetheless. 

It still didn't explain the bad blood between Kihyun and Minhyuk but Hoseok casually moved around, settling himself between them to bow at Kihyun as he apologized.

“Sorry. I wasn't thinking.” he mused. Kihyun clicked his tongue in mild annoyance but nodded in acknowledgement.

Minhyuk pushed up his fake glasses, humming as they got to their designated floor. Hoseok sighed in relief when the elevator dinged. He'd be able to get some fresh air and hopefully Kihyun wouldn't send him too many death glares during their meeting.

As the doors slid open, Hyungwon darted into view as he grabbed his shoulders. 

“Okay, so Kihyun hasn't showed up yet, which means you have a good chance at not being-” the tall man paused, looking over at Hoseok’s left, seeing Kihyun not even a few feet away, cocking a brow when Hyungwon swallowed nervously.

“....Caught.” He deflated, shoulders dropping. 

Kihyun's cat like eyes rolled as he put a hand on his hip. 

“What is this, ‘Everyone Piss Off Kihyun Day?’”

Minhyuk snickered and strolled past the three men. 

“As much as I’d love that to be the case, we still have a job to do. Save the lecture for later, we should get started.” He reminded them. Kihyun clicked his tongue and pushed past Hyungwon and Hoseok, making his way down the hall. 

Hyungwon gently pat Hoseok on the back as they followed a few feet away. 

“Maybe it won’t be so bad. He seems mad but not too mad, so maybe-”

“By the way, you can go get coffee for the team since you were late, Hoseok. Don’t take too long, the meeting is already behind.” Kihyun threw over his shoulder, glaring daggers at the older man. Hoseok sent him a smile, biting back the urge to whine in frustration. He wasn’t that late, and Kihyun and Minhyuk were both late to the thing, too! Why was it just him being punished?

Instead, he bowed and turned on his heel. 

“No problem. I’ll hurry.” He muttered, heading the opposite direction to go to their breakroom to make the coffee. Kihyun watched him leave before smiling, seemingly satisfied with the punishment as he continued to the office. Hyungwon watched his friend go before jogging to catch up with his boss. 

Today was gonna be a long day.

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