#he gets injured so often it’s practically a running gag

[erabundus]

@fatuispolaris &&. said... 3.  MEDIC :  for one muse to show up at the other’s doorstep injured OR 37.  PRESENT :  for one muse to give the other a  (birthday christmas)  gift.... i'll let u pick whichever you're feelin more

he  had  set  up  CAMP  with  his  back  to  a  mountain.  a  strategically  sound  position,  the  wanderer  thought  —  no  need  to  concern  himself  with  being  ambushed  from  behind  (  though  he  was  more  bothered  by  the  possible  inconvenience  than  any  would-be  threat  )  and  no  need  to  worry  about  the  wind,  either.  puppet  that  he  was,  the  requirements  ren  had  to  spend  the  night  anywhere  were  few  and  far  between.  a  fire.  a  place  to  sit.  a  book  to  keep  himself  occupied  waiting  for  the  day  to  hurry  up  already.  when  he  was  alone,  (  truly  alone  )  the  wanderer  never  bothered  to  COOK.  it  wasn't  necessary;  the  only  person  around  to  feign  humanity  for  was  himself. and sleep was a sore subject no matter the circumstances.

it  was  simply  unfortunate  the  only  fresh  reading  material  he  had  on  hand  was  ATROCIOUS.  some  trashy  romance  novel  with  amateurish  prose  so  purple  it  made  him  gag.  at  that  point,  the  only  thing  keeping  ren's  attention  was  the  fact  that  he  HATED  it  too  much  to  stop.  he  simply  had  to  see  how  much  worse  it  could  possibly  get.  (  very,  judging  by  the  sudden  introduction  of  artemi's  evil  twin ...  artemy.  ) ... why did he pick up this book, again?

the  sound  of  a  CRACKING  branch  shook  him  out  of  his  thoughts.  ah,  company.  tossing  the  novel  aside,  the  wanderer  rose  —  anemo  buzzing,  condensing  into  a  ball  in  his  upturned  palm. the message was clear: who wants to DIE?

...  only  for  the  sphere  to  disappear  the  moment  he  recognized  his  VISITOR  in  the  firelight.

you're  going  to  die  young.  you're  going  to  get  yourself  killed.  all  too  often  he  found  himself  repeating  the  same  LECTURES  —  convinced  tartaglia's  loyalty  and  hunger  for  a  fight  would  be  his  ultimate  downfall.  the  balladeer  had  seen  countless  humans  perish  for  similar  reasons  before,  and  knew  he  would  see  countless  still.  perhaps  it  was  wiser  to  let  nature  run  its  course,  but  the  fatui  were  an  asset  to  him  —  and  the  ELEVENTH  naturally  one  by  proxy.  (  it  was  practicality.  not  kindness.  )  how  ironic  that  he  would  encounter  his  former  coworker  like  this,  when  any  memories  of  his  admonishments  would  be  scrubbed  CLEAN  from  his  mind. ren couldn't even yell at him properly.

❝  get  over  here.  ❞   he  said  (  more  like  DEMANDED  )  instead.  ❝  and  sit  down  before  you  track  your  BLOOD  all  over  my  camp,  would  you?  that  is  your  blood,  isn't  it?  ❞ he assumed it was about a fifty-fifty chance.

A COMPREHENSIVE LIST OF SCENARIOS

#fatuispolaris #long post #blood tw #( he doesn't REALLY have a doorstep so i improvised DKJSSK ) #( i kept things i.e. specific injuries relatively vague on purpose ) #( ren is really out here like ''the fatui can perish'' then actively helping the fatui not perish.... mission failed )

[abyssthepansexual]

Hello can i request a diluc x male reader angrysex/rouphsex please?(sorry for any grammer mistakes and if your uncomfortable with this feel free to ignore this )please and thank you!

Requests: open

Context: Rough sex, angry sex, spanking, diluc in trouble with his lover, balls tied, sex by the fire, somewhat public sex, sex in nature, bottom diluc x top male reader.

Passionate As Flames

You had often joined Diluc for his adventures out of Mondstadt. Dealing with the Fatui, Treasure Horders, and other beasts in the land. You've never had any issues on these outings, the work you both set out to do would get done and for the most part neither of you ended up too injured. Except for today, today was the first I've you ever had an issue. Diluc had ignored you when you told him not to chase after the escaping Fatui since he was already running out of energy from the previous camps they had raided. But Diluc hadn't listened to you to enthralled by the heat of battle and adrenaline to focus on anything else. He had run off after them, you knew he could handle it but he was meant to listen, he knew better than to ignore you. But he went and did it anyway so you did what you always did when he didn't listen. You went to prepare his punishment.

He returned about a half hour later, dirty but victorious. Satisfied with winning but nervous because reality came crashing down on him as adrenaline faded. So when he came to your shared camp twiddling his fingers avoiding your gaze in silent knowing of what was to come all you had to do was nod towards the items you'd prepared and he began to undress.

"See what happens when you misbehave, you could have been all nice and in the sheets with me if you'd listened," You cooed as you swatted your hand against his reddened ass once more, earning a squeal from the bound red head. "But you made me punish you instead and here I thought I wouldn't have to ever do this again."

He whined into his gag as your other hand mercilessly jerked him off. His arms were bound upwards tied to a branch forcing him to stand and his balls were tied tightly with the ribbons you'd brought preventing him from getting any release. Originally you'd brought them in hopes of rewarding your good boy and decorating him in pretty bindings as you gave him all he asked. But your good boy was gone replaced by this naughty one who hadn't been permitted release for over two hours.

He wanted to beg so many times but you never once gave him the chance. He wanted desperately to cry out and promise to be a good boy. He wanted to be the good boy who got pampered and fucked in whatever way he wanted. Yet he never got a moment to plead with you. Not when you sucked him off while squeezing his sensitive balls, not when you ate him out while spreading his abused ass cheeks, and not while you jerked him off making those poor cheeks even more red. As quickly as the last slap of your hand against his ass came they suddenly stopped and so did your other hand.

"Do you think you've learned your lesson?" You whispered into his ear giving a quick nip to his lobe. The hand you'd been using to jerk him off slid down between his thighs and gently tugged at the ribbon. It was like a promise to take it off if Diluc gave the right answer. He nodded as quickly as his head would allow him, whining as he leaned against you hoping you'd finally give him comfort and release.

"No more tears, you took your punishment like a good boy." He practically melted into your touch as your kissed his tear stained face, working at removing everything that bound him. He fell into your arms as your carried him to the bed you'd laid out by the fire. He realized now that you'd always planned on rewarding him that you weren't just going to punish him and leave him with nothing. You laid him against the plush makeshift bed full of pillows and blankets. You always packed to pamper no matter how short the trip was. His could feel the heat of the fire only a few feet away and saw the flame dance in the wind. All he could do was moan into the gag as you worked his hole open with your now lubed fingers. He allowed himself to relax and close his eyes embracing the pleasure now that he was free from the pain.

"Will my good boy tell me what he wants?" You asked as you freed his mouth from the gag, looming over top of him, cock sinking into him slowly. His tired body only allowed him so much movement and he lazily drapped his arms around your neck.

"I want to stop thinking." He muttered and pulled you into a lazy kiss. You chuckled against his lips both of you breaking out into tired smiles.

"I can do that."

The sounds you two made echoed through the night, you pounded into him harsher then you ever had before but it was everything he wanted. It wasn't soft love making nor purely just fucking but it was rough passion between the two of you. A love and passion that could only be compared to the intensity of fire. Diluc swears that was the hardest he's ever cum in his life and sleep overtook him shortly after for his body had no more energy.

He only woke up once that night when you moved the both of you into the tent and gently massaged his cheeks with medicinal oils to remove the pain.

You weren't next to him the next morning but he could smell the breakfast you were cooking by the fire. He slid on his underwear and one of your shirts before grabbing one of the blankets and coccooning himself in it and leaving the tent to greet you. You were fully dressed cooking by the fire with coffee and grape juice set aside for the both of you. The morning dew rested on the grass and the cool of the morning nipped at Diluc's skin.

"Good morning darling." You greeted as he approached you. He mumbled a greeting sitting his cocoons self in your lap accepting the cup if juice you offered him. He stared at the fire on confusion, it went out last night and for all the credit he had to give you, you weren't very good at starting fires without help of tools or his vision.

"How'd you get the fire to start?" He questioned resting his head against your shoulder letting the heat from the nearby flames warm his toes. You hummed placing a kiss on his head as you reached for something.

"Apparently," You began as you began to reveal what you had. "All you need to do in these days is to passionately rail your lover by the fire to earn the blessings of the pyro archon."

Diluc gaped at the vision in your hand casing shaped like that of your home nation Liyue. He whined in embarrassment burying his face into your chest after processing what you just said. Had you really gotten a vision from fucking your boyfriend?

#genshin impact x male reader #genshin impact #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x male reader

[firemedicdiaz]

First Date Drama

Fandom: 9-1-1. Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley x Female Reader. Word Count: 2255. Genre: gen/fluff. Rating: teen+. Summary: you’ve had your fair share of disastrous first dates, but this one might just take the cake. Warning(s): mentions of blood, minor injury. Note: my first ever 9-1-1 fic!  Beta’d by @starshiphufflebadger​.

You hum quietly to yourself as you step into the shower, closing your eyes as the water hits your face and runs in rivulets down your body.  There’s an ache in your thighs that reminds you acutely of the preceding night’s pleasures and you bite your lip as your hand drifts downward, caressing your overstimulated core.  When you’d tumbled into bed with Buck the night before, it had been under the impression that the two of you would have a one night stand and part before either of you could catch feelings.  Now, though, basking in the echoes and memories of the amazing sex you’d had, you hope against hope that he’s open to seeing you again.

Closing your eyes, you let the water run over your skin for a while, loosening up your tired muscles until you’re limber enough to get to work actually cleaning up.  Reaching for the shaving cream, you uncap it and squeeze a generous amount into your palm, setting the canister aside before propping your leg up on the side of the tub.  You rub your hands together, lathering the gel before coating your skin from ankle to knee in an even layer.

Retrieving your razor, you uncap it and get to work shaving, finishing one leg uneventfully.  You repeat the process with the other side, lathering it up before gliding the razor along your skin in smooth strokes.  This time, though, there’s a catch.  A small bump on the inside of your calf snags the razor and you curse quietly as you feel the biting sting of the blades sinking into your skin, shaving cream running into the freshly opened wound and making it burn.

“Damn it,” you hiss, abandoning the razor on the side of the tub as you turn to rinse your leg.

The shaving cream suds are washed away in thick clumps and a wellspring of crimson follows, filling the bottom of the tub in moments.  You whimper as your stomach clenches, nausea gripping you as you watch the blood run.  You want to lean in and inspect the damage but you already feel dizzy and you don’t want to risk overbalancing.  Instead, you grit your teeth and drag in a breath, glancing away as you let the water run over the wound.

“No, no, no,” you mutter, considering your next move.

You pull the shower curtain back, glancing around the bathroom, cursing again.  The first aid kit that usually lives under your sink is still in the basement where you’d left it after your last DIY project had seen you catch a sliver deep in your palm.  You’ve got enough towels to keep a small army dry, but none that are practical for keeping pressure on your lower leg while you waddle awkwardly downstairs to fetch the kit.  You’ve got tissues, too, but considering the amount of blood that you can feel still pouring from the wound alongside the water, you don’t want to risk bits of paper getting stuck in your skin.

A knock on the bathroom door gets your attention and you instinctively turn your head towards it, startled.

“You okay in there?”  Buck asks from the bedroom beyond.

“I’m fine!”  You reply, your voice reedy even to your own ears.

“I heard a few curse words that say otherwise.”

You huff indignantly.

“It’s nothing,” you insist.  “I just nicked myself shaving.”

Buck isn’t convinced.

“I’m coming in,” he warns, giving you a moment to draw the shower curtain again before he opens the door.

“Honestly, I’m fine,” you say, feeling your face heat in embarrassment at your predicament.

“In my experience, the ones who try the hardest to convince you that they’re fine are the ones who need help the most,” he says sagely.

His shadow looms on the other side of the shower curtain and your heart skips uneasily at the thought of him seeing you so vulnerable.  You press the shower curtain to the tiled wall with your palm, preventing him from being able to pull it back.

“It’s stupid,” you say with a sigh.  “I’m sure it’s already stopped bleeding.”

“Let me see,” Buck coaxes.

You shake your head a moment before remembering that he can’t see you through the curtain.

“I’m naked,” you argue.

Buck chuckles.

“You didn’t seem to have an issue with that when I undressed you last night,” he teases gently.

“That was different,” you say flatly.

“I’m a firefighter, I see people naked more often than you’d think,” he reasons.

“Not better.”

You can practically feel him rolling his eyes.

“Come on,” he encourages, his voice softening.  “I just want to help.”

You debate on what to do for another few seconds before finally relenting.  Letting go of the curtain, you slide it back just enough to let Buck know he’s free to look.  He reaches over a moment later, pulling the curtain aside the rest of the way and glancing down at the pool of red water beneath your feet.  

His trained senses take the scene in immediately and you watch as he springs into action.  He reaches for the nearest towel, turning off the shower with his free hand as he moves to press the fabric to your wound to staunch the blood flow.  He presses it firmly into place and you yelp at the sharp sting on contact.

“Do you have a first aid kit?”  Buck asks.

“In the basement,” you reply.

“Can you hold this on here while I go get it?”

You nod and bend down, taking over holding the towel and putting pressure on the wound.  Wanting to avoid looking at it in fear of catching sight of any blood, you watch Buck hurry out of the bathroom and then set your focus on counting tiles in the trim around the sink.

Buck returns a couple of minutes later and comes back to your side, resting a hand on your back.  You shiver as a chill grips you, the ambient air sapping your body heat as the droplets of water on your skin start to evaporate away.

“I’m going to carry you out of here,” he explains.  “But you’re going to have to let go of the towel for a second.”

You nod shakily and let go, instead pressing your calves together to keep the towel in place as you straighten up.  You avoid Buck’s gaze and yelp a little in surprise as he sweeps you up into his arms.  You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck and cling on tightly as he makes his way out of the bathroom.  You can feel the blood from your wound beginning to soak the towel with less pressure on it and you bite back a groan, burying your face in his neck as he heads for your bed.

“I’m going to set you down,” Buck says softly.

You nod, hesitating on letting go of him for a moment as he leans down and lays you on a couple of towels.  Eventually, you reluctantly disentangle yourself from him and lie back, throwing an arm across your eyes in an attempt to hide your embarrassment at your predicament.  Thankfully, Buck has your modesty in mind and you relax a little bit as you feel him pull another towel over your body.  

The relaxation is fleeting as you feel his hands around your calf a few seconds later, pressing the towel firmly into place over your wound.  You hiss in pain as the pressure burns, the terry cloth biting into your skin.  The warm, slightly sticky feeling of the bloodied towel against your leg makes your stomach churn uncomfortably and you take a slow, deep breath in an attempt to quell the nausea.

“How’re you doing?”  Buck asks a moment later.

You can feel his concerned gaze on you and you squirm a little.

“Uh, okay I think,” you say weakly.  “I’m just not good with blood, especially my own.”

“Just keep those pretty eyes covered and you won’t have anything to worry about,” Buck says softly.  “I’ve got you.”

You nod and keep your gaze averted as Buck shifts his grip, taking over holding pressure on your wound with just one hand.  With his free hand, you can hear him shuffling through your first aid kit and tearing open a package.  You quickly realize he’s pulled out some dressing materials as he releases the pressure on your calf, peeling the bloodied towel away and replacing it with fresh, clean gauze.  It stings fiercely and you bite your lip to keep from whining in discomfort.

Buck shuffles around a bit, letting go of your leg entirely for a moment while he opens a few more packages of supplies and sets them aside to use as needed.  The pressure returns within moments, though, and you sigh softly as the minutes tick by with Buck gripping firmly to stop the bleeding.

“Alright, let’s see where we’re at,” Buck says softly a few minutes later, breaking the silence.

You hiss a little as he carefully peels the gauze back, exposing the cut to the air and making it burn.  You feel a little queasy as you anticipate the trickle of blood, but after a few uneventful moments, you slowly open your eyes and look cautiously toward your leg.  There’s not major bleeding in sight anymore, but the large, raw swath of angry, exposed sinew you’ve torn open with your razor looks like something out of a horror movie and you quickly shut your eyes again, trying desperately to banish the visual from your mind.

“Does it need stitches?”  You ask warily, breathing slowly to try and calm your racing heart.

“Nah, there’s nothing to stitch.  It’s too wide a cut and you left the overlying skin flap tangled up in your razor, so there’s nothing left to do but dress it and let it heal.”

The thought of a piece of tissue hanging from the shaver you’d been using in the shower almost makes you gag and you groan in disgust.  Buck pats your uninjured shin reassuringly and reaches for a clean piece of gauze and a tube of antibiotic ointment.

You chew your lip as he works, his gentle hands helping you relax into his ministrations after a few moments.  Eventually you open your eyes again, blinking in the morning light filtering in through your curtains.  You turn your gaze down, watching Buck work, smiling at the crease in his forehead as he concentrates on expertly wrapping your injured leg.

“Some first date, huh?”  You quip eventually, the silence becoming a bit much.

Buck chuckles, shaking his head before flashing you a friendly smile.

“This doesn’t even crack the top ten worst first dates I’ve had,” he assures you.

You raise an eyebrow, propping yourself on your elbows as he finishes puting the last bits of tape on the dressing he’s applied.  He glances over at you as he sets your leg down, noticing your expression.

“What?  It’s true,” he asserts.  “One time, I took a woman to a fancy restaurant on Valentine’s Day for our first real date.  An hour later I was in surgery.  The doctors had to close a hole in my throat after a steak knife tracheotomy my date had to perform because I choked on some bread so badly the Heimlich wouldn’t cut it.”

Your mouth drops open in surprise and you gape at him.

“No way.”

“I swear to God,” Buck says, holding up his hands.  “And if it makes you feel any better, it wasn’t a relationship-ender.”

Your heart skips again, but this time for an entirely different reason.  Buck’s kind eyes and easy, infectious smile make your knees weak and you’re glad for the support of the bed, even if you’re not in the most dignified position.  You giggle a little bit hysterically and hope that he doesn’t notice your sudden nervousness.

“Is that your way of saying you’d like to see me again?”  You ask coyly.

“I would love to see you again,” Buck says with a playful grin.

He holds out a hand and you take it, allowing him to pull you up.  You swivel, taking your legs from his lap and letting them swing over the side of the bed so you can get closer to him.  The towel covering you slips, folding around your waist and exposing you to his suddenly hungry gaze.  This time, though, the awkwardness is long forgotten.

You close your eyes as Buck leans in, pressing his lips to yours.  You moan softly into the kiss, leaning closer, shifting so you can wrap an arm around his waist.  He returns the favor, embracing you and pulling you into his lap, dislodging the discarded packets of first aid supplies.

As they flutter to the floor, crinkling as they twist and unfurl in the air, your injury is all but forgotten.  Buck’s hands on your skin, your bodies shifting against one another as you fall back into bed for another round of lovemaking, replace the uncomfortable memories with something far more pleasant and in-the-moment.  Even the sting of your injury is a distant echo as Buck rolls you over, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his touch driving all but the feelings of friction between your bodies from your mind.

As Buck’s kisses move from your lips to the curve of your jaw, slowly descending down your neck in a slow, teasing trail, you can’t help but think that maybe this hasn’t been the worst first date after all.

#9-1-1 #9-1-1 fanfiction #9-1-1 imagines #reader insert #Evan Buckley #female reader #fanfiction #9-1-1 on Fox

[radiorenjun]

I Don't Need It

• Pairing: Na Jaemin x Reader

• Genre: Angst, Comedy, Fluff

• Na Jaemin despised the idea of soulmates, he wanted to fight against fate for choosing his soulmate for him. Even if it means his stubborn childhood best friend wouldn't stop trying to make him accept about the similar tattoos on their wrists.

• Masterlist here!

• Chapters: vii, viii

"What? They can't just break up like that!" you gaped, shaking Renjun's shoulder lightly to exaggerate your point. Renjun rolled his eyes before clicking his tongue, "oh come on, you didn't see that coming? Their relationship was bound to end at some point, y/n."

You were both binge watching the ninth season of The Big Bang Theory at your house, originally planning to study and do chemistry homework  together, but being the procrastinator you were, you ended up getting distracted. Hence, why the two of you are sitting on your bed watching one of the most heartbreaking episodes on The Big Bang Theory while munching on some pizza,

“But they were so cute together! My Shelamy heart can’t take this, Injun!” you shook your best friend aggressively as you continue to whine, ignoring the sighing boy who was contemplating on why he was even friends with you in the first place. “He even got a ring for her, if that isn’t the cutest thing ever then I don’t know what is,” you groaned, collapsing on your bed as the thought of someone giving you a wedding ring made your heart flutter.

“Always the hopeless romantic,” Renjun sighs, running a hand down his face as if to say ‘I’m so done right now’. “Disgusting,” he teased, letting out a soft grunt once he felt you throw a pillow at the back of his head. “Shut up, nerd. You still have to find your soulmate, why not let your magnificent best friend mourn over the fact that she’s gonna be single for the rest of her life and let a girl dream?” you joked, earning a dark glare from Renjun.

Ouch, why did that hurt? It was your own joke after all. 

“Don’t say that you sadist. You need to stop making jokes bout the bad things in life, that’s not very healthy.” Renjun lectured, his hand coming up to pinch your cheek hard. You frowned, pulling his hand away from you as you chuckled nervously. “You know me, Jun. Humor is a coping mechanism for everything. I’m mad at you when you mock me for simping over Timothée Chalamet when he starred on Little Women? I use sarcastic humor as a revenge.” 

“I feel frustrated for failing that test because the damn substitute teacher wouldn’t believe me that I didn’t skip school instead of spending the whole day in the infirmary with a twisted ankle, watching Goblin with the nurse? I use sardonic humor to snap back at said teacher.”

“I get sad for accepting the fact that I am going to be single for the rest of my life? I use dark humor to cope with it instead of curling up in a ball and eat ice cream for the rest of my life and get Type 2 Diabetes.” you shrugged shamelessly as Renjun gaped at you, rubbing his temples to slowly process on your words. “Okay, firstly,” he started.

“One, Timothée Chalamet in that movie was desperately simping over a girl who clearly didn’t deserve him. Come on, tell me you didn’t get annoyed when he keep saying the l word at Jo despite her spilling her feelings out and rejecting him countless of times.” Renjun inhaled, his eyes boring widely into yours, his words speaking nothing but facts. “I get that but-” you started before the older boy cut you off, “I’m not done yet.”

“Secondly, that substitute teacher wasn’t even a teacher. She was an ear raping machine, no one liked her. Also, I gotta admit spending a whole school day watching the Goblin arguing with The Grim Reaper instead of spending excruciating hours writing your wrist off and trying not to snooze in the middle of Mr. Lee’s math lecture would’ve been the most luxurious thing a student could ever ask for”. And I am pissed off you got injured and left me there in class, suffering all by myself.” he laughed, flicking you on the forehead teasingly.

“Lastly, if you want to say something bout Jaemin, you know you could’ve just say so instead of sugar coating it.” Renjun sucked in his lips, smacking you with the pillow you threw at him previously, mentally preparing himself to comfort you knowing that you’re bout to go on another rant of how much you missed Jaemin. But if it helps you feel better and take another small step to moving on, then he’ll listen to you rant til his brain implodes.

You frowned, letting out a soft chuckle. “You know me too well, Jun.” you felt tears lining up your eyes, you leaned your head up, trying to blink the tears away. “It’s not helping when he’s literally next door. Or in the same school as I am, or in the same planet.” you leaned back to lay on your back on the mattress, your pillow hugged tightly to your chest as you let out a heavy, frustrated sigh.

Renjun patted your knee, silently urging you to continue to let out your thoughts. You couldn’t advert your gaze away from your ceiling, “He used to be so sweet before this whole soulmate ordeal,” you began with a sniffle. “Honestly, middle school was one of the best eras of my life. When me and Jaemin were just clowns on crack playing Five Nights At Freddy’s and goofing off, it still makes my heart flutter when I think bout the memorable moments we shared in middle school.” you closed your eyes as a flood of memories clouded your mind.

  7th grade, an iconic year for your friendship. “Y/N!” Jaemin called out from the other side of the classroom, causing you to turn to him in the middle of your little gossip session with your friends. “You wanna play truth or dare with us?” he asked with a sweet smile, a few of your classmates gathering to the back of the class to sit down in a circle. You nodded in excitement, ditching your friends in hopes you get a spicy dare.

You sat in between Lia and Jeno, rubbing your hands together as you waited your turn to either give or receive a truth or dare. “Jaemin! Truth or dare?” a boy whose name you can’t recall asked with a mischievous smile. Jaemin rolled his eyes before answering “dare” with a bold, cocky smirk, eyes practically challenging his classmate to give him an extreme dare. The boy stopped to contemplate before turning to him with a cheeky chesire grin.

“Since you’re so close to Y/n, why don’t you sit on her lap?” the boy snarled, causing your classmates to let out whistles and soft “ooo”s around you. You raised a brow, “wait a second, that’s not fair. This is his dare not mine, why am I the one being sat on.” you whined as Jaemin tried to hide his flustered expression of sitting on his best friend’s lap. “Well, it’s a dare either way, he’s gotta do it whether he wants to or not.” he stuck his tongue out at you as you hissed back.

“Fine.” you mumbled as Jaemin laughed and tried to conceal his flustered expression and sat on your lap idly, his hands in between his legs as you try to restrain yourself from wrapping your arms around his waist and making things even more awkward than it already is. “What’s the big deal? You wanted me to sit on her lap, why are you so shocked?” Jaemin laughed as a few of your classmates just stared at the two of you in disbelief. 

“How are you not uncomfortable with a guy sitting on top of your lap?” your friend asked from across the group circle. You shrugged, raising your brow as Jaemin lets out a laugh, shrugging in response as well. “Is it wrong for a person to sit on their best friend’s lap?” Jaemin asked with a raise of his brow, a teasing smile evident on his face as your friend struggled to find the words to say next.

“I must admit, you are quite heavy. I don’t think my legs are going to last long with your heavy, tall giraffe-like body.” you laughed, causing Jaemin to turn his head back at you with a glare, letting out a small sinister smile. ”That sounds like a ‘you’ problem, y/n. Suffer.” he spoke in a bittersweet tone.

“Wait, so you’re telling me that you had Mr. Na Jaemin sitting on your lap? For how long? All because of a dare?” Renjun paused, rubbing his temples to process this whole information. He knew Jaemin was a shameless and rather affectionately touchy boy, but he didn’t know that he was willing to accept such a gutsy dare. Yet again, this is you, he’s talking bout. The person who kept going for two years despite being rejected and gossiped left and right.

You shrugged, sitting up on the bed. “I was like, 11 years old. What do you want me to do, Huang? Born to be the family disgrace.” you grinned proudly, wiggling your brows as you placed a hand under your chin to pose dramatically. “You shouldn’t be proud of that. Weird flex but okay,” Renjun sighed heavily, raising a bottle of coke to his lips.

You inhaled as you began to spill another memorable moment from your childhood. 

If there was one thing you and Jaemin had in common, it was that you both have absolutely no shame when flaring your dramatics.

It was 5th grade, you assume, when you and Jaemin had your first indirect kiss. It was a disturbingly iconic moment for the two of you, considering years after the incident you two kept doing it as if it were a part of your daily routine. You were at that age where kids around you were starting to take notice bout the soulmate concept. Teachers began explaining how the soulmate system worked during science class, causing you to involuntarily look at Jaemin from time to time to catch his disgusted expressions.

Often, snickering at the boy sitting in front of you who was gagging and mimicking the teacher as she explains. Sticking his tongue out in disgust when they started explaining the left tattoo concept. Jaemin sighed heavily, his hand stretching out to grab the water bottle on his table. His finger raised to push the lid off with a small pop, drinking without hesitation.

Jaemin looked down as he closed the lid and his brows furrowed at the oh-so-familiar name label on the lid of said water bottle. Written on the pink label with a sailor moon picture on the side was Y/N L/N. Jaemin almost threw up when he turned to you slowly, making you look up from your notes to give him a questioning nod at his horrified expression.

The little boy raised the water bottle to show you your little sailor moon label, making you raise your brow questioningly, as if to say, ‘what’s wrong with my sailor moon label?’ 

Crud, he forgot you were using the same water bottles your parents got you when you were both shopping at the thrift store.

Your eyes widened in realization when Jaemin pointed at himself and your bottle, trying not to scream in terror and get a scolding from your strict science teacher. ‘Did you,’ you mouthed, pointing an accusitory finger at the boy sitting in distress in front of you. ‘Drink from my,’ you continued, using your other hand to point dramatically at yourself then to your bottle that was still in his hands. ’My bottle?’ you asked with wide terrified eyes.

Jaemin practically gulped nervously, nodding in response. You both took a moment just staring into each other’s terrified expression, before mouthing ‘what the heck?!’ or ‘oh crud’ repeatedly, as to not gain your teacher’s attention.’You drank from my water bottle, Jaemin?!’ you mouthed, rubbing your hands against your face in distress. ‘How am i suppose to drink now?’ you whined, facepalming now that Jaemin had placed your water bottle back on your desk.

‘How am I suppose to live now knowing your spit is basically in my body? ‘ Jaemin shudders in response, grabbing his throat with disgust laced across his face. ‘Gross, I have your germs in my mouth.’ he stuck his tongue out in disgust, fake gagging as you rolled your eyes.

Renjun just gave you an incredulous look, his mouth gaping open, trying to decide whether to laugh or shake his head profusely. “Gosh, you two were born to be so dramatic. Seriously, while other people are having a mental breakdown over doing algebra, you two were in the back of the class making lovey-dovey faces because you two had your first indirect kiss.” Renjun laughed, clapping his hands as he howled back in laughter.

You sat up and whined, smacking your best friend with the pillow you were hugging earlier, causing him to laugh even more.”Oh god, I wish I came here sooner to witness that.” he wheezed, dodging your hits with his forearms as you continued to smack him on the face, chanting “shut up, Huang!” repeatedly in shame.

“I couldn’t drink from that bottle for months! It was my favorite bottle, too! The fact that Jaemin brings that bottle to school everyday was just traumatizing for the both of us! Instant trauma,” you groaned, leaning back dramatically against the mattress. Renjun laughed, smacking you with a pillow. “How did that even happen?” he asked incredulously.

“Some kid decided it would be funny to switch our bottles.” you pouted, stretching your arms across the bed like a starfish. “Did you two do anything bout it?” Renjun asked, his brows raising in amusement, practically eating your hilarious story up like it was a tub of candy. You sighed, looking away for a moment before mumbling under your breath.

“Jaemin said we should’ve replace the water in his water bottle with tap water from the bathroom, but I didn’t want to risk the guy getting a tummy ache so I spat in his drink instead.“

Renjun howled with laughter, a hand coming to hold his stomach as he leaned his head back laughing. “Why would you- Oh my god, this is gold. I can’t-” he wheezed, tears lining his vision as his tummy started to ache from laughing so hard. “Shut up! I was like, nine years old at the time. At that exact moment I felt no remorse for my actions whatsoever but now that I said it, it makes me feel even worse!” you whine, your feet kicking Renjun off the bed.

He landed on your carpet floor with a loud thud, his laughter subsiding into giggles. “That’s the chaotic energy everyone in this generation wants to have, holy shit, why wasn’t this documented ? This could’ve gone down as one of the most iconic moments in history. Honestly, whoever that kid who switched your bottle was, he’s that hero that doesn’t even need a cape.” he jokes, sitting up to earn a death glare from you.

Oh, if looks could kill, right now.

“Whatever, you sadist. Enjoying your time as you watch me suffer in despair.” you swung your arm over your eyes dramatically, feeling the mattress sink, assuming that Renjun had climbed onto the bed once again. “Come on, tell me another one. I promise I won’t laugh,” Renjun raised his pinkie finger with a soft smile. You raised your brow at him with your lips in a frown, causing Renjun to shrug innocently, “too much.”

You inhaled, your mind delving deep into the loving memories you had with Jaemin throughout your life. Your heart clenched at the next story you were bout to tell, the memory making your heart wanting to reach out for his even more. “Well, there was this one time-”

  Ninth grade. Senior year of middle school. The previous day, you danced under the rain as Jaemin watched you from under the bus stop, hiding for shelter as you jumped around the empty cold streets. The fresh smell of rain hitting your nostrils as water made your clothes clung to your skin. Unfortunately for you, the next day you immediately got sick with a fever.

Receiving countless of text messages saying either ‘I told you so’ or ‘lucky bitch, you get to miss our physics test’ from Jaemin. You were shivering under the layers of blankets and hoodies you were wearing, stirring awake every hour due to how cold or thirsty you felt, tossing and turning every now and then. You turned when you heard your bedroom door opening, wondering who it was considering both your parents were busy at work at this hour.

Your eyes widened to see Jaemin, a coat hanging over his arm as he closed the door, and a plastic bag filled with delicious warm soup that you could smell from a mile away. “I can’t believe you left me to suffer all alone in school, I swear you purposely didn’t listen to me because you didn’t want to do that boring test.” Jaemin whined, a pout evident on his lips.

“Nana!” you exclaimed in a giddish tone, making grabby hands at him. Jaemin chuckled as he walked closer to your bed, sitting on the corner of your bed beside you, leaning his back against the headboard. He lays his coat on the chair behind your study desk, putting the plastic bag of food on your lap when you sat up. “Eat up. The sooner you get better, the sooner I can hug you to death for leaving me today.” He jokes.

You smiled, opening the plastic container inside to smell the scrumptious soup inside. “Chicken noodle soup, your favourite.” he spoke in a soft tone, smiling lightly at you. You grinned, grabbing the plastic spoon that came with it. “What? No soda on the side?” you grinned cheekily, earning a soft pinch to your cheek by your best friend. “Don’t you dare make song references in front of me as if you didn’t listen to me bout dancing under the rain yesterday, look where it got you now.” he tuts, shaking his head in a motherly manner.

“Geez, sorry, mom.” you teased, beginning to consuming your soup. “You’re sweating a lot, that’s a good sign.” Jaemin pushed a strand of hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear, the sudden action causing you to pause from your eating for a brief moment, before shrugging it off. “I’ll probably feel be back to normal in a day or two.” you shrugged, gulping down a spoon full of soup.

“You’re gonna need to change, take your hoodie off.” Jaemin exclaimed, pulling your almost finished soup away from you. You let out a loud, “huh?” in response, your eyes widening at his sudden statement, trying to see if he was joking but no, Jaemin was dead ass serious.

“Take your hoodie off.” Jaemin ordered. “Jaemin!” you exclaimed, pulling your blankets up to your chin, protecting yourself from him. “You’re not gona get any better with wet stinky clothes on you, Y/N.” Jaemin rolled his eyes, walking over to your closet to grab a really baggy shirt of yours, tossing the big fabric over your face. You sat up and pulled the shirt off of your face to see Jaemin strip the white hoodie he was wearing over his body.

Your eyes caught the black shirt he was wearing underneathe had tugged up along with his hoodie, exposing his toned stomach to prove the results of how much time he spent working out at the gym with Jeno recently. 

You squeaked at the action, looking away with a small blush tinting your cheeks. “Jaemin, what are you-” you flushed, taking the risk of looking at Jaemin again with a flustered expression to see your best friend standing in front of you with his white hoodie clutched in his hands. “Change your clothes, you’re gonna get even more sick if you lay there with wet clothes. You ran out of hoodies, use mine, instead.” he spoke sternly.

“Jaemin, I don’t think that that’s really necessary-” you let out a small squeak when Jaemin’s face came close to yours, his hand laying on your forehead and the other laying on his own. “You’re fever’s getting even worse. Change clothes and finish your soup while I get a warm towel ready, Y/n” He spoke, turning to leave your room, shutting the door behind him, unaware of how red your face must’ve been at the sudden contact.

You felt your heart beat increase at the actions that had happen before you, Jaemin’s hoodie resting on your lap, his strong cologne filling your senses, causing you to flush red even more as you tugged your wet sweaty clothes off and changed into the shirt and hoodie Jaemin picked out for you. You bit your lip when you could practically feel his scent engulf your whole being, your face becoming more red.

Did he always smell this nice?

The fresh smell of cinnamon and comfort was the only thing you could say to describe the indescribable scent of your best friend. You felt your heart flutter at the thought of constantly wearing his hoodie, but your thoughts were quickly interrupted when Jaemin came into your room with a bucket filled with warm water and a towel in hand.

“Lay down, y/n” he ordered, sitting on the bed beside you as you sunk down on the bed, pulling your bed sheets up to your nose so he wouldn’t see how red your face is. Jaemin didn’t think much of it when he dipped the water in the warm water, squeezing the water out to leave the towel warm and soaked, laying the warm towel on your forehead.

“You really didn’t have to do this, you know.” you bit your lip, sighing at the contact of his fingertips grazing against your skin as he layed the towel gently on your forehead. “I know, but you’ll probably die here if I don’t,” he chuckles. dipping the towel again once it got cold, squeezing the water out before placing it back on your forehead. “Does that mean you care bout me, Na Jaemin?” you smirked. “That’s quite embarrassing.” you teased.

Jaemin rolled his eyes softly at you, pinching your cheeks before cooping your nose. “There’s nothing embarrassing for a guy to care for his girl.” he commented simply. It felt like an arrow of pure adoration had struck through your heart. Well, that comment backfired. Wait, what does he mean by ‘his girl’?

“I’m your girl?” you spoke after a moment of hesitation, feeling your heart race against your ribcage once again. Jaemin chuckled, flicking your forehead teasingly, “not like that, you cheeseball.” he grinned, booping your nose once again before removing the towel from your forehead.

“Get some sleep, I’ll be right here when you need me. That is, unless your parents kick me out for staying too long.” he giggles, carressing your hair with his calloused fingers. “They’ll never kick you out, you live literally next door, Nana.” you giggled, nuzzling against his touch. Jaemin chuckled, putting the towel into the bucket before leaning in to give you a sweet kiss on your forehead.

Your eyes widened at the sudden act of affection, causing Jaemin to grin shyly. “You just look adorable, right now.” he mumbles under his breath before standing up and walking towards the door. “Go to sleep! I’ll be watching TV if you need me!” Jaemin exclaimed before closing the door with a soft click.

I don’t know bout you, but you knew you couldn’t sleep after his sudden display of affection.

You didn’t even realize tears were slowly streaming down your face until you let out a soft sob, Renjun’s figure coming close to comfort you. You felt Renjun’s arm wrap around your back, his hand coming up to your head to lean it against his shoulder. You sniffled, trying to swallow the sob that’s waiting to erupt from your mouth.

It was like day one all over again, with you crying your eyes out and Renjun comforting you by your side with food and movies. You shut your eyes tight once you felt that familiar burning sensation on your wrist, your heart aching and stinging against your chest. Renjun noticed your pained expression, his hand quickly yet gently coming up to see your left wrist, his eyes widening at the sight. “I’ll get you an ice pack, okay?” Renjun asked worriedly, carressing your soulmate mark as if it would soothe the burning sensation.

You nodded, crying even more as Renjun quickly bolted out your room, his footsteps echoing down the halls. You sniffled, trying to wipe the tears away with your palms, but like an endless waterfall, it never stopped. Nor did the pain in your heart.

Renjun came back with a sympathetic expression plastered on his face, coming up to you and gently placing the frozen packet of peas he found in your freezer on your glowing red tattoo. Renjun softly shushing you and caressing the back of your hair, his own heart aching to see his best friend like this. He couldn’t count the many times you had cried to him bout Jaemin since the dinner with your parents.

The countless amount of times he would press a cold surface onto your left burning wrist.

The countless times you would rant how your heart was begging for Jaemin’s stupid presence.

The countless times he wanted to punch Jaemin for not showing a single ounce of guilt and for how oblivious the younger boy is to how much he had been inflicting your pain.

You fell asleep in Renjun’s hold, the pain on your wrist subsiding into a dull ache, your heart beat in your ears.

Jaemin practically dragged his bag on the floor as he entered the room. His mood decreasing as the seconds go by, his eyes dark with exhaustion and pain. Lately, he hasn’t been focusing properly on the tasks in front of him, his mind was always somewhere else when Coach was discussing strategies for next week’s game.

He was always spacing out to the sound of his own heart beating in his ears, his eyes setting on a certain object in the corner of the room he was in, his body freezing in place as his whole head was in a haze. He’s gotten a countless amount of scolding for spacing out in the middle of practice, the endless amount of times Coach would get a student to hold a volley ball from the storage closet, ready to hit him with whenever he spaces out during practice matches.

Today, he was on his breaking point, he recently failed his History test, then got another scolding from Coach. Hell, he was called to the office in the middle of class, the Coach’s heavy frown never bringing ease to his now tense figure. 

Jaemin collapsed on his bed with a soft thud, trying to keep his breath under control as his Coach’s words echoed in his head, his head buried into the soft fabric of his pillow. He tried to keep his mind from overthinking Coach Kim’s words adding into his stress.

“Na Jaemin, recently, I’ve become aware of how much you’ve been a little... distracted, lately. I’m sorry to say but as Captain of the whole team, you need to be on full focus for the game. If you can’t do that then I’m afraid someone else will.”

Jaemin gripped his pillow tightly, his breathing deepen as he tries to calm himself, his heart beat increasing. He squeezed his eyes tight, the look of disappointment in his team’s expression was all he could think bout for the rest of the day. His heart feeling heavy in his chest.

“I know, I know, this seems too far but, we can’t afford to lose the school winning streak all because of our captain spacing out because of who knows what! I know I sound delirious for saying this, but we can’t risk this.” 

Jaemin remembered the heavy feeling of promising his Coach that he will get his problems sorted out right away so it wouldn’t interfere in the way of winning the game. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if the endless hard work he puts into playing football the past two years went to waste when the position he trained so hard to earn was taken away just like that.

Jaemin sniffled, sitting up as he tries to shake those thoughts away. His eyes blurring slightly at his Coach’s words repeating themselves inside of his head. He stood up, stretching his arms out to release the tension in his muscles, as he tries to delve into a more positive state of mind. His eyes closing in concentration.

‘Don’t think so negatively, Jaemin. You can do this, just stay focused at the task at hand and worry bout this weird pain after the game.’

Jaemin unconsciously walked towards his window, an exhausted groan eliciting from his mouth. ‘You’ve got this !’ he thought with determination, calming his thoughts as a content smile stretched across his face. Jaemin opened his eyes slowly, his bunny smile immediately dissipated into a deep frown, his eyes widen slightly at the sight from the window across his.

You were with Renjun on your bed, doing what looks like cuddling in each other’s warm embrace. You were sitting in between Renjun’s legs, your back facing Jaemin, making him unable to see your expression. Your head was leaning against Renjun’s shoulder, his hand coming up to caress the back of your head. Jaemin’s eyes never left your figure being in such an intimate position with Renjun.

Jaemin felt his own blood boiling, his previously sour mood returning in an instant, his heart beating in his ears as his eyes stared daggers into Renjun’s head. He watched as Renjun’s eyes gaze contently to your figure laying comfortably on his, his fists clenching even more at the sight. That is, until Jaemin snapped out of it with a shake of his head. 

What was wrong with him?

Why was he feeling so angry bout seeing you cuddling with someone like that?

Yet again, when was the last time you cuddled him like that. Jaemin pulled his curtains to cover the sight across him, walking to the bed, running a hand through his hair. before leaning back to lay down on his mattress with his back facing his white sheets.

Jaemin sighed as he got lost in his own thoughts once again. When was the last time he cuddled you? Or held your hand? His head turned to the side, eyes scanning the picture frames he hung up on the walls of his room, stopping at the picture you took on your trip to Busan during winter back in 7th grade.

In the picture, you had Jaemin wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a gentle embrace. Your smile wide and your expression filled with laughter as Jaemin's happy one focused on the camera. Your eyes weren't on the camera, though, they were on him.

Cheeks and noses warm and red from the cold snow, clothes stained with the snow you played with to make snow angels and snowmen, your smile so wide, Jaemin could almost hear your bright laughter from the picture itself. As if he was reliving in that exact moment.

When did you stop smiling like that?

Jaemin realised he never noticed how forced your smiles became, how you use humor to mask every single emotion, how no matter how tired you are, you always manage to joke bout the littlest things to make him crack a smile.

"Why are you sad?" Jaemin asked as he drove you home one day, you glanced up at him with exhaustion glossing over your pupils, showing how pained you were for a split second, before you crack into a loving eye smile.

"I'm not sad, silly. I'm just tired of Mrs. Lee getting up in my ass yelling at my ear as if she was begging for my head to explode and have blood erupting out of my neck like a distorted volcano pms-ing." you joked, causing Jaemin to let out a soft laugh.

"You have the weirdest thoughts, I swear." he shook his head, his eyes glancing at you for a split second before returning to the road. "You're not normal yourself, Nana. We're all clowns in this generation, don't act like its a weird thing." you laughed, smacking his shoulder lightly.

Jaemin raised his brow at you, "me? A clown? You're practically born in a circus." he chuckled. "Says the person who says 'wow' every five seconds for the simplest of things. Post Malone basically wrote that song off of you, you should sue." you giggled, causing him to giggle.

"I am praying to God so that he could add at least add more braincells into that silly head of yours." Jaemin laughed. "God made me to be a clown, I must live on with my purpose, Nana." you added with a wink. "And a simp, too." you giggled.

Jaemin rolled his eyes at the memory, smiling at your terrible attempt at flirting. But his smile turned into a concerned expression once he remembers how pained your eyes looked at the time. As if you were holding pent up frustration, pain and emotion behind the humor.

Since when did you try to hide everything with humor? And when did he start to be one of those people who believed that you were okay behind that bright exterior? He was your soulmate for-

Wait, a second. Your soulmate? Why was he addressing himself like this? So what if he's your soulmate? It doesn't give him the right to barge into your personal problems. You didn't want to do anything with him after that dinner party, so why would he bother to think bout you when you were probably moving on with Renjun?

Jaemin licked his lips bitterly, his brows furrowed in frustration. A hand coming up to rub his face in distress, what was wrong with him these days?

Jaemin's thoughts went to how your body slumped weakly in Renjun's embrace, his eyes glancing down at your figure in a protective manner, his hand caressing your soft hair to soothe and comfort you. Jaemin knew how this would lull you to sleep in an instant, send you in a cuddly haze in people's arms.

Why did he know this?

Because he was the first one to experience it first hand, why should Renjun experience such an endearing moment? Why should Renjun see how vulnerable you are when it comes to-

Jaemin winced as the familiar pain in his chest resurfaced, his wrist aching again. He closed his eyes, 'not this again,' he thought to himself. Jaemin leaned over his drawer, his heart aching heavily against his chest as he opened the drawer to pull out a couple of pain killers

Tags: @lixseu @morks-watermelon @cherrystay @candiednickles @12am-musings @lowkeyviv @btm-taeyong @d-nghyck @gothmingguk @luvlyjaemin @cowward @smileyyuta

Couldn't tag: @/uncovermenow666 @/cakelyn

#nct x reader #nct angst #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct dream x you #na jaemin #nct #jaemin x reader #jaemin x you #nct jaemin #jaemin #na jaemin x reader #nct jaemin x reader #nct x you #nct x y/n #nct x oc

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Please Fix the Story pt 2 - Zombie Apocalypse

Hey everyone, here is a continuation to the the fix it fic Reverse harem short story I posted a few days ago! 

Part one linked here. 

(FYI although it is a different world, the main character as well as Liam are the same people. As stated at the end of the first part, Liam cannot bring along any memories from prior worlds) 

Enjoy!

__________________________

GRRRR!

I looked around at my surroundings as I arrived in the new world, trying to catch my bearings.

Broken down buildings, abandoned cars, no people around and zombies about to attack… yep, definitely a post-apocalyptic setting.

I was in the middle of a city road, surrounded on all sides by tall, buildings with shattered windows, exposed beams and hanging wires. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I felt the unsettling atmosphere slowly settle over me. There was a strange silence to the world, the absence of people talking, cars honking, electronics beeping. There was just the wind, my breathing and silence…

GRRR.

…and the growls of the twenty or so zombies slowly approaching me.

I climbed up on an abandoned car, trying to catch my bearings. The movement tore at the four or five wounds that were scattered over my body, forcing out a groan of pain.

Multiple bruises, possible broken ribs, several cuts to arms and legs that still have broken bits of glass in them… it’s like I’ve been in a bar brawl.

It was always frustrating before I could accept the memories of my character and the world setting. I had no idea where I was, how I had gotten here, and more importantly what my mission was.

First things first, I need something to defend myself with.To my pleasant surprise, a quick survey of the area revealed a backpack that looked full and a sword resting on the ground nearby.

I jumped down, biting my lip to hold back a cry of pain at the motion, and quickly pulled the backpack on, unsheathing the sword and looking at it. It looked like something out of a museum, with an ornate gold plated hilt and a long, slightly curved blade. The weight and length were just at the limit of what this current body could bear, and I gave the sword a few practice swings with a grin.

Wonder how my character got a hold of a sword… this body doesn’t seem like one that practices fencing.

Putting my questions out of my mind, I held up my sword, centering my thoughts and bringing my heart into focus, just as I had trained in the past.

Fortunately, one of the previous story worlds I had lived through since the day I woke up without memories had been an assassin novel. The mission had been difficult; protecting the assassin’s guild from destruction after the hero left them behind to chase the heroine on an adventure. The author had regretted destroying his beloved family and guild members, and abandoned the novel. So I was tasked with spending years training weapons skills in the group, finally fighting against the rogue gang that attacked and defending the hero’s family in his place. Completing that mission had taken seven years in total, but  on the bright side I had gained a good amount of fighting experience.

I closed my hand over the familiar weight of a sword in my palm. Time to start a new world.At the thought I felt a pang of loneliness and couldn’t help but close my eyes and smile bitterly. How is it that I’ve spent years and years in some of these worlds, and they still didn’t manage to move my heart as much as four weeks spent in a silly high school romance novel world?

“Liam.” I whispered quietly, opening my eyes with a sigh. He had so easily bypassed my defenses, making me care about him to the point that I had hesitated about moving on to the next world.

I have to keep moving forward, it’s my only hope of recovering my memories and going home.

Grrrr.

Thinking about the world and people I had left behind had depressed my mood, but thankfully, an outlet for my emotions had just presented itself on a silver platter.

“Time for some emotional therapy… by killing zombies.” With a  smile I put away all stray thoughts and feelings, suppressed any sensation of pain or fear. There was only me, my sword, and the targets to destroy.

I was ready.

Silent, I sprang forward, my sword raised.

My first slash cut off the nearest zombies arm, the sword slicing through the rotten meat and brittle bones with ease.

Thud.

The arm hit the ground with a dull sound. The zombie’s wide, lidless eyes stared down at the detached limb for a few moments, as if confused, before turning back towards me with renewed energy.

GRRR.

Right, undead. Cutting off limbs won’t do much. So let’s try decapitation.

Ducking under the zombie’s remaining arm, I straightened up behind the monster and aimed this time for the neck.

This time both head and body fell to the ground, and became still.

Success!

The rotten blood and flesh dripped onto my hand from the stained blade. Disgusted, I swung the sword back and forth, which only served to scatter the remnants in the air, releasing a horrific smell. I gagged, forcing myself to breathe through my mouth and leaping at the nearest zombie with a snarl.

“This is so gross!”

SLICE! Two zombies fell to the ground on either side of me.

“I hate this world so much!”

Swish! Slice! THUD!

“WHAT IF THERE’S NO RUNNING WATER AND I CAN’T SHOWER?!!!”

A zombie’s growl cut off suddenly as the head flew out into the distance.

“I don’t even know what the mission is, but it already SUCKS!”

Letting out my frustration, I took out the remaining zombies, standing in place in a puddle of goo, my breaths coming in an out with a harsh gasping sound as my out of shape body tried to catch up with the practiced movements I had just put it through. My heart beat rapidly in my chest, breathing caused sharp pains as my broken ribs protested and made their presence known.

I was injured, I was tired, and I was covered in zombie guts.

I want to go home.

But I didn’t know where home was.

Feeling sorry for myself, I sat down on the ground, pulling out my phone and checking the mission.

“This better be a quick one.”

As I pulled up the familiar screen the first thing I noticed was a notification.

**** CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE LEVELED UP!****

“… Pardon?”

As you continue to complete world missions in an efficient and satisfactory manner, you will gain experience and level up the mission system, allowing you additional benefits and assistance.

A small experience bar glowed at the bottom of the notification, with only a sliver of the space filled in and a large number “2” next to it.

“It took TWELVE worlds for me to get to level 2?!” I fought the desire to throw my phone with rage, and continued to read.

With your new level, you have unlocked key character descriptions and world map in the mission app! As well as… other benefits!

“…” I stared at the screen silently. Why do I feel like this thing is just messing with me now?I’m just going to ignore this. It’s too rage inducing.

I clicked through the message and moved on to the mission description.

**** NEW WORLD: WAR OF THE UNDEAD ****

This post-apocalyptic zombie infested story follows Eric, a young man with a military background and the will to fight as he survives the end of the world. By his side is the love of his life Hannah, who holds his hand through the uneasy tides of crumbling social structures, horrifying monsters and evil villains.

Complaints about the story were rampant as the heroine of the novel was deemed “useless” with no discernable skills, often getting kidnapped and wreaking havoc for Eric to clean up after. Unable to balance the two main leads, the author finally gave up and never finished the story, leading to the world’s instability and eventual destruction.

                                                                               The Author’s wish, and your mission, consists of two parts: First, help the heroine develop into a well-rounded character, able to stand on her own two feet instead of a two dimensional plot device designed to give the hero problems to solve. Second, help humanity establish a good foundation for a new society, leaving the story on a high note with hope for defending against the zombies.

**** DO YOU ACCEPT THIS MISSION?****

I glared at my screen, desperately wishing for a “decline” option.

HELP HUMANITY ESTABLISH A FOUNDATION?!!! HOW LONG IS THAT GOING TO TAKE??

I let out a sad moan, leaning against the broken car and staring up at the dull grey sky with a hopeless gaze.

How long do I have to live in this world and go without a hot shower?

I clicked Accept, my finger stabbing the screen angrily, accomplishing nothing other than a sore fingertip. The memories of my character rushed in, the splitting pain and confusion passing quickly as I accepted them with ease.

“… Well, I guess it could be worse.”

I was a small side character in this story, the spoiled princess of the hero’s group that caused trouble. Upon joining up with their team, she would constantly complain, wishing for luxury and pampering in a world where survival was the only priority. She was tolerated as she had brought with her a large bag of supplies from her family’s mansion, as well as an antique sword that she had taken off the wall as she left, but the goodwill of the hero and his friends quickly ran dry in the face of her spoiled personality and increasingly ridiculous demands.

Finally after several years and multiple fights, her character was kidnapped along with Hannah, the heroine. The hero was forced to choose one to save, and selected his loved one without hesitation. Even at the end her character believed she was too important to be killed, threatening her captors right up until they threw her into a pit of zombies.

It seemed as if I had started this world right after my character had abandoned her first team. They had gotten into a fight with a roaming bandit group, (which explained my current injuries) during which my character had escaped, leaving her teammates behind.

As the story moved on she would then meet up with the hero and his camp, joining and staying alongside them until her untimely demise.

Unfortunately it looks like one of the hero’s companions was a friend of this character, which will make it difficult to explain the large difference in the personality… Rubbing my headthoughtfully as I considered the problem, I finally gave up and sighed. Oh well, the apocalypse changes people, they’ll just have to accept it.

The phone in my hand vibrated once more, with surprise I glanced down at the new alert.

With your level up, you are able to change your character’s name to one of your choosing. All characters’ memories will be adjusted accordingly.

**** Select a character name? ****

I struggled internally with a sudden childish desire to name my character “ass-licker” or something equally stupid, just for the chance to hear everyone have to say it seriously.

But if I was going to spend a few years in this world… that would get old fast.

I slowly typed out a name, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

“Blaire.”

My favorite world so far.A memory I wanted to keep with me.

I wonder what happened to Liam after I left? Before I could consider that thought too closely, a panicked scream broke the silence of the city.

“HELP!”

Following the distressed sounds, I entered a nearby building. In a large open area filled with broken concrete and other debris, a single young man was cornered by three zombies. He held a metal bar in his hands, which he was swinging wildly, barely keeping the monsters at bay. They were slowly crowding him into a corner, but seemed unable to reach any closer. The man continued swinging, all the while a constant stream of half-intelligible cursing and complaints escaping from his mouth.

“Damned traitor…. Make him regret… snap his neck… no that’s too good for him! … boiling… oil… funnel…!”

For all that this is a life threatening situation, why do I get the feeling he seems… like he’s having fun?

Shaking off the wayward thought, I rushed in, sword drawn, striking the zombies down with a few swings. As their heads tumbled to the ground, I kneeled down, using their shredded clothes to carefully clean the blade. As I looked up, I saw the startled face of the man I saved, and felt a moment of panic.

“Liam?”

After staring silently a few moments, I shook my head sadly

It wasn’t him.

He was older, taller, with a slimmer build. His hair, though a similar dark shade, was longer and roughly cut. His face was not the one in my memories, with a slimmer nose and a more pointed chin, but his eyes… they were the exact same shade of dark blue as Liam in the previous world. It was the eyes that had initially caused me to call out, the amused light in them so familiar it was as if he were still right in front of me.

But he wasn’t. I had left that world, and therefore Liam, behind.

“I’m sorry, I mistook you for someone else.”

The man shook his head, his face still pale with shock. “Don’t be sorry! You saved my life!”  He walked forward, holding out a trembling hand to shake. “I’m so glad you showed up when you did!”

I took his hand, trying to smile comfortingly. “Happy to help. Are you going to be okay? How’d you end up here all alone?”

“I got separated from my… friends.” He looked at me closely. “You’re such a strong person, I would have died without you!  I know I’m weaker than you, and might be a burden but… would you… be willing to let me tag along until we get to camp?”

Poor guy, he still looks terrified.I patted him on the shoulder. “Of course.”

He sighed with relief. “Thank you. You’re my hero!”

I laughed at that. “Just call me Blaire.”

“I’m William! But you can call me Liam.”

“Liam?” I paused, unable to hold back from asking.  “I’m sorry… but… have we met before?”

“Hmm… Unfortunately no, I would have definitely remembered you. But perhaps we were fated to meet?” His eyes were clear as he spoke, without any recognition. I frowned.

It can’t be the same person… but he’s just as weird as Liam from the other world, that’s for sure. Unable to shake the sense of familiarity, I sheathed my sword and gestured for him to follow.

“Let’s go.”

“Of course, savior of my life! I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth!”

“… Just to the camp is fine.”

As we stepped out into the street we were immediately confronted by the sight of a large group of tough-looking, scarred men, each carrying multiple weapons. As I tensed up, my hand on my sword hilt, the closest man in the group spotted us, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

“BOSS! You’re still alive!”

I glanced back at Liam, who looked mildly annoyed.

“Boss! We killed the traitor and brought back the weapons he stole from you!”

Tossing out a duffel bag, the zipper was open enough to spot multiple guns, grenades and other deadly weapons.

“…”

“…”

We all stared at the bag in silence for a few moments.

“Boss?” I finally asked.

He gave an awkward grin. “It’s just a friendly nickname.”

“So I’m guessing you won’t need my protection on the way to the nearest camp.” Feeling mildly disappointed, I stepped away, preparing to leave. Only to pause at Liam’s panicked shout.

“Wait, no!” He stepped closer, waving his arms frantically. “I definitely need your protection! These guys are just joking! I’m actually quite a weakling, and desperately need someone strong like you to look after me.”

“What are you saying boss?” One of the goons interrupted. “You’re probably the most deadly man alive…”

THUD

A stone flew through the air, striking the man between the eyes, and knocking him to the ground.

“Shut. Up.” Liam hissed,

“OUCH! That hurt!”

“Now you tell this beautiful woman who saved my life and has promised to protect me how weak and helpless I am!”

The large muscular men all turned towards me, terror in their eyes.

“Boss is the weakest!”

“Definitely weak!”

“He needs protection!”

“He’d die without you!”

“…” I gave Liam a look. Do you really think I’d buy this?

His response was a shameless smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t drag you down! I’ll cook for you!”

“…”

“Run errands!”

“…”

“Do housework!”

I finally spoke up. “Really? You’d do all that?”

“Yes, I…”

“You can’t expect the Boss to act like a servant!!” One of the men burst out angrily, only to fly back as another stone struck him in the face. Another burly, scarred thug took his place.

“Ahem. What my friend meant to say is, Boss is highly skilled in all of these tasks. He’s great husband material!”

Liam gave the man a thumbs up. “Shark, you’re a smart fellow. You’ve just been promoted to my new right hand man!”

“Thanks Boss!”

“Now take care of things while my life savior and hopefully future wife escorts me back!” He grabbed the duffel bag, offering the contents to me before choosing a small handgun and a grenade for himself and handing the rest to Shark.

The man took the remaining weapons with a terrifying smile. “Definitely!” With a sharp whistle, he and the other men quickly turned around and ran away, dragging the injured man who had protested Liam taking on cleaning duties behind them.

“…” I watched this all with confusion. How did the title of future wife get added on to a simple request to escort him to camp?I almost told him to go away, but hesitated. Faced with his almost puppy-like look of anticipation I swallowed the words I was about to say, helplessly turning back in the direction of the hero’s camp. “Let’s go.”

__________________________

We traveled together for a few days, and I found Liam to be an entertaining companion. At each stop he would light a fire, cook a meal, and arrange the camp. Any offers to help were met with stiff resistance.

“You’re the one doing me the favor.” He answered once with a smile. “I’m just trying to support you!”

“…”

“You know…” He added nervously. “If you think that I’m useful… I’d be happy to work for you full time in exchange for your protection.”

“…”

“For example, if we got married it would be super convenient to bring me along as your support husband.”

I sighed quietly, rubbing my head. “You know we’ve only known each other three days right?”

“The great thing about that concern is that it becomes less relevant the longer we’re together!” He grinned briefly, before putting on a serious expression.

“You asked me once if we met before… and even though I know we haven’t I can’t shake the feeling that I know you. As if there’s a voice shouting from the depths of my soul, telling me that if I lose you I’ll regret it forever, but if I can stay by your side I’ll be the happiest man alive.”

I couldn’t help but shake my head. He reminds me so much of Liam spouting his minion nonsense. But if he’s the same person… how did he follow me here?

“By the way… if you thought that sounded poetic, I would like to add ‘well-spoken’ and ‘artistic’ to the lists of attractive traits that I bring to the table as a potential husband or even just a good lackey.”

“…” Let’s just ignore him and get to camp as soon as possible.

__________________________

We arrived at the camp. Fortunately our path had been fairly clear, we met very few zombies on our way. As we walked up to the camp entrance, and attractive man and woman met us, their expressions somewhat guarded.

“Who are you and why are you here?” The man called out.

I paused a good distance away to avoid seeming to threatening, and studied him closely. He looked to be in his mid twenties, with close-cropped hair and classically handsome features. He had a gun at his hip, and a knife close to his hand, obviously ready to respond to any danger.

Smells like a male lead.

I held up my hands, showing that they were empty of weapons and tried to appear friendly.

“I’m Blaire. I’ve recently split from another roaming group and was hoping to join your camp here.” I carefully put my backpack of supplies on the ground and opened it, showing off the contents. “I’ll share some of my supplies. I’m also decent with a sword, and can add to your fighting force.”

The man looked both me and the bag over carefully. “I’m Eric.” He finally spoke up, his expression slightly more relaxed. He pointed at Liam who still stood next to me. “Who’s your friend?”

“I’m Liam, her lackey!” He announced before I could say something. “Also hopeful suitor.”

“Are you joining as well?”

“Of course!”

I glanced over at him. “What about your gang?”

“What gang?”

“…”

“… Those punks you met earlier? They’ll be fine.”

I sighed and turned back towards the hero of the story. “So what’s your answer?”

He watched us both, obviously thinking carefully. “On a trial basis.” He turned around, carefully protecting the delicate young woman next to him. She was petite, barely coming up to Eric’s shoulder, and had a fair complexion already turning red in the sun. Her eyes were large with an innocent light in them, as she stared at me with a nervous look.

This must be Hannah, our heroine. She definitely seems… easy to kidnap. So helping her become a well-rounded character is mission number one, huh? I followed behind them, my mind racing with plans to help turn her into a force to be reckoned with in this post-apocalyptic wasteland.

This is going to be fun!I rubbed my hands together, a villainous laugh escaping me.

Liam poked my arm, whispering. “Blaire, although I personally think your evil laugh is wonderful, and I could listen to it all day… I feel like I should warn you that you’re scaring the young girl over there.”

I paused, catching Hannah’s terrified expression, and tried to give her a reassuring smile. In response her face turned even more pale under her sunburn, and she hugged Eric tightly as if wanting to escape.

“Was my smile that terrifying?” I leaned over towards Liam and asked quietly.

“I’m the wrong person to ask. I find your strength and ability to intimidate the masses vastly reassuring.”

“Thanks… I guess.”

I followed the lead characters into the camp silently, Liam following close behind me.

It was time to save the story.

And… hopefully find a way to shower.

#writing #fantasy #world hopping #zombies #violence

[minnie-mei]

okay so hyde likes knives, blood, and tattoos. and he can be both masochistic and sadistic,,,,and he is possessive,,,,,imagine, he takes his favourite knife and writes hyde on his darlings arm, then gives the knife to her and makes her to do the same to him,,,,,blood oozes from both of their names,,,and then they mutually lick the blood hohoho sorry i’m nasty 👉🏽👈🏽😳

cut me | jackson hyde

yandere oc !

scenario !

gn! reader

note; this is right up his alley bitch thank you for this request 👁️👄👁️

WARNING(S): NSFW !!! AT THE END, swearing, obsessive/possessive behavior, abusive themes, graphic violence, implied kidnapping, blood, sensitive topics

This wasn't an unfamiliar sight; Jackson Hyde coming home covered in blood after returning from a kill. But it was, however, the first time he returned injured.

It wasn't a major injury or anything, the blood on him wasn't his, but he had a deep, messy cut running down his jawline. You weren't sure if he felt it or not; he was moving around perfectly fine, save for his breathing being slightly heavier and movements a bit rushed. He began stripping down as he usually did, ridding himself of his black shirt and hat and throwing them into the hallway. You were sure there were stains on the floor from where he did that so often, but it wasn't like you were ever given the chance to look.

"C'mere, Doll." He snapped his large fingers, pointing to the edge of the bed. His hands ruffled through the messy black hair atop his head, before pulling a familiar knife from his belt.

You thought it was pretty and he knew it. That's why it was his favorite, actually. You remember when he lined out all his blades in front of you and asked you to pick which one you thought was best. You'd picked an 8-inch, black handled hunting knife with daisy patterns decorating the silver. It was ironic how delicate it looked despite its intended purpose.

You were shaking by the time you crawled over to where he wanted you. He didn't waste any time either, rushing to lean down and press his lips to yours, the blood from his jaw smearing on your chin and dripping down your neck.

"Shh." He shushed your whimper, shoving you roughly back onto the bed before pinning your arms down with one hand, his other clasping his knife. Crawling up your body, he moved to straddle your thighs to keep you from kicking, his hands unmoving. It was entirely too quiet in the house, at least to you. The only thing that could be heard was Hyde's heavy breathing.

The raven haired man wasn't moving, preferring to stare at your body below him instead. You were wearing nothing but his favorite Mötley Crüe t-shirt, a garment that was maybe six sizes too big for you, and a pair of skimpy pink panties he'd bought for you as a shitty surprise gift only a day ago. You knew he liked seeing his shirts on you, they were all he gave you to wear and he'd told you on multiple occasions how fuckable you looked when wearing them. But he'd never watched you beneath him for this long before.

"Ya so pretty." He said suddenly, his crazed hazel his glaring into yours, "Mine. You're mine, ya know that? Forever."

His large left hand gripped down on yours harder when you started to struggle, having spotted his knife moving down your body.

"Jack-!" You gasped his nickname out, knowing how well he liked when you used it, "I've been good!"

"So good." He agreed, using his knife to push the shirt further towards your chest, revealing the soft skin of your stomach.

You jerked when the cold silver touched your ribs, "So- ah- why...?!"

"It's not a fuckin punishment, so relax, Doll." He scoffed, some form of desperation still strong in his voice, "This'll be good for us..."

To be fair, the cuts weren't that deep, just barely enough to scar. But that didn't stop the broken screams from leaving your lips at the sharp metal dragging across your upper abdomen. Hyde didn't seem to mind the screams, probably used to them now that you thought about it. He just continued, humming some rock song to himself with a sick look of satisfaction across his face.

He cooed at you when he was done, dropping the knife and pulling your hands to his mouth to press sweet kisses to your fingers, "Ya did good, baby~ Took me cuttin' up ya little tummy so well, huh?"

Excluding the carving of your stomach, he'd never actually been this sweet with you before. He was usually blunt or sarcastic, only nice if it was in a teasing way. He was gentle sometimes but always sure to make up for it with plenty of bites and rough pinches.

"'Don't gotta cry..." he kissed your tears away to the best of his ability, "Ya get ta do it ta me." He chuckled darkly when your sobs began dying down out of surprise, "I'm yours too. Here, here..."

The knife was shoved into your hands, Hyde forcing you to grip it as he still hovered over you. He didn't have to speak out loud for you to know what he wanted. His eyes said it all.

'cut me'

Jackson Hyde's upper body was covered in tattoos, save for most of his abs and right side of his chest. You guessed he was just giving you full reign of where he wanted you to cut him. What should you write? You didn't even know what he put on you yet. When you looked down to find out, all you could see was red.

"Ya name, Doll. Put ya name." He whispered, licking his lips and pulling the knife closer to his chest.

You could admit to yourself that a piece of you had always wanted to inflict harm on your captor, but now that you were actually presented with the opportunity? You were scared. Was this some sort of test? He'd certainly tested you before. But something was different about this time; he looked so genuine. He was practically vibrating in anticipation. There'd never been a time before this when you'd seen him anything other than calm and cocky.

When you allowed the blade to touch his chest, rather than the hiss of pain you expected, a happy hum left him. You swallowed nervously, continuing to drag the knife down to shape the first letter of your name. The way he shook out of pleasure made you want to just stab through his ribcage. You had all the power at the moment. Even his hulking figure couldn't beat a hunting knife. But something stopped you: this was kind of nice, in a sick way. For the first time in months you didn't feel entirely like an unloved victim. Well obviously you just had something carved into you, but the affection was nice and so was the small taste of power.

"I-I love you, Doll." Jackson sputtered out, high off the pain and feeling of being claimed by someone, "I own you. 'Love touchin' you 'n hurtin' you. 'Want ya ta touch 'n hurt me too."

You hated how attractive he was, especially when he grinned like that. You hated his stupid Boston accent too, it just made him hotter. Somehow though, it was good for distracting you from the blood flowing down the knife to your arm, only adding to your own blood covering your body. His jaw had stopped bleeding heavily and hadn't dripped on you since he first started using the blade.

It was taken from your hand and tossed to the ground the moment you finished your name. You thought it was because he didn't want to risk you stabbing him for real, but you were proven wrong when he slid down your body and stuck his tongue to the cuts on your stomach.

And fuck did it burn.

"Stop-- stop!" You sobbed out, tears flooding back.

Of course he didn't, he didn't pay any mind to your pleas at all. He continued to drag his warm muscle across the red liquid and stinging wounds. You gripped his dark hair in your hands tightly, knowing better than to try and push his head away. If you did, he'd probably switch to biting you. Lost in your pain, you seemed to forget just how much he liked his hair pulled. His lips switched from your abdomen to your mouth in a second, swallowing your cries and gasps.

The remaining bit of blood he had on his tongue slipped onto your own, forcing you to taste the metallic flavor. His kisses were never soft, just like they weren't now. They were rough and hungry, full of the lust he didn't have moments ago. On the bright side, at least your cuts weren't being sucked on any longer, just your lips. As if sensing your relief, Hyde pulled back to stare at you. He was using his left elbow to hold himself up, the same hand was tangled in your hair to keep you down. You could only watch, out of breath, as his right index and middle fingers traveled up to his chest to catch some of the fresh blood there.

The bloodied digits were shoved into your mouth before you had a chance to process what he was doing. You didn't want to swallow at first but when he sunk his fingers deep enough to make you gag a couple times, you knew you didn't have a choice.

"'Taste good, Baby?" He smirked, his tongue running over his teeth. His eyes were back to normal now; dark, animalistic, and threatening. The 'softer' moment you were having before had apparently ended.

He was exceptionally rough with you the rest of that night; you'd eventually passed out from both exhaustion and blood loss. You had no doubts that he continued to fuck you after you lost consciousness, something he's done before (though he tries to make up for it by bringing you 'presents'). Your thoughts were only confirmed by the stickiness you felt between your legs when you woke up the next morning. You felt sticky everywhere actually, and that's how you realised you were still covered in blood, along with the sheets and blankets.

Jackson had gone to work already it was a Tuesday, leaving you to clean yourself up. He wasn't very consistent with his affection for you; sometimes he was sweet and gave you tons of aftercare, and sometimes he just dumped your limp body and fucked off. It was the latter today.

You knew what was most likely written on your stomach, but you couldn't tell by just looking in the mirror. The blood was so heavily cached on your skin that you could only see red. Blood was all over you: stomach, chest, limbs, and face. It was even in your hair and under your nails.

You kind of regretted taking a shower though. You weren't sure if feeling clean was better than feeling dirty if you had to see yourself claimed like this. Because there, carved surprisingly neatly into your upper abdomen was his name:

'J. HYDE'

___

i... rlly love him lmao

- Admin Duckie

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc imagine #yandere oc x reader #yandere ocs #yandere imagine #oc x reader #oc imagine #yandere oc smut #yandere smut #possessive yandere #possessive yandere x reader #jackson hyde #hyde

[yandere-daydreams]

Can I request how a yandere demon Tanjirou would act like towards another slayer please? In a reverse au where Tanjirou ended up as a demon instead of Nezuko. I can see him taking advantage of changing sizes and becoming small to get hugs & nuzzles and vice versa when he's larger than normal.

He’s a very good boy with very sharp teeth, and I only have two qualifications. Truly, I am a simple man.

TW: Intimidation and Toxic Mindsets.

~

You’d never been comfortable around Tanjirou.

You felt guilty for saying it, but you were Nezuko’s friend, not Tanjirou’s. Sure, you respected him for what he’d gone through, admired his resolve and saw the value in his love for his sibling, but you could never relax around him, for whatever reason. Something about the way he stared, how he stood at the end of your bed (to wake you up in the morning, supposedly) and insisted on touching you whenever he had the chance… You just didn’t like it, even if Nezuko would so often reassure you that he was simply being affectionate.

He was always around, always there, always staring.

And tonight was no exception, of course.

The sound of soft footsteps on the wooden floor was enough to wake you up, despite your attempts to ignore the way Shinobu’s manor creaked whenever you let your eyes fall shut. The rest of your small party was already out on their next mission, leaving you alone in the infirmary for a healing ankle and a comatose demon to babysit. The other patients had already been dismissed, meaning Tanjirou’s presence went unnoticed until he was clambering at the side of your cot, tugging at the sheets and shifting his weight around as he hauled his shrunken form onto your already-cramped bed. You considered pushing him off, telling him to go back to his own room or dragging the boy there yourself, but you’d always had a weakness for his shortened state.

You wondered if he knew that, sometimes. It would explain why he always acted so childish around you.

“What do you want, Kamado?” You asked, the sleep still heavy in your voice. He was poking at your back, prodding gently, clearly attempting to get your attention. You sighed as you rolled over, lifting up an arm and letting him crawl beneath, holding him against you in a position that was far too intimate for you to consider it normal. But, you weren’t eager to have him sit on the floor until sunrise, either. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?” There was no verbal response, his make-shift gag already starting to dig into your shoulder, but you were past needing one. “I don’t mind, as long as you hide when someone comes in.”

At this, his arms were around your neck, forcing you to allow him closer, his hold on you mercifully weak. Tanjirou would never harm you, he’d never do so much as injure a human, but a part of you still questioned his resolve as sharpened nails brushed against the back of your neck, digging into your collar as he stared up at you, questioningly. Fighting the urge to look away, you ran your fingers through his messy hair, trying not to wince as he lulled into your palm.

Still, he perked up as you spoke, always so eager to listen to whatever you had to say.

“I just don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea,” You started, grappling for an excuse beyond high-strung laughter and mumbling about Zenitsu’s teasing. “It’s a little weird, isn’t it? You don’t do this with anyone else, and… what if someone thinks you want to hurt me?” There was a pause, a moment of contemplation, before you brought your hand away from him. Tanjirou reached for it, a bit taller than he was a few seconds ago, but you just moved to lay on your back. “It’d probably be better if you head back to your own room. I’ll visit you first thing tomorrow, I promise, but we’re both one fuck-up away from a beheading, right now. I’m not sure if I want to test that.”

He was silent, suddenly, staying so quiet as he went still. You felt him trying to grab your arm, trying to cling to you like he did so often, but you just sat up before he could. The look in his eyes was sympathetic, to say the least, wide and brimming with wordless pleas. The only response you could think of was a light, airy chuckle, and a playful tap to his forehead. “We’ll be on the road again in no time, don’t worry. You can cuddle with anything you’d like once I’m fixed up.”

And just like that, he was on top of you.

Tanjirou had gotten good at shifting, far too good, considering the short time he’d had to practice it. But, there was a monster crouching over you before you had the chance to react, forcing you to freeze up and go rigid just to avoid colliding with those long, discolored talons tearing into the sheets at your side. His breathing was heavy, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, but every oddity and distorted feature was dulled in comparison to just how predatory his teeth had gotten, protruding over the sides of his muzzle. Teeth that could tear through your skin in the blink of an eye, teeth that could kill you as easily as they did any of the many, many demons you’d seen him take-down.

You choked on air as he reached out, his free arm wrapping around your waist, delicately holding you in place. It was intimate, in a way, but any sweetness was ruined by how tightly he kept you restrained. His head was on your chest, soon, nuzzling against you despite your stiffness. The position certainly wasn’t pleasant, one-sided and rigid and terrifying, but Tanjirou didn’t seem to mind.

Again, it crossed your mind to push him away. You could shove him over and run, or slip out from under him when he fell asleep, or just plainly tell him ‘no’ for the first time in weeks. The idea was tempting, but another downward glance burnt the seed to ash before it had a chance to take root.

Instead, you just ran your hands through his hair, wondering if you could ask for a room a little more private tomorrow night.

#yandere #yanderecore #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere love #yandere imagines #yandere scenerio #yandere drabble #yandere oneshot #demon slayer #yandere demon slayer #demon slayer imagines #yandere demon slayer imagines #kimetsu no yaiba #yandere kimestu no yaiba #kimestu no yaiba imagines #kny imagines #yandere kny #yandere kny imagines #yandere tanjiro #yandere tanjirou #tanjirou x reader #tanjiro x reader #yandere kamado #kamado x reader #yandere tanjiro x reader #yandere tanjirou x reader #possessive #obsessive #obsesion

[urlocalbunny]

.dacryphilia - ethan.

warning: throatfucking/ he gets off on elo crying about ANYTHING in her life just like the author. i kinda felt like i self inserted because damn, last week i cried over soap!

i did not proofread AGAIN lolol

enjoy this 1.326 words of cursed content!

Some things never really impressed Ethan. After all these years going to clubs every day, he noticed the patterns in every chick's strategy to seduction. The way their hips swayed, their staring, and the way they'd talk. 

He created even some patterns to make them like him a little more, even if Beliath stole the show and cockblocked him every time. 

But Ethan did not know one thing: why the fuck crying made him pop a boner harder than he ever could with any fuck. 

Every time he saw someone crying, he felt the blood rush to his lower half. Of course, it was not every time. Sometimes the situation panicked him too much to want to do anything, but if he was calm and some girl started crying, he would fucking love it. 

That's why he was pumping his dick so hard right now.

Eloise and Ethan argued a few days ago. She got angry and shed a few tears, yes, but her pretty face all wet, and her cursing was so fucking hot that he practically couldn't stop cumming. Every time they would argue over something stupid like laundry or dishes, Eloise would cry. She cried often, and Ethan didn't even feel bad because even if she ended up being right, she would sniffle, so his head didn't keep cursing him for jacking off to a crying girl.

He just really wished she was sobbing when he was inside her, just the way she would cry, and the tears would fall off...

"Fuck yes, Eloise, ugh!" He whispered, cumming again all over the sheets. He was starting to get angry. He thought about her crying, and he popped a fucking boner even if his hands were full of cum. 

His dick was red and overstimulated this time, so he finally laid down, trying to catch a break that did not last long because he took a bath and cleaned his room. He felt fucking ridiculous.

"Ethan, are you in there?" Raphael called, knocking on the door. "It is about Eloise. She got mildly injured, and she is waiting for you in her room right now."

He shot up, humming something positive and listening to the older vampire getting inside his room. Catching his bag, he almost jumped his stairs to her bedroom. What could this dumb girl have done to herself? A broken rib? A concussion?

As soon as he reached for the handle, however, he froze. Eloise's tiny cries made his dick throb. He felt guilty, so he rushed in and sat down to finish this and run away. When he opened the door, he saw her on the bed with a cut on her arm. 

"What did you do to your arm, pest?" He grumbled, catching a pillow and resting on his lap to hide his boner. Her face was red, and she was sniffling.

"I was trying to make me a sandwich." She pouted, showing him the cut. He sighed, starting his job of cleaning her wound silently and finishing it with bandages.

"You better stop doing this kind of stupid thing to me. If you can't cut a bread, how are you supposed to cut somebody's throat when it counts?" He scolded, cleaning his hands. "the cut is enormous, Eloise! Looks bigger than the fucking bread I brought itself!" 

Her face scrunched up, and she looked at him as if he just told her she wasn't worth it, or like he kicked a dog. Or even like she was the kicked dog.

He knew that face.

"Hey, I'm just saying this because I wo-"

"Why are you so meeean?" Her sobs filled the silence in the room. Ethan's dick was throbbing so damn hard that he felt the urge to moan. 

"Stop fucking crying every time I try to take care of you!" He snarled, making her sob harder. "Shit, I'm not going to hurt you!"

"I know, but I can't stop crying! Hic- you know I'm a crybaby!" She lamented, making him wriggle his body in anger.

The pillow fell off, and it was too late as her eyes zeroed on his very, very hard dick. "What the fuck, Ethan?" She threw a pillow at him.

"Look, I can't help it! You're crying so hard that I-" she gasped.

"You get off on me crying?" She asked.

Silence.

"Look, I'm going to leave. Fucking forget about this." He ran off and closed the door, but then he winced. "How stupid, Ethan! Hypnotize her!" 

He came back, ready to reach for her, but her hand grabbed the loops of his pants first. She seemed surprised... Excited, even? She then kneeled and giggled. "Hey, I- can I see it?" The girl asked. "You got hard..." She whispered, her eyes never leaving his pants.

"Why would you try to see it?" He asked, backing up a little.

"Well, I've never touched one before, you're right here, and you're hard over something random. Besides, you've been getting to cum while I was angry. You could make it up to me."

Ethan sighed. That was the worst situation possible. But he should make the most of it now that he got busted.

He unbuttoned his pants and let his dick slap the bridge of her nose. She grabbed it. 

"You're big." She said lowly, squeezing it to see him hiss. "Turn around, hold yourself against the wall," she blew air into the tip. He rutted. "You're responsive too." 

"Are you making an essay out of it, or you're going to suck my cock?" He answered flatly.

She shoved him inside of her mouth and slurped as a warning before starting to Bob her head. He took one of her hands, putting it on top of what she couldn't handle. She pumped him. He'd say this was being rough because of her lack of experience, but the look on her face gave off that her roughness was because he nagged at her. 

Little did she know that that's just how he liked it. He started to push his lips lightly, feeling her throat engulf him, and then he was gone. Eloise choked, humming angrily at his lack of warning, but then she pulled him towards her carefully as to say she would be alright with him fucking her throat.

He then pushed, feeling the way her tight throat swallowed and gagged around his cock, making tears stream down her face.

Another wet sound made Ethan look closely, seeing her dress lifted. She was touching herself. 

He could not help but moan as she gagged around him, holding his thigh for support and occasionally feeling him up. 

"Are you okay?" He breathed, getting a thumbs up and another slurp as an answer. He kept going. Her hair was around her face, and her eyes were shining so brightly when she looked at him. She was still crying, but now it was because of the way he fucked her throat, maybe because fingering herself felt good? He didn't know, but he didn't want it to stop.

She hummed around him urgently, her legs shaking under her. 

"Fuck, are you- are you cumming because I'm fucking your throat, baby?" He cooed, snickering when she seemed to agree. He was not far. "I'm close too, so swallow everything, alright?" 

He kept pumping, trying to hold in, to relish in the feeling of her moaning against his cock and her teary eyes looking at him. 

When she sniffled, it was just too much.

His legs stilled, and his muscles seemed to flex where she held him, swallowing as best as she could. He didn't want to pull out, but he did to see that she didn't let one drop fall.

"Fuck... That was..." Ethan started. 

"Hot as fuck?" She rasped, resting her head against his thigh. He helped her up.

"I hope that was not a one-time thing." He said lowly, moving to taste himself in her mouth. 

"Well, I do cry a lot." She laughed.

"Kinkshaming after sucking me off, huh? That's kinky." 

"Shut up."

#moonlight lovers headcanons #moonlight lovers fanfiction #moonlight lovers #moonlight lovers ethan #bunny's writing #kinktober 2020 #ethan x eloise #ethan headcanons #ml ethan #nsfwbunny

[need-a-new-hobby]

the descent into hell isn’t easy

s1 ep 2

so i got 2 notes on my last post so imma keep going

did simon just compare jace to mick jagger?!? HA!

did clary just say that she thinks jocelyn is at the center of their war?!? WhAt? look, i get that this girl wants to find her mom, but assuming that the entire shadowhunter race (also they call themselves a race) is fighting over her mom is just... idek what to call it? Arrogance? Naïveté?

also did noone think to bring the body inside?

i swear alec is so done with jace and his mundanes. his entire thing is just ‘another one?’

i’m sorry, i think my eyes just rolled down the back of my skull with the whole ‘best friends’ thing. 

can i just point out that matthew daddario is just watching isabell flirt with simon with such amusement? it’s adorable.

my god, i forgot that they torture their tutor to get info on the circle. i know hodge deserves this later, but seriously, how could clace do that?

‘i hate to make you suffer like this.’ are y’all serious? she’s borderline torturing this guy for info. somehow she makes me angrier by apologising. 

also this kinda thing is so classic. ofc none of them know their own violent history. did no-one bother to find out growing up? i hate to say this but if clary’s right about one thing, it’s the insanity behind not knowing their own history.

also, this scene is one of the first that made me sorta dislike clary. rewatching it just makes me angrier.

‘what is a g. i. joe?’ them not knowing clary and simon’s pop culture references is the funniest. refer to mick jagger above

also where the hell was she planning to go? and clary’s explanation of what a g.i. joe is is kinda off. i always assumed a g. i. joe was like an all-american hero (see steve rogers)

yikes! clary stepped on mom issues. i have no empathy/sympathy for her, she needs to calm down

‘in the shadow world, no training and no plan gets you killed’ - the first sane thing i’ve heard jace say all season.

kay, jace has got to be some kinda genius to go from ‘my memory’s blank’ to ‘your memory’s been wiped’. my memory goes blank all the time. i don’t remember what i had for dinner last night.

one more implausible thing, how doesn’t she know what a warlock is? i mean she’s 18, it’s 2016, has she not heard of Harry Potter, or LOTR for that matter? she’s simon’s best friend, she has to have come across it at some point in time.

kay, first of all, we all saw dot fall through a window about maybe 10 ft high, crack her neck on a fence and fall on the pavement. how is she still alive? 

also, i know luke’s meant to be a good guy and all, but he literally just treated dot like crap considering all she’s been through. and insinuating that she can’t be trusted when he himself was a circle member is just plain discrimination. 

also, she gets it. ‘if anyone can help, it’s magnus bane’. i get it, my baby is super powerful, but please don’t get him killed. i can already sense the magnus bane sass™️

izzy’s so pretty! and her hair is flawless. but the way she says ‘he’s the ultimate protector’, i just can’t

btw, love the inclusion of the ‘izzy can’t cook’ gag from the books. but kinda implausible that she can make porridge but completely burns toast. nvm, the porridge looks nasty (sorry, iz, i still love you though, bad porridge and all)

can i just ask that if jocelyn fray’s real name is fairchild, why would searching her pseudonym come up as restricted? also, hodge very conveniently forgot to tell them that jocelyn was married to valentine or that her real name was fairchild. that’s just sloppy.

also luke’s friendship with his boss is so pleasing to watch (terrible phrasing i know) i mean so often female captains are seen as these stoic, always angry and fierce officers with terrible relationships with their underlings. it’s nice to see her joking around with a colleague. 

clary’s uncomfortability with izzy’s clothing is canon, but she’s basically wearing a camisole. it’s a lot less revealing that izzy’s regular clothes. at least there’s no slutshaming! plus she’s gonna be wearing a jacket on top, but ofc everyone’s comfort levels are different.

I’m so glad that Clary and Izzy are both so positive towards each other. I mean compared to the books, not that bad

‘do you know how to fight demons?’ to ‘i’m an internet search away.’ simon’s the best. 😍😍

i mean, who in their right mind would approve the mission? sure, they’re not teenagers, but they’re messing with Valentine, for crying out loud. besides, we all know how much the clave prioritises down and out warlocks.

‘little girl’

‘clave thing,’ someone needs to educate this selfish matchstick. first of all, she can’t expect alec to turn his back on the clave, they need the clave’s resources to keep the institute running. second of all, she doesn’t really need to go. think about it, if alec, jace and izzy can track down a shapeshifter to a nightclub, they can handle a warlock. besides, she’d just be dead weight anyway. i just hate that clary doesn’t get better than this.

haha, alec’s salt kills me. ‘well, since you have all the answers...’ 

oh, so she’s not gonna explain the vision giving gemstone lolling around her neck? fuuun

‘you were kidding about the runes on the floor killing me right?’ alec’s smile aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. i love one grumpy cat smile so much. also this is like his first smile in the 2 eps

sorry, but magnus’s face when dot grabs his arm, just like ‘bitch who do you think you are?’ 

instant priorities people. see, magnus understands the concepts of ‘risk’, ‘danger’ and ‘consequences’, unlike one matchstick i won’t name. (“I’ve been busy trying to save our people from certain death”)

hahaha, the foreshadowing -> “are you really gonna risk your life for a shadowhunter?” - this is why magnus is my fave.

okay, couple really weird things i have to point out. first off, clary sucks at running. i get that running in heels is hard, i can’t even walk in them, but i can’t believe that the entire institute doesn’t have one good pair of sneakers. second, alec is just walking in the back, that’s how slow they’re going. third, are they seriously just following clary around the club on some strange whim instead of attacking the club strategically? 

but seriously, her running though. her arms are just waggling around. seriously, guys, sneakers.

kay, clary is way too hyper right now. alec never said they were giving up, just that it wasn’t safe and they had to get back to the institute. which is absolutely true, if circle members are after dot in pandemonium, they’re probably in the vicinity

im sorry, but watching alec and izzy know exactly what jace is planning with the silent brothers and in sync just going ‘jace, no’

‘a process that can also kill you, so there’s that.’ i mean, what’s the downside?

‘your bedside manner is abysmal’ - kay, i’m still kinda pissed off rn so that’s probably coming across here, but dude, you are both adults and she needs to know the risks involved. how tf was he supposed to say that...not abysmally? sorry, im a big alec defender. i think its an older sibling thing.

wait, 18 rules? damn, jace has to have like a record or something. i reckon 18′s probably exaggerating. i’d guess at 10, maybe 12.

hold up, he’s asking clary to decide whether she should get her memories wrenched out of her by the silent brothers w/o knowing the risks involved? not a sound decision.

why is she so fucking smug towards alec? it’s kinda hard to see at first, you have to replay it a couple times. maybe it’s just me cuz im writing this late at night but her attitude towards alec really gets under my skin.

also, i think satan is on simon’s van. that’s not at all disconcerting

also, why is this all happening at night? and wasn’t isabelle making breakfast before? 

‘are you kidding? i was born afraid.’ first of all, mood. second of all, proof why simon is my child.

tbh, i really wanted to see a better brotherhood between jace and alec. like, it is still better than in the books, where jace practically ignores alec’s existence until he gets injured by Abaddon. (a moment i wish was in the tv show, but too complicated, i understand.) but i think in this scene, where they discuss the steps they’re taking, you kind of see the chemistry between them. well, not really chemistry, maybe more just their relationship. 

first off, alec tries explaining to jace that even though clary’s made the decision, they’re responsible for her wellbeing, something that isn’t in the book. i really appreciate this bit, primarily because you see why alec is so fussy about missions. as the season progresses, you see the kind of pressures that are on him, something that makes me hate clary all the more

second, jace counters this by giving him the bigger picture. this is a step they need to take to find valentine. i think that’s something the books don’t give you either. you kinda start seeing that without jace, alec gets stuck on the minor details i.e. rules, stipulations etc. and without alec, jace wouldn’t be able to calculate the risks of each decision, which i think is key to understanding them as parabatai.

third, alec’s soft little ‘you were never a stray’ tugs at my heartstrings every time. jace really is family to them, a brother for them and i love that he sort of forces that down; that despite their last names, despite their bloodlines, they will always be brothers, a sentiment i absolutely adore

haha, jace c*ckblocking simon since 2016

i’m still not over the notion that valentine is holed up in chernobyl, of all places. i am really glad though that they didn’t follow the trope of the US being like the only country in the world, or New York being the only city on the planet.

did i mention how confused i am that dot is still alive?

yeah, did not miss jace’s arrogance

‘kay despite the fact that i hate everything about her, i have to commend clary on how much she loves her mom. i mean, i know a lot of people who wouldn’t do the same. and despite the fact that jocelyn lied to her for 12 years (based on what she tells magnus later on) she’s still willing to do whatever it takes.

‘you’re clary freaking fray, you can do anything.’ cue alec eye-rolling in the back. look, it’s not that i have anything against simon and clary being vocal about their bff status, it’s just that a) i would never talk to my best friend like that and b) it is thoroughly making me cringe

kay, i’ve rewatched this scene a dozen times and here’s what i noticed

‘i have seen every horror movie ever and the funny best friend who gets left behind...dead man’

cue isabelle laughing

jace: you’re not that funny

alec is just so done with these f*cking mundanes. “the rune energy will kill any mundane that dares to enter, so please.” motions for the mundie to keep going. 

kay, before i keep going, i’ve noticed this post is going on for a bit, and re-reading, i feel like i have to clarify why i dislike jace’s arrogance but not alec’s. i think it’s mainly because jace’s arrogance stems from a need to be superior to others, which is common with victims of child abuse, or so i’ve read. knowing this makes it a little harder to hate him, but this kind of behaviour, while is justifiable, often leads to them tearing down another person’s self-worth, which you can kind of see in the books. alec’s arrogance mainly stems from being exhausted from dealing with other people’s bullshit, which i can’t really dislike. i’m an older sibling myself, so i kinda know what he goes through dealing with siblings and such. you’ll see with the next point.

‘talk about sacrifice, i’m missing a financial analysis class.’ first off, what kind of class starts in the middle of the night? second, i’d rather be in the city of bones than in financial analysis. third, i feel alec’s exasperation.

‘yeah, i can’t be around this, so imma mind the perimeter.’ *gestures to simon’s entire body*

i dunno why clary’s hugging simon like that, it’s not like he’s the one going down there. i’m gonna move on before i overanalyse and come up with more ways why i don’t like clary

izzy keeps making simon uneasy and I LIVE FOR THESE MOMENTS

aight, imma keep it honest, i skipped the whole city of bones/clace section the first time cuz they’re so boring. but it’s pretty much just jace making stupid jokes and clary being kinda whiny.

‘looking better in black than the widows of our enemies.’ a line that lives rent-free in my head.

also, he keeps saying she’s a shadowhunter now, but she hasn’t done much shadowhunting. she doesn’t even know what the clave is

aand now they’re holding hands. great. very professional y’all.

silent brothers. looking creepy since the dawn of nephilim. but for my book stans, where’s brother smackariah?

imma be honest, i feel bad for the silent brothers. i mean, they’ve devoted themselves completely to the shadowhunter profession, mutilated themselves for the attainment of knowledge, and yet, the first thing that comes to mind is fear instead of admiration. yikers.

“if you are not strong enough, the soul sword will kill you.” this show needs to stop getting my hopes up

“it literally never stops talking.” i love alec with all my heart.

i know i shouldn’t but it’s so funny that they keep referring to simon as ‘it’

“my father is valentine.” cue matchstick running. 

alec is the only sane person on this team. how is he the only one that doubts clary’s loyalty? i mean, i’ll admit he could have phrased it better, but book!Alec is canon for being straightforward so i’m shrugging it off. jace should’ve been a leetle understanding and for once, i think clary’s reaction towards alec was justified. finding out she’d valentine’s daughter, and then being accused of espionage isn’t a fortunate series of events. but alec is correct in his own right. as head of the institute, he needs to make sure. again, he’s always mindful of the consequences behind his actions. even when simon is kidnapped, he doesn’t act rashly, even though no-one would blame him for sticking an arrow through Raphael for kidnapping Simon. (don’t get me wrong, i love raphael.) but he doesn’t, keeping the accords in mind. they’d all be screwed if they broke the law, and alec would be held responsible.

that’s all folks. tune in tomorrow for episode 3

#shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #anti clary fray #anti clary fairchild #anti clary #alec lightwood #Jace Herondale #jace wayland #jace #alec #izzy #simon lewis #isabelle lightwood #clary fairchild

[pikapeppa]

FenHawke baby fluff: Memories At Sea

@lethendralis-paints requested some Fenris x Rynne Hawke spending time with their little man Faren, and how could I resist?? So for @dadrunkwriting Friday, here is a little Papa Fenris fluff! 

This takes place in my “Fenris the Inquisitor” AU, so this is post-Trespasser, after FenHawke have settled in a cabin on the Rivaini coast. And yes, Fenris has both his arms, for Reasons™. 

~2600 words. Read on AO3 here. 

***********************

Hawke smiled at Fenris. “Ready?” 

“I’m ready,” he said. The late afternoon sun was still high enough to be warm, but not so high as to be blinding. It was low tide, and the waves washing up along the white-sanded Rivaini shoreline were little more than gentle ebbs and flows. 

“All right,” Hawke said, and she smiled at six-month-old Faren. “Here we go!” she cooed. “Are you ready to feel the sea on your feetsies?” 

Faren blinked his big coppery eyes at her, and she chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She kneeled at the shoreline and settled Faren on her lap with his chubby little feet touching the sand. 

She leaned in close to Faren’s ear. “Here it comes,” she murmured. “The tide’s coming in… and… oop!” She gasped playfully as a gently breaking wave lapped at Faren’s feet.

Faren’s eyes went huge, and his feet jerked. Fenris chuckled and crouched down beside them. “Shocking at first, isn’t it?” he said to his son. “You wouldn’t expect it to be so cold, given the warmth of the day.”

“The water’s not cold!” Hawke protested. “It’s practically bathwater!”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Bathwater for whom? Fereldens? The Avvar, perhaps?”

She chuckled. “If Dorian was here, he’d say your Tevinter is showing. You hot-weather boys and your complaints.” She tickled Faren’s knee. “I hope you get my sturdy constitution, Faren. I don’t mind a little cold.”

“Says the woman who spent the entirety of our time in Emprise du Lion begging me to share my body heat,” Fenris said pointedly. 

“Oh, I wasn’t cold then,” she said. “I was just horny.”

Fenris scoffed and rubbed his mouth to hide his smile, then gave her a chiding look. “Can you refrain in front of the baby?” 

“No can do, sorry,” she said cheerfully. “Let him know how much his mum is gagging for his dad. Oh, here comes another wave! And… oop!” 

This time when the water touched Faren’s feet, he smiled and haphazardly waved one hand, and Fenris smiled at his raven-haired son. “It is better once you’ve had some time to get used to it,” he told Faren. “We will have you swimming in no time.”

Faren gave him a gummy smile. Another wave began crawling up the sand toward them, and this time when it touched Faren’s feet, he squealed happily and waved both his hands. 

Hawke laughed — that lovely sparkling laugh that never failed to lift and ease Fenris’s heart. “Such an adventurous little turnip!” she crooned. “I think we should get you standing up now. Yes, I do.” She lifted Faren onto his feet and supported him carefully beneath his armpits as he tottered, very slowly and clumsily, on the damp shoreline. 

Another wave began to climb up along the sand, and Faren bounced excitedly in Hawke’s hands as the wave approached. When the wave reached him, it washed up to his knees with a tiny splash, and Faren shrieked again.

Hawke and Fenris both laughed, and Fenris watched adoringly as Hawke chatted to Faren while supporting his chubby body. Faren was only six months old, so there was no chance that he would remember this particular moment — his first time ever touching the sea. But still, this would be the first of many such moments in the sea: the first of a string of peaceful and pleasant little moments with his parents holding his little hands and encouraging his curious nature. 

Over time, these moments would build on each other like layers of lacquer growing more lustrous and brilliant with time, until one day Faren would have a concrete memory in his mind of splashing in the sea and loving it, thanks to his mother’s tender hands and her bright and brilliant laugh. 

His memory of the sea will be so different than mine, Fenris thought. After all, his first memory of the sea was during his time in Minrathous under Danarius’s control. 

He still remembered that first time following Danarius to the docks on one of the rare times that Danarius deigned to go somewhere so common. The Nocen Sea coastline was busy and noisy and grim, populated by magisters lording over their browbeaten slaves, and when Fenris had looked at the sea for the first time that he could remember, all he could see was a brownish-green fathomless depth that echoed the deadened emptiness in his heart. 

But the Nocen Sea was only the first coastline that Fenris had seen. Years later, after he’d arrived in Kirkwall and made Hawke’s acquaintance, he saw the sea for the first time again.

A few weeks after he began travelling around with Hawke and her friends, they’d taken a trip to the Wounded Coast, and Fenris still remembered taking in that stark landscape for the first time. The sky was a surreal haze of orange and pink that reflected off of the oddly still waters of the Waking Sea, and there were stony spires of rock jutting out of the water like enormous splintered rib cages piercing into the sky. 

“Well, it’s official,” he said. “I have travelled all the way from the northern coastline to the southern.”

“You know this isn’t the end of the continent, right?” Hawke said.

He gave her a chiding look. “I’m well aware, Hawke.”

“Good,” she said brightly. “For a second I thought you’d forgotten all about Ferelden.”

“I haven’t, no,” he said. “But I’ll become acquainted with one foreign land at a time.”

“Ooh, a one-country-at-a-time sort of fellow, are you?” She batted her eyelashes at him. “I like that in a man.”

On her other side, Varric scoffed. “I can’t decide whether you or the Rivaini is the worse flirt.”

“Hey, that’s unfair,” Hawke complained. “I’m at a disadvantage. Isabela’s got her gorgeous rack to do half her talking for her.”

Fenris studied her surreptitiously as she bantered with Varric. Her body might not be as lushly curved as Isabela’s, but Fenris still found himself eyeing her more often than he felt strictly comfortable about, considering that he and Hawke were still practically strangers. And considering that she was a mage. 

He forced his gaze back to the coastline instead. It was so calm here – so quiet. Aside from the giant spiders and bandits they’d encountered on their way here, of course. But compared to the noisy, busy, depressing docks of Minrathous, the stark and intimidating scenery of the Wounded Coast was more than welcome. 

“I wonder why it’s called the Wounded Coast?” Hawke mused. “Is this near the Injured Cliffs, maybe? Or the Limping Hills?” She smirked up at Fenris. “Maybe we’re off the coast of Massive Head Trauma Bay?”

Varric snorted, and Fenris frowned slightly. “If you don’t like it here, why did you lead us here?”

Her eyes widened. “What makes you think I don’t like it here?”

“Your unflattering remarks?” he said dryly.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m just being silly. I actually think it’s pretty here.”

“You do?” He was surprised. He’d been thinking the same thing, but he was surprised that he wasn’t the only one to appreciate the rather barren landscape.

“Of course!” she said. “It’s striking, isn’t it? I mean, it’s no Orlesian cultured garden, but it’s still pretty.” She pointed to the jutting peaks of stone. “Those spiky rock things are really… I mean, all right, they’re spiky. But I love the way the water’s carved patterns into the stone.”

Fenris eyed her in silence for a moment until she looked up at him. She blinked. “What?” 

“You’re quite the optimist, aren’t you?” he said.

She laughed. “You say that like an insult.”

“Not an insult,” he said. “An observation.”

“A critical observation?” she said with a mischievous smile. 

“I…” He frowned, then awkwardly rubbed his hair. “My apologies. I don’t mean it to be. It’s just…”I’ve never met anyone quite like you before, he thought. Her own circumstances of being in Kirkwall were far from rosy or ideal, but one would never know it from the way she joked and flirted.

He couldn’t say any of that, though. It felt far too personal considering he hardly knew her. 

She chuckled. “I’m just teasing you. Of course I’m an optimist.” She bowed dramatically to him. “Rynne Hawke, cavalier fool and optimist at your service.”

Varric tapped her arm. “Maybe we should go be cavalier and optimistic with the others. They’ve run off ahead.” 

“Yes yes, of course!” Hawke chirped. “We can’t let them kill every thug on the coast without us.” 

Varric smirked and walked away, and Hawke turned back to the view and scoffed. “Wounded Coast, they say? More like Picturesque Coast.” 

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.” 

“It doesn't, does it?” she said agreeably. “I’ll have Varric come up with a better name. Either way, it’s a pretty coastline.” She winked at him and wandered away. 

He pursed his lips. Trust Hawke to find the beauty in something wounded. 

He admired the peaks of stone rising from the water to reach toward the sky. Then he turned away from the view to follow Hawke’s carefree steps. 

“Fenris? Are you coming?” 

He blinked and looked up. Hawke was standing ankle-deep in the water with Faren in her arms.

He smiled and nodded, then stepped into the water to join her. Faren gurgled and reached for Fenris, and Hawke kissed his plump cheek before handing him over.

“You disappeared for a moment there,” she said to Fenris. “What were you thinking about?” 

“The sea,” he said. “What it’s like to see it for the first time.” He looked away at the horizon, stretching off into the distance as far as the eye could see. “Faren won’t remember what it’s like to set his eyes on the sea for the first time,” he said softly. “It’s… strange to think he won’t remember something so momentous.” He stroked his son’s back and thought of that moment again, of seeing the Waking Sea for the first time with Hawke by his side, and how her sunny spin had elevated that moment from something mundane to something special – something that stuck in his mind even to this day, fourteen years later when he and Hawke were taking their child into the sea for the first time. 

Hawke stroked his arm. “But it’s good though, right? Having him grow up somewhere with such a gorgeous view? He can wake up every day and voilà, there’s the beach just a few steps away!” She gestured grandly at the aquamarine expanse that swished and flowed around their calves. 

“Of course it’s good,” Fenris said. “I don’t mean to suggest otherwise. I’m simply… awed by the contrast, I suppose.” He pressed his lips to Faren’s raven-haired head and inhaled his baby-sweet scent, then gazed at Hawke. “The only early life I can recall was written in pain and blood. I could remember clearly that I remembered nothing, and that blankness was…” He swallowed hard. “It became more painful than the marks, in time.” 

“I know,” she said softly. 

He smiled faintly at her, then gently patted Faren’s back. “His memories are an unwritten book. They will be seamless and whole. He won’t know why he loves the sea, but that love will be written there. A page of his story, tucked safely in his mind.” 

Hawke shifted closer to him and looped her arm around his waist. “Are you sure you don’t want to regain your memories?” she asked. “Cole could help. We could try and write him a letter. Do a little Avvar ritual to get his attention from the Fade.” Her tone was playful, but her smiling amber eyes were serious. 

“I do consider it sometimes, still,” Fenris admitted. Then he smiled at her. “But not today. This day is not about the past.” He bounced Faren gently in his arms. “This is a day for new memories, isn’t it, little man?”

Faren cooed and patted Fenris’s face, and Fenris chuckled. “All right. There is a wave approaching, so let’s see how you feel about this…” He crouched until the water was up to his waist.

The water was licking at Faren’s calves. Faren squealed and gripped Fenris’s ear, and Fenris smiled. “Brace yourself. Here it comes.”

The wave washed up to the middle of Faren’s back. Faren’s eyes grew impossibly wide, then his face started to scrunch. 

Fenris winced in anticipation of the impending wail. “Uh-oh.”

“No no!” Hawke said quickly. She knelt in the water and tickled Faren’s neck. “Don’t you cry! The sea is wonderful, look!” She watched another incoming wave with a huge smile, and when it washed over herself and Faren and Fenris, she gasped and clapped her hands. “Yay!” she cheered. “The sea is such fun, isn’t it, Daddy?”

“Yes, it is,” Fenris said with a smile. Faren was staring wide-eyed at Hawke, and his face was no longer squinched into an almost-wail. When the next wave came, the baby smiled.

“Yes, that’s it!” Hawke said brightly. “It’s fun, you see? Look!” She took a big breath and ducked her head beneath the water, then popped back up a second later. “Ta-dah!”

Faren squealed and waved his hands. Hawke played peek-a-boo with Faren a few more times, and it wasn’t long before Faren was laughing uproariously in that pure and uncontrolled sort of way that never failed to make his parents laugh as well. 

Hawke sighed happily and slicked her wet hair back from her face. “Ooh, come here, you little turnip.” She gently took Faren from Fenris’s arms, and he smiled helplessly as his wife and son laughed together. 

“He sounds just like you when he laughs,” Fenris said.

She grinned at him. “He does not!”

“He does,” Fenris said. “He sounds exactly like you.” 

She giggled, then tipped her chin up and batted her eyelashes. “Well, he looks just like you. The two most handsome boys I’ve ever seen.”

Fenris scoffed, then leaned in and kissed her smiling lips. A moment later, she pulled away and beamed at the baby. “How about we take another dip, hm? Yes, let’s do just that!” She waded a little further into the water, and Fenris watched them with a feeling of warmth and fullness in his chest. She was pointing to the waves and to the gulls floating lazily overhead, telling Faren how lovely and interesting everything was, and Fenris realized something sweet: as different as his and Faren’s early memories would be, there was one enormously important thing – one enormously important person – that would tie them both together.

It was Hawke. More than ten years ago, she’d spoken to Fenris of the beauty of the sea, and now she was pointing out the very same beauty to their son. 

He waded toward her and slid his arms around her waist from behind, and she smiled at him and continued speaking to Faren. “... and one day, when you have better control over your own arms and legs, Auntie Isabela will teach you to dive for treasure, and you can see all the fishes and corals and crabs that live under the water! Ooh, that will be so exciting.” 

Faren burbled and patted her chin, and she laughed — the same joyful burbling laugh that she’d passed on to their son. Fenris inhaled the salty sea air and held his family in his arms, and as the rolling waves tugged at his legs and washed soothingly around his waist, he cherished the making of this new memory in the sea. 

#fenris #fenris fic #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris x f!hawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenrynne #pikapeppa writes

[emachinescat]

The Neglected Neckerchief

A Merlin Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat ​

@febuwhump ​ day 21 - torture

Summary: A group of bandits torture Merlin in front of Arthur for their own entertainment, using Merlin’s beloved neckerchief against him in the cruelest of manners.  Now, Arthur must struggle to come to terms with a traumatized Merlin, whose neckerchief has been replaced by a ring of bruises.

Characters: Merlin, Arthur

Words: 4,730

TW: strangulation, panic attacks

Note: Based on my drabble series from “Moments” by the same name. Sorry for no cover/header picture today. I'm sick and doing the bare minimum. I will add one later when I feel up to making one!

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

Arthur had never understood his servant's attachment to that ratty triangle of fabric he wore around his neck. When he had first met Merlin, in fact, Arthur had downright hated it. He'd pestered his servant about it on many occasions, questioning the practicality, the fashion, the function of the neckerchief. Of course, Merlin never failed to follow up with a clever retort, but he never really answered the question, and eventually, Arthur got bored of teasing Merlin for his clothes and moved on to something else.

As the years passed, however, Arthur's derision for the odd neckwear faded, and before long, he found himself associating the neckerchief with Merlin himself. It got to the point where seeing Merlin without the accessory felt strange, and before he knew it, the prince realized that he actually liked that stupid scarf – though he would die before he admitted it to Merlin.

Now that he was older, perhaps a bit wiser than he had been as a young prince, King Arthur had a feeling that it wasn't so much the neckerchief that he'd grown to like, but the person who wore it. And since Merlin and his neckerchief were one and the same, it stood to reason that the king would have grown fond of it as well. Not that he would ever admit his affection for his servant out loud, either, of course. Not in so many words – or any words, really. That just wasn't how his relationship with Merlin worked.

Indeed, somewhere along the way, Merlin's neckerchief had become as much of a staple in Arthur's life as the servant himself. And yet, in the span of one bandit attack during a morning hunt, that all changed.

It had started off, as these things often do, as a normal patrol. It was a beautiful day, bright and warm, the sort of day where you would never expect anything horrible to happen. And yet –

It had been a week since the hunt turned to hell, and Arthur could still recall it so vividly that he might as well have been experiencing it all over again. Those five minutes of torture had branded themselves so deeply into his mind's eye that every time he fell asleep, he would go back – back to the forest, to the bandits and their laughter and their hands holding him back, holding him down. Back to the sounds. Oh gods, the sounds. Gagging, choking, panicked breaths, a mouth gaping open like a fish's, searching desperately for air that wouldn't come. Blue lips, still chest, and laughter. And, of course, in the center of it all, Merlin's beloved neckerchief.

***

One Week Ago

"Looks like we got a fine catch today, gentlemen!" The short, ugly brute of a bandit grinned at Arthur, half of his teeth rotten and the other half missing all together. "Is this a knight of Camelot we've stumbled upon?"

Arthur was relieved that they hadn't recognized him to be the king, at least. He tried to be as inconspicuous as possible on his outings, having Merlin hold on to the royal seal if they were going anywhere outside of the citadel – bandits generally ignored servants and focused on the more important looking people, after all. It was a clever trick, provided Merlin didn't lose the seal. So far, he'd kept up with it well enough on their journeys, and this time, it seemed to be paying off, as these bandits thought they were playing with just another knight and his servant.

But that didn't change the fact that Arthur and Merlin had been taken off guard, ambushed, and tied hand and foot by a band of ten morally bereft, muscle-heavy monsters who wouldn't know hygiene if it crashed into their thick skulls. Arthur had been shoved to his knees and held there by four men, who still struggled to keep him still. Two other men had done the same to his servant, but other than the usual bumps and bruises from fighting a losing battle, neither Arthur nor Merlin were hurt.

Arthur may not have been injured, but he was angry, mostly with himself. He'd known it was a bad idea to go on a hunt without any of the knights or guards to accompany him. He'd let Merlin come along because he knew that the obsessively loyal servant would have followed him anyway, and he'd much rather have Merlin by his side so he could keep an eye on him instead of being forced to listen to him thrashing around in the undergrowth making a racket while trying to be stealthy. As Athur had been reminded by his council many times, he was king now, and he had a responsibility to think not only of the safety and well-being of his people, but of himself as well. That meant no more running around in the forest on hunts or patrols without a guard. That meant telling the council where he was going to be at all times so that they would know to send someone after him if he didn't get back in time.

But Arthur had had enough. It had been a month since his father's death, and he was stifled in the castle. Even when he wasn't in Camelot, people still surrounded him on patrols and hunts, and even when those people were some of his closest friends – the knights – he often felt like he was being smothered, and his skin crawled at the thought of having to sit through one more council meeting or supervised hunt. He'd needed to get away. He'd told Guievere where he was going, of course. And then he'd grabbed his servant, all but dragging him out of the castle at the break of day, and they'd passed a pleasant enough morning, with Merlin scaring away half the prey. But as with most good things in King Arthur's life, this too had to end. The ambush had been unexpected and swift, and Guinevere wasn't expecting him back until evening – they were on their own.

As casually as he could, Arthur implored the bandits, "You have me, a knight of Camelot. My servant is of no use to you. Let him go."

The short, stocky bandit who seemed to be in charge considered this for a brief moment before crossing his tree-branch arms across his chest. "So he can run back to your coward king and bring a rescue party? Not likely."

"We're miles away from Camelot," Arthur pressed. "You could be long gone with me before he brings anyone back."

From the corner of his eye, Arthur watched Merlin frantically shake his head. Arthur ignored him, and prayed that the idiot would stay silent. All it would take would be Merlin saying "Arthur" one time, and the bandits would realize their mistake – and quickly seek to rectify it. Thankfully, Merlin seemed to be aware of the situation, and for once, blessedly, kept his mouth shut.

The leader ambled forward, brow creased as if thinking were incredibly painful for him. "You seem awfully keen to protect that servant of yours. Most knights don't give a damn about the help if their own lives are in danger. What's so special about that one?"

Arthur maintained eye contact with the brute before him. "I care about all those I have sworn to protect as a knight."

"Oh, that's rich!" A chorus of laughter from the surrounding bandits grated at Arthur's nerves. "Nah," the man continued, casting a glance over his shoulder at the skinny servant who glared defiantly back. "With those pretty blue eyes, I reckon he's more than just a servant."

"Yeah," called one of the bandits forcing Merlin to kneel. "The knight's consort I'd wager."

The leader swivelled back to face Arthur. "Is that it, Sir Knight? Is he your consort?"

Arthur didn't answer.

"Oh, now you clam up." The bandit leader seemed genuinely disappointed that he didn't get an answer. He peered at Arthur through slitted, suspicious eyes for a few charged seconds. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

"Well, lads, why don't we have a bit of fun before we head out?"

Arthur glanced at Merlin, and saw the servant looking back at him with wide, uncertain eyes. To Arthur's surprise, Merlin didn't look scared. In fact, Arthur thought that his servant appeared to be more conflicted than anything, like he was trying to make a difficult decision. Baffling as that was, it was hardly the most important thing on Arthur's mind at the moment.

The leader signaled to the men holding Merlin, and then everything went to hell.

One of the men lashed out with frightening speed for someone of his size, landing a devastating blow in the center of Merlin's back at the very second the servant was released. Arthur watched the kick connect, heard the pained cry, felt the thump as Merlin sprawled face-first onto the forest floor, hands tied behind his back, unable to move, barely able to breathe. Arthur had received similar kicks before, and he knew all too well the terror-inducing breathlessness that accompanied such injuries. He'd rarely wanted to kill someone as much as he wanted to kill the bandit who had inflicted such pain and panic on his servant.

But they weren't done yet. It got far, far worse.

The leader of the bandits stepped forward then, and squatted at the feebly stirring Merlin's side, still facing the king. Every muscle in Arthur's body tensed; his heart pounded deafeningly in his ears. Something very bad was going to happen, he could feel it in every fiber of his being. He'd seen enough violence and war and bloodshed, enough monsters, to know that this was far from over.

The bandit leader reached over and fingered the fabric of Merlin's neckerchief – he'd worn the blue one today. Arthur watched the idea form in the man's head even as Merlin began to recover a bit of his breath and attempted to squirm away from the bandit's touch. "Interesting fashion choice," the leader commented, sarcasm slathered generously on each word. "Makes my job easier though."

He clenched his meaty fist around the back of Merlin's scarf, and, keeping his eyes trained on the knight before him, slowly pulled up.

To Arthur, the world had slipped into slow motion. It was like the minutes just before a storm, when nature held its breath, birds forgot how to sing, and all of creation readied itself for the violence to come. He watched, horror coursing through him, as the first waves of realization and then panic dawned on his servant's dazed face. Blue eyes bulged wide, mouth opened in a soundless scream, and still, the bandit pulled.

The bandit took his time. He was in no rush. Arthur could see from the wild, glassy glint in his beady green eyes that he was relishing the control he had over the situation, over the man he was strangling. He never looked away from Arthur, not even when the agonized choking, coughing, gasping, hacking sounds began in earnest. Arthur, for his part, tried to ignore the man, and, as much as it hurt him, tore at his soul and twisted his stomach, the king kept his eyes on Merlin, trying to offer him comfort, reassurance, anything. Until Merlin's eyes started to dim, and his eyelids drooped as if a heavy weight had been tied to them, and the frantic heaves of his chest grew weak, and he knew Merlin was dying.

Despite his resolve to remain strong and unaffected, and despite his hopes that the bandit leader would grow tired of his cruel game if he thought Arthur was not emotionally invested, Arthur lost control. It had become clear to him that the man torturing Merlin did not care if he elicited a reaction from his other prisoner. He was tormenting – killing – Merlin because it was fun for him; the pleasure had written itself into his bright eyes and twisted smile. And Merlin was going to die.

Arthur lunged forward, a feral yell bursting from the deepest part of himself, and even with his hands bound behind his back and his ankles tied together, he nearly managed to shake off all of the four men holding him – and then three more added to their number, and Arthur found himself face-down just feet from Merlin, who was all but unconscious, barely fighting to breathe, and the pressure of the bandits on top of him was crushing. Arthur barely felt it beneath the weight of his failure.

The bandit leader now loomed over both master and servant, and to Arthur's surprise, he eased up pressure, releasing his grip slightly on Merlin's neckerchief and allowing the servant to drag in desperate, halted breaths, his eyes now bulging. Merlin coughed, deep, raw sounds grinding out from a shredded throat. Arthur could see a terrible, angry red line circling Merlin's neck, just beneath the neckerchief.

"Merlin – are you all right?" Arthur kept his voice low, hushed.

Tears were streaming down Merlin's cheeks, whether from fear or lack of oxygen or pain, Arthur didn't know. He tried to speak, and his voice hurt to hear; he sounded like his vocal chords had been slashed. "Aarrrrr…"

"Shhh," Arthur soothed, partially out of concern for Merlin's health, partially out of fear that Merlin would reveal Arthur's true identity. "It's okay, it's okay. Just breathe, okay? I'll find a way out of this." And Merlin looked at Arthur with such unmitigated trust in his gaze that Arthur felt like running himself through with his sword, because he had no plan. He had no hope. Surely, Merlin could see that, even in his state. Arthur had seven bandits piled on top of him, holding him motionless. The guilt crashed into Arthur with all the force of a battering ram into a fortress door. This was all his fault.

"S'not … your … fault," Merlin heaved out with great difficulty, and Arthur's blood ran cold. He was certain he hadn't said that out loud. How had Merlin known? It hit him – Merlin had known that Arthur was blaming himself because he knew Arthur.

The moment shattered as the bandit leader butted in, voice loud and abrasive, sending chills of fury across Arthur's flesh like an attacking army. "Now that you've got your breath back, Merlin, let's start from the top."

Arthur watched Merlin's eyes go wide with fear, and Arthur must have been giddy with it himself, because he could have sworn he saw a tiny bit of gold swirling in their depths right before the neckerchief was tightened and the imagined flame died out, and only terror remained.

The second time was just as slow and measured as the first. The bandit applied pressure in the tiniest increments, and this time, Arthur got a front-row view of the light leaving his friend's eyes. The noises were even worse up close, the coughs and gasps taking on the helm of death rattles. Merlin thrashed at first, trying to escape, to breathe, to do anything, and his lips lost color and turned blue, and now he was barely moving, barely breathing, and this time, the bandit leader had no intention of stopping.

Merlin's head and shoulders were now being held aloft by only the fabric around his neck, and his struggles ceased completely, his chest stilled.

Arthur squirmed desperately beneath the hold of the seven bandits, but even the adrenaline screaming through his body was not enough to throw them off. He could fear hot tears on his cheeks, knowing that if Merlin was not dead now, he would be soon. Arthur had been tortured before – it wasn't a common occurrence, but it had happened. And yet, nothing had prepared him for the kind of torture he had endured – was still enduring – in watching his closest friend die slowly and painfully, terrified, right in front of him. Arthur wanted to rip the men who were doing this limb from limb. He wanted to slowly squeeze the life out of the one strangling Merlin.

He wanted them to be strangling him instead.

All seemed lost – and would have been, if a Camelot patrol hadn't heard the commotion from a distance and come to investigate. There were six men, and they had the element of surprise. One moment, all was anguish and torture and the gut-clenching quiet that came at the end of life. The next, a short, fierce battle raged all around him. As soon as the bandits loosened their grip on him and Gwaine cut him free, Arthur joined the fight, catching the sword tossed at him by Elyan.

He ran through the man who had tortured his servant personally, with the same level of twisted glee and intimacy with which the man had strangled Merlin. It was so much more than he deserved.

Once the bandits had all been slain and lay scattered on the forest floor, Arthur raced to Merlin's side, slamming to his knees beside the servant. His hand shook so badly as he felt for the beat of Merlin's heart that Elyan had to take over, and his dark eyes were grave as he looked back at Arthur and shook his head.

"No," Arthur said simply, refusing to believe that Merlin was truly gone, that he had watched his friend die terribly before his eyes. "No, check again."

"No time for that," Gwaine snapped, falling to his knees on the opposite side of the servant and bending over the prone body. The blue of Merlin's lips was almost as vibrant as the color of the neckerchief that had so cruelly been turned against him.

The next few minutes passed in a blur of anxiety, disbelief, and finally relief, as Gwaine breathed for him, Arthur pounded on his chest, and Percival carried him home.

***

Merlin hadn't worn his neckerchief since that torturous day. He was sullen and nervous, jumping at small noises and avoiding Arthur, and refusing to wear anything to cover up those ghastly bruises.

He hadn't been able to talk for nearly a week after he'd woken up; Gaius said he was lucky that his windpipe wasn't crushed. But even after, Merlin barely spoke.

And gods, those bruises.

They encircled Merlin's pale neck like a grotesque mockery of the very scarf that had caused it. They had reached the stage where the very edges had started to yellow, but the inner ring was black, mottled with red and blue. Just looking at it hurt, and it was a constant reminder of the torture Merlin had gone through … and that Arthur had gone through, watching him. Arthur could not fathom that Merlin would prefer to walk around with those bruises in plain sight – surely they had to trigger bad memories as much as, if not more than, the neckerchief?

It was stupid, but Arthur couldn't stop himself thinking that when Merlin wore his neckerchief again, it would mean things were back to normal. That he was okay.

And so Arthur had a neckerchief made out of the finest material Guinevere could procure in the market. It was silk, so soft to the touch that Arthur wouldn't have minded falling asleep in it. It was a deep, Camelot red, and so light it was almost weightless.

When he presented it to Merlin, yesterday morning, the servant's eyes had twitched down to it, and where Arthur had thought he'd see gratitude, maybe even a hint of a smile, he saw only trepidation. Merlin had rasped a pained, "Thanks," then grabbed the scarf by one corner like it was a serpent poised to strike and shoved it into his pocket, out of sight. He hadn't worn it since.

"I don't understand," Arthur said to his wife over dinner, distress clear in his voice. "I replaced it."

"He's just not ready," Gwen soothed, though her brow was knit in worry.

"It's of a much finer material than his old one," Arthur insisted, as if he were trying to convince Gwen that Merlin should wear it.

"You have to be patient with him, Arthur. What happened to him was… traumatic. He has to come to terms with it in his own time."

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. "I just can't stand looking at his bruises."

Gwen squeezed his hand, her eyes sad and wise and more beautiful than anything that Arthur had seen. "I know it hurts," she said, "and I mean no disrespect, but… Arthur, this isn't about you. It's not about your discomfort, it's not about the pain you went through seeing Merlin be hurt like that."

Arthur opened his mouth, unsure of what he was going to say, not even knowing if he was going to argue or agree with her.

Gwen held up a hand. "I'm not saying that what you went through was unimportant. I can't even imagine watching…" She trailed off, shuddered. "But you can't expect Merlin to wear something that causes him so much pain and fear, just because it makes you uncomfortable."

Arthur knew she was right, and told her so. He would have to find a way to look past the bruises, for now.

Merlin was avoiding Arthur – there were no two ways about it. He got to work early, woke Arthur, and then ran off to do the rest of his chores. Finally, at the end of week two, Arthur cornered him in the armory.

"Merlin." Arthur's face was serious, his eyes uncharacteristically concerned.

"Sorry, Sire, I have work to do," Merlin said stiffly. His voice still sounded as if it were being painfully squeezed from him. He tried to leave, but Arthur caught his arm, pretended he didn't see Merlin flinch.

"For the love of… if I give you the day off, will you stay and talk to me?"

Merlin's eyes were wide and his scowl looked more pathetic than annoyed. "I suppose I have little choice in the matter."

Arthur's heart constricted. "Merlin, I—"

"Look, I'm sorry I haven't been wearing the neckerchief," Merlin blurted, avoiding Arthur's eyes. "I just… I know you we retrying to help, but… Hold on, I'll go get it right now," he flustered. His cheeks were red and his eyes bright.

"Merlin, stop."

Merlin stopped.

"I realize I haven't been fair to you," the king said slowly, carefully. "I haven't been patient. What happened was… wrong. Do you need to talk to me about it?"

The dam broke.

Arthur had never seen Merlin cry like this before. He'd seen tears in his friend's eyes on various occasions, but never had he witnessed the choking, uncontrollable, full-bodied sobs that were now wrenched from the depths of Merlin's soul. At first, Arthur stood, uncertain, terrified that he was going to say or do the wrong thing, but then he thought of Merlin, and tried to imagine what he would do for him if the king were in this situation. A strange calm descended over him, and he gently took Merlin by the arm and guided him to the nearest chair – Arthur's chair, the most comfortable one in the room, the one he never let anyone else sit in, not even Guinevere (she had her own, anyway).

He eased Merlin down, knelt beside him, and wrapped one arm around his servant's shoulders, and just held him while he released all of the pain and frustration and fear and trauma he'd been skirting around for weeks. Arthur felt the hot sting of a tear mark a course down his own face, and he didn't brush it away. He felt, like Merlin was feeling – felt the pain of the torture inflicted on them both, felt the violent sobs shaking Merlin's wiry frame, and finally, felt the tremors ease and stop all together, but he didn't withdraw his arm. He might have even squeezed a little bit tighter, as if assuring himself that his friend was still there, still breathing, despite how hard those bandits had tried to kill him.

Finally, Merlin shifted awkwardly, and Arthur became acutely aware of the fact that his arm was still around the servant's shoulders, and he withdrew with a start, backing away with haste.

Merlin turned to look at him, and his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, the bruises on his neck still visible and angry, and tear tracks streaked down his face. Arthur watched him apprehensively, afraid that Merlin was going to say something emotional that Arthur wouldn't know how to respond to, or worse, openly acknowledge the unusual level of tenderness that had permeated that moment. Instead, Merlin quirked a watery half-smile and simply said, "Thank you."

Relieved, Arthur smiled back. "You're welcome. Feeling better, are we?"

Merlin gave a small, almost timid, nod. "A little bit, actually. I think."

Desperate for some return to normalcy, chest warm with the hope that Merlin really would be okay, someday, Arthur folded his arms across his chest. "Then get your scrawny arse out of my chair."

Merlin actually laughed then, and settled in deeper to the comfortable seat. "Sorry, sire," he said. "I think my scrawny arse is stuck here until further notice."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. Merlin blushed. "I… I don't think I can stand right now," he admitted, and Arthur noted with concern that Merlin's knees were indeed trembling. Merlin was trembling.

Arthur rolled his eyes like it was some great inconvenience. "Fine," he said. "Laze about like the useless servant you are. I'll fetch Gaius."

Merlin surged forward at this, almost fell flat on his face. "I don't need –" He broke off as Arthur shoved him back in the seat. "Gaius."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You were saying?"

Merlin had never looked so much like a sullen, scolded child.

***

When Arthur returned, Gaius not far behind him, he was shocked to find that Merlin was still where the king had left him. Even more surprising was the fact that Merlin held the silk neckerchief that Arthur had gifted him, almost reverently, gazing down at the fabric with a faraway look in his eyes.

"Merlin, where did you get that?" Arthur asked.

"My pocket."

"You've been carrying that around all week?"

Merlin didn't answer, but he didn't need to – it was obvious that he had been.

Arthur heard Gaius shuffle through the door behind him, but did not turn. He kept his eyes on Merlin, who continued to contemplate the scarf like he had never seen anything like it before. "Merlin, you don't have to wear that," Arthur said in a rush. "I just thought–"

"I know," Merlin interrupted, and that's when Arthur knew his servant was on the mend, because a Merlin who lacked all decorum and propriety was far more normal than one who was actually good at being a proper servant. "But, it's nice. And I was thinking, I've never owned anything so fine." He paused. "But I think I'll leave it at home when we go on hunts and patrols from now on." He gazed up at Arthur imploringly.

The king felt Merlin's eyes on his front and Gaius's on his back. He looked Merlin straight in the eyes and said, "You don't have to wear anything you don't want to, Merlin. If you never wear a ridiculous triangle scarf again, that's completely fine. Don't do it because you feel like you have to. You won't hurt my feelings."

Merlin grinned – a full, mischievous smile that Arthur hadn't seen in far too long. "When have I ever given you the impression that I care about protecting your feelings, Sire?"

Arthur tried to look stern, but ended up laughing out loud. "Fair point," he conceded.

He and Gaius watched with bated breath as Merlin tied the new neckerchief very loosely around his neck. A moment of tense silence, then –

"Does this make me look like a prat?"

"Merlin!"

Arthur knew that the ordeal wasn't over just because Merlin had put on the neckerchief. There would still be nightmares and anxiety and days where Merlin couldn't stand to have anything touch his neck. But this was progress. This was hope.

For this one moment, this was Arthur and Merlin, as they had always been, and all was well with the world.

For now, that was more than enough.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday21 #merlin #arthur pendragon #bbc merlin #torture #strangulation #panic attacks #friendship #angst #trauma #emotional breakdown #protective arthur #arthur being there for merlin #bandits #gwaine #elyan #percival #king arthur #set during season 4 #medieval cpr #cpr #merlin whump #fanfiction #whump #whump fic #arthur emotional whump #merlin physical whump #tied up #neckerchief

[whoisbxcky]

Safe: Pt. 1

request: Hi darling! Could you write an imagine with peter after the civil war where he freaks out cause he can’t find you and he finds you injured and tony comforts him and peter is there when you wake up? Sorry if that’s confusing I love your imagines!

pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (!!reader and peter both 16 in this fic!!)

word count: 1400

warnings: angst, descriptive injuries, fluff

author’s note: Okay I have been super sick lately with the worlds gnarliest migraine which has made focusing on writing feel like mission impossible. So I’m really sorry to anyone waiting on a fic request they will be done soon I promise. 

Anyhoo, thank you to anon for this lovely little fic. I’m sorry if it’s not my greatest work to date but I hope you all enjoy nonetheless! ~ Toria <3

PART 1 | PART 2

“Y/N?”

“Y/N!?”

The only response to Peter’s frantic calling was the wind. It fluttered so softly, so delicately, that it was practically mocking after the thunderous violence of the fight that had just reached its conclusion.

All around the young Avenger, there lay destruction. Debris, fire, a few wounded individuals.

And yet, no Y/N.

“Y/N!? Where are you?”

His calls were becoming frantic, voice raw with worry. Last he saw Y/N, she had taken a pretty heavy hit from the guy they called Ant-man. Peter had tried to run for her then, but he had become distracted in helping Mr Stark take down the very same Ant-man who had just hurt you.

Peter tore through rubble, screaming your name as his panic reached a fever pitch, when suddenly Tony appeared in front of him.

“Kid! You’re alright?”

Peter stared dumbfounded at his teammate for a second, before nodding his head furiously as his wide eyes continued their frantic search of the ruined airport.

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark. Have you seen Y/N?”

As Stark was about to respond, Natasha’s frantic tone cut through the air from some ten meters away. She was crouched next to an overturned truck, her body obscuring Peter’s view of who lay unconscious at her side.

“Tony. Get over here. Now.”

As Peter and Tony ran to her side, the dread in Peter’s stomach swelled like a raging tide. He knew, long before the sight of your body, battered, bruised and unconscious, came into view. He knew it was you because he could hear the rapid, shallow breaths, the same ones that often came from you whenever you had a nightmare. He could smell your perfume, a subtle blend of rose and vanilla, just like the one your Mother used to wear. More than anything, something in his gut told him from the second Natasha called out, that was your broken form she knelt beside.

Peter almost gagged, doubling over as his eyes raked over you, fully assessing the extent of your injuries. There was blood, so much blood it was hard to figure out where one injury began, and another ended. But that was not what made his stomach lurch violently and white spots dance in his vision. There, gleaming through a tear in the thigh of your tactical suit, as the unmistakable white of bone. Your femur had been snapped clean in two.

“She’s lost a lot of blood, and I suspect a head injury.”

Natasha’s spoke as low as possible, her observations aimed at Tony, but of course it was impossible for Peter not to hear them. Well aware of this, Natasha offered him an apologetic nod, and suddenly Peter felt a strong hand grip his shoulder, turning on his heel to find Tony’s concerned gaze upon him.

“We’re going to get her to the hospital, right now. She’s going to be alright, kid.”

His soothing words were hardly noticed by Peter, who’s eyes had fallen back to your lifeless from in front of him. He stood, motionless and silent for a moment, shock making him entirely numb to the world. After a moment, tears began to stream down his cheeks, and he turned on his heel to find Stark already reaching out for him, tugging him into his embrace.

“I should have… I never… She didn’t…”

Peter’s whole body trembled in shock, the sight of you rendering him almost speechless. Tony gave him a few reassuring pats on the back, his own distraught expression betraying his worry.

“This isn’t on you kid. I’m the one who brought you two here. I’m sorry.”

Peter pulled back, his eyes narrowed as he moved to reject Tony’s claim of culpability, when once again, Natasha’s voice called out, causing both men to snap to attention.

“She’s waking up!”

Natasha stood, making way for Peter who practically flung himself down at your side. He gripped your hand in his, gloved fingers coming up to brush through your hair as gently as his trembling digits could manage. That was the first thing you became aware of as consciousness returned to you. The second was the pain.

Holy hell. You hurt.

With a groan of indignation, you cracked open one eyelid, moving to prop yourself up on your elbows and almost screaming in pain as you did. Something in your shoulder was not where it was supposed to be.

“Y/N? Y/N!? Don’t try to move!”

That voice… You glanced up to find Peter’s panicked expression looking down at you, feeling his quivering hand run over your cheek as your vision finally came into focus. There were tracks running through the dirt on his face, alerting you to the fact your friend had been crying.

“Peter… What’s going on? Where are we?”

You braved a glance down at yourself and were filled with the overwhelming sensation of instant regret.

“… Why do I look like I just got hit by a car?”

Peter’s eyes widened in horror at the realisation you had no recollection of the day’s events.

“We were fighting Captain America and a bunch of other guys… Remember? For Mr. Stark…?”

You glanced around as much as your fragile form would allow you movement, eyes scanning over Natasha and Tony, who both wore equally concerned expressions as they spoke in low tones a small distance away. A few images flashed into your mind then, fighting with the Scarlet Witch… Then that Ant-guy… He turned really big and you… You…

“I got drop kicked into an eighteen-wheeler… I remember now.”

You scowled slightly as the memory returned to you, scolding yourself internally for allowing yourself to be beaten so easily, when a sniffle to your left stirred you from your inner monologue. With a raised brow, you cleared your throat, grimacing as the action caused a flurry of pain in your chest.

“Hey… Pete… Were you… Crying over me…?”

You stifled a snort as Peter’s cheeks flashed from white, to rose, to magenta. He huffed as he scooted himself closer to you, his grip on your hand becoming notably firmer as he scrunched his nose up.

“No. I wouldn’t…. Why would I… I’m not-”

You raised a brow, staring at him dubiously as Peter practically spluttered in his haste to deny your accusations. You failed to suppress a weak grin as he cut himself short, letting out a breath before he spoke again in a defeated tone.

“Okay I might have been a little worried.”

You winced as you giggled, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze as you fixed him with a warm smile. Peter could not help but smile back, relief that you were at least well enough to crack jokes evident on his expression. After a moment, as the distant sound of the approaching medevac reverberated in the air, he whispered to you, is eyes shining with sincerity.

“I’m really glad you’re alright, Y/N.”

You glanced down at yourself, fixing him with a quizzical gaze. Peter faltered for a second, before his tensed expression cracked into a grin, and he chuckled, shaking his head at you.

“As alright as you can be, after taking a truck to the face, is what I mean.”

You grinned in turn, heat rising in your cheeks as Peter gingerly brought your hand up to his lips, planting a soft kiss on your bruised knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours.

As the medevac landed and you were delicately manoeuvred onto a stretcher, Peter never left your side. His hand remained firmly joined to yours, and whenever the pain would become too much, he was right by your ear, whispering in a low, soothing tone until you’d regained your composure.

As morphine was administered, at the sweet release of unconsciousness began to take over you, you gazed lazily up at Peter’s face, his fingers idly stroking through your hair as he offered you a reassuring smile.

Despite your catastrophic injuries, and the failed mission, you found comfort in the certainty that as long as Peter was by your side, you really were going to be alright.

#peter parker #spiderman #tom holland #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x read #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x y/n #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman fic #peter parker fic #tony stark #natasha romanoff #iron man #black widow #marvel fic #marvel au #avengers fic #avengers fanfiction

[renxamamiya]

This was born from the result of talking to @rui-the-galax-angel about this au a lot. She also helped with feedback as well sdfkljsldfjsdf ilu dude!

Also thanks for @digifangirl97 for reading it over, and special mention to @yusuke-of-valla for reasons B)

TW: Gore and Violence? yeah, be careful pls.

Ren had been smelling the familiar scent of curry for the past ten minutes, his stomach pained with hunger, his mouth watering from the scent that wafted through the door to his dark prison. How long did he go without food, he asked himself. Ever since he was trapped in this palace… his palace… the ruler had only provided him with water so far, from a glass with a straw for him to drink from, topped up by the ruler himself every so often. 

He heard the door open from behind him, light spilling in and obscuring some of the monitors, and felt someone gripping the back of his chair. He was spun around, stopping abruptly towards the light, wincing at the sudden intensity of it, obscuring the figure in front of him. He would have laughed with joy and relief if not for the familiar, golden eyes staring at him behind a black and gold mockery of his beloved mask.

Joker stood in front of him, coatless, his arms bare, his red waistcoat accenting his slim but fit torso. In one of his gloved hands he held a plate of curry, still piping hot, the source of the divine smell. It made his mouth water. 

Picking up the spoon that lay on the plate, Joker delicately scooped out a portion before gently motioning the spoon to Ren's mouth, holding it in front of his prisoner. Ren looked at the spoonful, the delicious smell of curry overwhelming and almost sickening, his stomach audibly growling, yearning for food. 

"You need to eat." Joker stated flatly as he held the spoon expectantly, but could not help but smirk a little at the sound of Ren's stomach, "You haven't eaten in days. Open up." 

Ren looked at the spoonful of curry. God. It smelled heavenly, him identifying it as Sojiro's curry by smell from cooking it so often, him never getting tired of it. He was hungry. So hungry. He could feel drool running from the corner of his mouth. He wanted to eat badly, his stomach now in uncomfortable pain as it begged for him to eat the morsel, his lips threatening to part, but when he glanced at his captor, Joker's downward gaze gave him new resolve to deny him the satisfaction of treating him like a child. 

"Well?" Joker said, turning his head a bit to the side, curiously looking at his hostage, "Aren't you going to eat?” 

He moved the spoonful closer, Ren moving his head back in response. Joker moved the spoon towards his mouth again, Ren again moved away from it. The shadow’s lips curled into a light frown, “Why won’t you eat?” his shadow asked, Ren looking at him with defiant eyes in response. 

“Are you seriously going to deny yourself food just to spite me?” Joker asked, annoyed at his other, trying yet again to force the spoonful of curry through Ren’s lips, the bound boy yet again dodging the spoon’s reach. Joker's eyebrows furrowed under the mask perched on his face, swallowing a growl as he continued his pursuit, “I know you’re hungry.” he said, “Why won’t you just eat!”

A minute passed, then two, then three, the both of them locked in a standoff, Joker trying desperately to feed Ren while Ren avoided his persistent attempts.

“Stay still!” Joker growled, gritting his teeth with anger, the spoonful of curry now cold, Ren’s face smeared with curry sauce from pervious attempts, “Just stay still and open your mouth and fucking eat!”

Ren did not comply. 

“Come on!” he shouted, “Just. Eat. The. Stupid. Curry. Already! If you go without food for any longer, you and I will both die! This entire place will collapse! My plans will be ruined! I need you alive!”

Ren looked at him, grey eyes practically glowing with rebellion. 

“Then pe-”

The spoonful that assaulted him was shoved straight into his mouth, metal clanging against his teeth, Ren’s eyes widening, Joker taking advantage of his impulse to retort snarkly. Reflexively he took the morsel in his mouth, the taste of curry already touching his tongue before Joker yanked it out. 

Oh how he loved the taste. The flavour from the homemade curry powder swirled in his mouth, the taste heavenly, slight salt complementing spices, savouring the perfect consistency of the sauce, chewing into plump, glutinous rice. He could feel his mouth water even more, his eyes pricked with tears from the heavenly taste, brain lighting up with pleasure, his stomach roaring audibly for the mouthful of food.

Joker smirked in triumph, shoulders relaxing, face softening, his guard down.

“That wasn’t so hard-”

Ren lunged forward, restrained by his cuffs, spitting out his food with force onto the shadow. Joker was caught off guard, too sudden for him to react, he felt something wet splatter onto his previously pristine waistcoat. He looked down. Brown stains splattered unpleasantly on red.

It was Ren’s turn to smirk, head held high, enjoying the flabbergasted look of his shadow, golden eyes wide and mouth open, no sound coming out from his throat. A moment passed. Joker closed his eyes and mouth in contemplation, blowing air from his nose. 

“So…” he murmured, feeling some of his power sapping away from his veins, concealed in an expression of contemplative thought. He set the plate down on a nearby table, spooning another mouthful “This is how you’re going to behave…”

“You out of all people should know how rebellious I am. I don’t have to take shit from you.” Ren scoffed, Joker chuckling humorlessly in response.

Lunging an arm towards the seated captive, Joker roughly ran his gloved hand in Ren’s hair, red in black, gripping tightly, wrapping his fingers between his tangled curls and twisting it roughly. Ren cried out, the pain sudden and pulsating, Joker thrusting the spoon deep into his mouth as he did so, scraping the edges of the curved, metal spoon on the roof. This time, Ren had no choice but to accept the bite, swallowing the spoonful, gagging as he did so.

“Now, now, relax.” Joker cooed, watching Ren struggle with swallowing his food, looking at him with joyous contempt, “Are you going to behave like a good boy now, or do I have to discipline you some more?”

“Fuck you.” Ren spluttered, still resisting his shadow, Joker’s expression shifting into anger. He put down the spoon, only to grab the fork previously obscured from view, stabbing it into Ren’s leg. Ren howled in pain, feeling hot, fresh blood soaked his trousers as Joker twisted the metal cutlery deeper into him. Joker clearly enjoyed his suffering; a sick, sadistic smirk stayed on his face during his unusual torture, golden eyes shining with wrath, taking great pleasure as Ren squirmed under him. 

The fork stayed in his leg for minutes, tears streaming down Ren’s face, sweat dripping down from his forehead, in absolute agony as Joker playfully shifted the foreign object. He cried out again, overwhelmed in pain as Joker violently pulled the fork out of his leg, the force enough to send splatters of blood flying onto him, him screaming, involuntarily arching his back upwards before crashing back down into his seat.

“Do you now understand your position?” Joker asks, Ren heaving audibly in pain, his injured leg still throbbing, “Or do I have to discipline you some more?” 

“You call this ‘discipline?!’" he shouts in response, “You’re insane!”

“And thou art I.” Joker purred back, “Now, let me ask you again. Are you going to obey me, or do I have to discipline you again.” 

Ren looks to meet his gaze. Grey again looking at gold. 

“Well?”

A pause, dead air between them.

“I…I obey…” Ren bows his head, his voice defeated, slumping his shoulders, sinking into his seat “I obey.”

Joker blinks. Twice. Thrice. The words of his other slowly sank in. 

“What did you say?” he asks, genuinely confused. Ren looks up to meet Joker’s gaze with great difficulty, tears of his again threatening to shed.

“I obey.” he repeated sullenly.

Joker stares, studying Ren. If not for the small trickle of power building in his veins, he would have thought the boy in front of him was lying. The corner lips twitched upwards, growing with each second as the situation solidified in his brain until he was smiling euphorically with teeth. Ren Amamiya. The boy who rebelled against a monolithic society, who willed him to exist by his own rebellion, who defeated and killed a false God, obeyed him.

A dark chuckle escapes from the shadow’s throat, gloved hands drifted to touch Ren’s knee, brushing his fingers until they touched his given injury, Joker’s eyes widened in joy as Ren flinched in pain, wound still tender, Joker licking his lips as the feeling of warm, fresh blood slowly soaked his glove, “That’s a good boy.” he murmured, “Just relax now. As long as you obey me, I’ll treat you well.” 

Voice soft, he casts ‘Diarama’, a soft green glow radiating from his fingertips, blood no longer spilling, the wound closing neatly. He trailed his finger upwards, from Ren’s leg, to his torso, to his neck, and finally his chin. Gently grabbing it, he tilted Ren’s head to face him, Ren looking at him, hesitant to act. He reached around his back pocket with his other hand, taking out a clean, white handkerchief, and gave it a small lick before wiping the curry sauce off from Ren’s face. 

“Now, who’s a good boy?” he hummed, Ren dared not to respond to him. A chuckle echoed in Joker’s throat. Putting the handkerchief away, he again reached for the previously forgotten plate of curry, the food now cold, squatting to Ren’s level as if facing a child.  He spooned portions to Ren, him eating it without resistance.

Minutes passed before the curry was completely finished, Joker clicking his tongue with satisfaction as Ren swallowed his last mouthful, “That wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it?”

Ren opened his mouth to respond, but slowly closed it, not bothering to offer a smart remark. Joker laughed in delight at this response. Getting up, he gently placed the spoon back onto the plate before running his fingers through Ren’s hair, the boy flinching under his touch as he gave a congratulatory pat, “You’re such a good boy for me, Ren.” he purred mockingly, talking down to his prisoner. Now satisfied, Joker turned back towards the kitchen, stopping in the doorway that separated Ren’s prison to the rest of his personal sanctuary. He rested his free hand on the doorknob, turning his head back so Ren could hear him. 

“I expect you to not fight back from now on.” he warned, his tone confident yet hostile, “Your friends are coming for you. It’ll be a shame for them to die because of your disobedience.” 

Ren’s eyes widened. Joker gasped, then groaned, then laughed.

“Goodnight, Ren. Sleep well, we have a long day full of theatrics and fun tomorrow.” He smirked one last time, before closing the door, leaving Ren behind, alone again in the dark, claustrophobic room. 

#dan's log #txt #persona #persona 5 #ren amamiya #palace: theatre of mirrors #palace concepts #this is longest thing I've written fanfiction wise #myfanfic #mywriting

[husky-artz]

My First Twisted Wonderland Ocs! Arson and Ichi Damio  Name: Arson Damio School Year: Second Year Birthday: March 3rd(Aries) Age: 17 (Human years) Height: 167 (5’4) Dominant hand: Right Club: Board Game Club Best Subject: PE Hobby: playing games such as chess ,even practicing it by myself Dislikes: anything that isn’t challenging , hard to understand scenarios, getting injured (but he’s used to it), Ichi getting Bullied Favorite Food: Steak with Hell Sauce Least Favorite Food: Anything Sour Talent: Memorize large amount of information at a time and building machinery Facts: -No matter what happens, he always gets injured, whether it be big or small -His unique Magic is “Feel my Pain” which causes others to feel whatever he does psychically, so if he gets punched in the gut they would feel that as well but this causes him to be 2x in more pain then normal -He constantly protects his little brother Ichi since he can’t fend for himself -He works for Idia but mainly for things such as getting things for him or sending things to others that Idia can’t do virtually -Arson and Idia had a rough past with each other last year , leading to Arson to doing something he regrets which ended up hurting Idia. He considers working for him as a way to “repent” for his mistakes -He is willing to fight anyone regardless of how injured he is , he could be in a full body cast and still try to fight someone

Name: Ichi Damio School Year: First Year Birthday: September 13th (Virgo) Age: 16 (Human years)  Height: 190 cm (or 6′2) Dominant Hand: Left Club: Science Club Best Subject: Chemistry Hobby: Making Origami Dislikes: 90% of everything- everything scares him Favorite Food: Ambrosia Fruit Gummies Least Favorite Food: food that has weird textures , possible to make gag Talent: Running Fast, very good at running away from problems Facts: -Ichi is scared of every possible thing around him, he has very high anxiety -His Unique Magic is “Feel My Fear” where he proceeds to scream and cause everyone near by to be scared and insecure like him but be watchful because he’ll sometimes hyperventilate as well as get dizzy and would at times pass out if he doesn’t calm down -He covers his right eye because people in the past made him insecure about it since it was so odd , only Arson knows what it looks like -He’s a prime target for Ruggie’s pranks and is often looking out if Ruggie is around even if he doesn’t have plans to prank him ,eventually something causes them to bond -He considers his brother tough, so seeing Arson follow Idia around he automatically assumes that Idia is this powerful student and follows Idia as well out of fear. -The Visor, he wears in his dorm outfit was created by Idia to help calm his nerves, If his anxiety is too high it plays relaxing music as well as pressuring area that the visor covers for better control I hope you like them! I’ll be posting more soon ^^

#my art #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland oc #Arson Damio #Ichi Damio #ignihyde

[ossy-p-art]

*kayae west voice* anotha one

DIMENTIO

TWO WEEKS

You feel less than good.

You kneel in front of the poor creature you had attacked; an innocent star sprite, dazed on the ground. You had injured it by simply whacking it with a branch as hard as you could. Admittedly it was pretty funny. Like hitting a baseball. Fortunately it didn’t soar very far; you had chased it into a secluded forest, away from prying eyes, before whacking the snot out of it.

You outstretch your hand and grab the little thing by the foot, lifting it up to your face. Awfully heavy little thing. Should be more than good enough.

You lightly lick your lips and pull up your mask.

You hear an unusual click as the bones in your jaw lengthen and unhinge. The chaos heart’s magic lets you manipulate your body in truly awful ways. Youve done this before, but it still gives you shivers. The heart grows cold in anticipation for more cosmic energy as you psyche yourself up.

In a grotesque, monster-like fashion, you easily slide the spite past your unhinged jaws and into your throat for the chaos heart to do whatever it pleases to it. In a fashion similar to a black hole, the sprite is suddenly dragged down with absolutely no hindrance. You didn’t even swallow. It was just gone in less than a second.

A chill runs through you.

You only do this on rare occasions. About three times in the past two weeks. Too many in a row would be telling. On the nights that you do treat yourself and the heart like this…it feels like you’ve taken a step in the right direction. The heart is more willing to sit patiently if it knows the longer it waits, the better the reward will be. You’ve formed a wordless alliance with the heart in this way, and thankfully this means it has stopped boring into your side.

On these hunting nights, you have to wear a blindfold and earplugs. If not, your body behaves strangely. You are subject to sudden thrashing and convulsions. You can navigate just fine without either sense- you can identify the imprints in space and time from every physical thing around you. You practically echolocate. Its a mystifying ability that the chaos heart gifted to you upon your transformation. The biggest problem, however, cannot be avoided.

You keel over slightly as you feel bile rise in your throat. You swallow it back down, irritated. Its like your body can tell when you’re doing these awful deeds and rejects them outright. The blindfold and earplugs do a decent job of keeping you calm and collected, but as soon as you can feel those sprites in your mouth, its a nightmare. You’d be fine with cutting up a sprite if it meant avoiding this, but unfortunately dead star sprites return to stardust immediately. A shame.

You clasp your hand over your mouth as you gag again. This kind of behavior really doesn’t suit a sophisticated individual such as yourself.

For the most part, you’ve been gathering sustenance for the chaos heart by other means- mainly normal power stars. They aren’t exactly appetizing, though…they taste metallic, and don’t sit well in your stomach. Pretty hard to discretely nab, too. Another alternative is ghosts and other spirits, but you think if you swallow one more boo this month something is going to come banging down your door to kill you.

Just a hunch.

You take slow breaths to try to calm your nerves. It seems impossible to keep your pulse steady lately.

“LAD WERE’VE YAE GONE OFF TEH?”

Your breath hitches in surprise as you catch wind of a familiar voice- one so loud you can hear it through your earplugs. You remove the plugs and pull away the blindfold.

You cant call out to the man yelling for you- your throat is in shambles. But you can knock a few times on a nearby tree to alert him.

“THAT YOU?”

O'Chunks comes through the brush and you give him a slight wave. He seems a little bothered, but still smiles lightly.

“Yae gotta stop wand'rin off like that, lad. Yer awf'ly far from tae gard'n. Thought yae were jus’ goin’ fer a short walk? Had me worried.”

He offers you a hand, and you place yours in his. It kind of shocks you how gently he carries your palm.

You never did this kind of thing before.

You were pretty worried at first that your old menagerie of ‘friends’ were going to pummel you the second they saw you. You know, the backstabber? The traitor? The fool? …They’ve all been surprisingly mild-mannered. You’ve been completely unable to speak from the damage done to your throat, but you’ve conveyed a few ideas via writing- most importantly the concept of redirecting the chaos heart’s violence.

Nastasia has been the most help thus far, navigating where power stars may be located to sate the chaos heart’s monstrous appetite. You really owe her a lot.

Mimi has been keeping a constant eye on you, practically babysitting you at any given time, keeping you captive in a small home she 'borrowed’ from some unlucky fellow. Normally you’d find annoyance in this, but for some reason, seeing her face brings you a distant feeling of comfort.

Unusual.

O'chunks sometimes arrives to carry you to and fro, as well as help you nab said power stars from any individual who may be guarding them… you haven’t told him about the star sprites yet. He may not like it.

Everyone is so… kind. You don’t know if a mass case of amnesia swept over everyone, but they’re all patient towards you. It feels…nice.

Your heart is warm.

You don’t know why they keep calling you 'Ell’. Maybe that was a side effect of the amnesia. Its not like you can correct them just yet.

LUIGI

TWO WEEKS

You walk while holding O'Chunks’ hand. You feel horrible. You don’t know whats wrong with you, but some kind of force, every so often, keeps driving you to go outside- to find innocent and tiny creatures of power- and to just-

You grab onto O'chunks’ arm suddenly and shudder. He pauses, looking you up and down with a worried expression. He bends down on one knee, and with a startlingly soft voice asks you if you need 'tae sit down.’

You shake your head no. You don’t want to be a bother.

You’ve been trying not to blame yourself for these things- its got to be the chaos heart manipulating you, or something. You don’t know what else it could be. The only bright side to these incidents is that after they’re over, your stomach doesn’t hurt at all- just feels cold.

O'Chunks seems slightly bothered with the silence, and decides to speak up.

“Er…yae know, Nastasia wan’s tae speak abou’ somethin’ with yae.”

You look up at him, trying not to come off as miserable.

Apparently hes not buying it.

“We’ve been hidin’ stuff from yae, don’ wanna put yae into a bad place.”

You give him a questioning look through your mask. You’ve BEEN in a bad place for two weeks now. Ever since you came to your senses in that broken castle.

“…We jus’ think yae should know. I cann’ do it alone.”

He squeezes your hand very lightly.

“…jus’ hope it doesn’ put yae in as bad of a state as yae were in tha’ cas'le.”

…you feel unsettled that whatever information he could offer to you would be that bad.

DIMENTIO

TWO WEEKS

You’re having a panic attack. Its not even yours.

Your conference with Nastasia went…pretty poorly, to say the least.

Your unwilling hand grabs tightly onto O'Chunk’s shirt as a part of you makes haste to form words you don’t even want to say.

“Gh- get-”

You cough. Its painful. You can taste the blood from wounds in your throat

“Get him- o-out-”

Your heart is going a million miles an hour. You feel like you’re damn well about to have a stroke.

Nastasia adjusts her glasses.

“We cant. If you let me finish my sentence-”

You go into a coughing fit, painting the inside of your mask with red.

Mimi quickly scampers over to you, putting a hand on your leg in sympathy before whipping her head at a sharp 90° angle to scowl at Nastasia.

“I knew they needed more time! But you didn’t listen, Nass!”

You fall to your knees, breathing heavily. Your mask slips off. You move your hand to pick it up, but a scream escapes you before your fingers can wrap around it.

“DH- DON’T MOVE ME!!”

The pain in your throat is horrible. Your vision is getting hazy from how disoriented you are. You’re losing focus.

You had suspected this. You didn’t need Nastasia to tell you. Apparently Luigi did, though. The man is as dense as a plank of wood that was raised by a family of hillbilly rocks. Its blatantly obvious in hindsight- moving against your own volition, Luigi missing, people being strangely nice to you… you kind of put the pieces together, thought 'well I’ve had worse done to me, and this may not even be true’ and put that thought on the back-burner to cope with later.

You put a lot of thoughts on the back-burner to cope with later. The metaphorical back-burner is pretty cluttered. Some thought-pots and concept-pans look like they might fall over at any second, but you keep that copper-ware well balanced in a precarious Jenga tower of undealt with emotions. Surely this is perfectly healthy and nothing bad could come of it.

Where were you? …Oh, yes, you’re about to faint.

You grab your chest and keel so your forehead is touching the floor. Your vision is fading to black from how quickly you are breathing.

You close your eyes as you take a slow breath in-

-and a deep exhale out.

You remain in a little panic-ball as you practice breathing. You’re shaking terribly against your will. This is humiliating.

A large hand strokes your back. O'Chunks.

“…I'tl be ok, lad. We won’ let anythin’ happen to yae.”

Words for Luigi.

Well. That explains the kindness they were showing you before.

You were finding a bit of joy in it, admittedly. It felt like you were all a crew again.

But it was only sympathy for him.

Well. That’ll go on the back-burner too.

#writing #spm #alliance au #dimentio #mario and luigi dream team #spm mimi #spm nastasia #spm o'chunks #love ochunks hes my dad

[annerly-san]

The Night’s Reminiscence | Chapter 1 | Takasugi Shinsuke (Gintama)

Alternate A03 Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/25601344/chapters/62137555

Verdant grass blades swayed in the wind as the scent of bloomed cherry blossom flowers wafted about her.  The lull of cicada thrills filled the air and beckoned the imminent arrival of summer.

It was warm.

She remembered the scratching and chaffing of the geta against her toes as she chased him.  Her lungs would ache with each stretch of breath she took and her heart pounded in her chest so loudly that she could barely hear anything else.  Out of breath, and out of reach, he always managed to evade her.

No matter how hard she ran to chase after him-- desperately seeking his attention and affection-- he would brush by the tips of her fingers and disappear from her sight.

Those piercing eyes of deep green were constantly fixated on something further ahead.  They looked at something that was beyond her.  Her naivety of childhood affections and innocent yearnings of the heart had once hopelessly wished to capture his gaze.

It was from a time that was much more peaceful and innocent.  A time where she was of more pure heart.  It was but a memory -- a recollection-- of the time she had her heart still intact.

Miyuki looked out from her window.

The lush countryside of her hometown was but a fleeting moment in the increasing industrialization that she saw beyond her window.

The gentle hills of the country were paved down and replaced with buildings of iron, steel and glass.  The greenery of nature had long since been uprooted and covered with endless trails black asphalt and gray concrete.  The wind, which had once carried the sweet scent of flowers and fruits in bloom, now gusted about with a nasty mixture of smoke, chemicals and toxins which devastated the lungs with an unfortunate breath.

The dull ache of her heart was not of forlorn yearning.  Nor was it of sorrowful pain from a past long gone.  No.  She surmised that it was but the aftermath of a despairing resignation-- a loss of all hope and prospect for a future that she could call hers.

Her attention was not divided for long.

The sharp tapping of the door alerted her to the maid that was now entering her quarters, relaying her surprise at her mistress’s early rise.

The commentary on how excited she must be for her big day went in one ear and out of the other as Miyuki slipped her arms through the kimono that the maid held out for her.

On a usual day, Miyuki would have glared at anyone who held the tenacity to speak of the insufferable marriage arrangement between her and her fiance.  A sharp tongue would have flicked out between her clenched teeth to chastise the imbecile who thought that a political marriage to the single most egoistical, spoilt and repugnant man to walk the streets of Edo.

The skin of her cheeks have grown thick-- accustomed to the slaps she received from her parents as reprimand for speaking ill of her soon-to-be husband.  It was most unfortunate that the skin on the rest of her face had not developed the same density in a metaphorical sense.  As much as she would much rather slit open her stomach and bleed to death rather than marry that abomination of a man, her wrists were tied and her mouth was gagged as she was practically sold off from her family as a political asset in order to gain some semblance of material wealth and power.

And now she stood in front of a mirror, watching as a veil of delicate blush was applied to her cheeks.  She almost wished that the maid would apply at least five times the amount of makeup to cover her face as to mask the inevitable shame and to shield the remnants of her pride.

“Oh, my lady, you simply look wonderful!”  The maid gushed as the last stroke of the makeup brush left Miyuki’s lips.  “You’re the most beautiful woman in Edo!”

The mirror reflected a picturistic bride.  Adorned in an elegant wedding kimono with her hair held back by clips made from gold and precious jewels, a woman that Miyuki refused to acknowledge stared at her with blank eyes.

“You’re soon to be married to a high government official!  How wonderful!”  The maid continued to gush incessantly as she escorted Miyuki to the palanquin that awaited her in the front of the manor.  “To live a life of care-free and luxury-!”

The words, spoken by one who knew nothing of the torment and suffering that came adjunct to this union, scrapped at the pits of Miyuki’s stomach irritably as small ruptures of growing anger bubbled up within her.

Miyuki stepped into the palanquin and took her seat.

The interior-- ornamented with the highest quality wood, finest silks, metals and jewels-- enclosed about her like a prison.  She felt herself being hoisted up into the air as the palanquin shook about with each step that the carriers took.

Out of the wooden bars of her transport, she stared past the bustling crowd of Edo’s common folk and back to the humble countryside of her past.

“Did you get hurt again?”  She gingerly reached out towards him in comfort only to be slapped away.

The boy turned cheek and replied coyly.  “Does it look like I’m hurt?”

His pride was clearly injured above all else.

His purple hair was disheveled and there was a swelling around one of his vibrant green eyes.

“No, but let me-”

“You’re annoying!  Can’t you leave me alone, damn it!?” Despite the calming sting in her hands, she tenderly took her handkerchief -- soaked with clean spring water-- and blotted at the small scraps and scratches on the boy’s face.

He winced, but allowed for her to tend him.  The unspoken permission blossomed into warmth in her heart.

“You’re really strong, Takasugi-kun.”  She sang her praise for him as she carefully cleaned him of the blood and sweat he accumulated in a fight that he had gotten into.

Her parents would have been mortified to see how close she had gotten to the son of a lower class samurai family, but she didn’t care.  The chastising, the meals forgone, the whips of bamboo sticks on her wrists-- she could tolerate them all.

Her family ran the prodigious military academy that Takasugi’s parents had sent him to.  A single instance of him defeating a group of students which were making less than civil advances towards her made her heart tremor in her chest.

Her interest and affection for him sprouted then.

Miyuki would always follow him around and watch him.  The way that he swung his sword around was mesmerizing for her to watch.

She would often sneak and watch him behind a tree or bush or gaze out the window of her room to hopefully spot him around and about in the academy.

When she finished her calligraphy lessons, she would find him to ask for him to show her the new sword techniques that he learned that day.

He called her annoying often and chastised her a great deal for bothering him even more so.

And even as he often yelled at her, called her annoying, and chastised her for running about and not being a proper lady as she should be, she never once felt upset or offended.

She was simply content with the fact that she managed to get him -- the object of her love and admiration-- to look her way even for just the briefest of moments.

The palanquin came to a halt and the heavy silk screen was lifted up to reveal a reel of carpet rolled out on the floor for her to step upon.

She could already hear the bustle of the crowd that her fiance had gathered as a means to shamelessly show off to uncaring spectators.

A familiar hand held itself out as a means to prompt her to take it.

She dejectedly placed her hand in the hand of her father’s as she stepped outside.

The cheers enveloped her senses as she was escorted towards the shrine where her soon-to-be husband stood.

Her father leaned in as to whisper in her ear.  “This is your contribution to the family.  Stand straight.  Stand proud.”  Those words were not meant as praise.  The underlying threat in her father’s tone was clear.  Perhaps he was being civil today for once as he didn’t bring mention of “being a disgrace” or “being a worthless woman” up as a means to stab at her esteem.  She wanted to slouch further but decided to not press her luck when the grip on her hand tightened to the point of near bruising.

Her father was a ruthless man.

It was to be expected from the head of a military academy.  But only she bore the callous treatment that her father gave.  She spotted her mother and younger brother standing near the front; her mother’s head held high and tilted up in a snobbish manner, and her brother had the most bored look on his face not bothering to hide the fact that he could not care to be present.

To think that the sole reason that their family was able to remain intact was solely due to the fact of her marriage.

The sudden change and worth that she held as well as the lack of choice and will in this matter made her hands ball up in a seething frustration.

Despite being the eldest, she was often discredited for the sole fact of being a woman.

At her birth, the instant that her father discovered her gender, he immediately sought out to produce another heir in hopes of raising a son.

And so, soon after her, a son was borne to the household.

While he was showered with undeserving praise for the slightest of things and held the affections of both parents in the palm of his hands, she suffered neglect and abuse.

It was not uncommon for her to hear from both parents on how worthless she was and how lucky she would be if she was able to be married off to an affluent family.

Both parents told her frequently that if she was to get on her brother’s good graces, perhaps he would be willing to provide a free spot in the inherited manor for her to housekeep and watch over his offspring.

Her brother knew that she was told of such things.  And he took advantage of it.

Often berating her or even physically bullying her-- pulled out hair and bruised cheeks-- no one in the house showed her any semblance of kindness nor respect of a human being.

How funny it was that it was her to get them out of the troubles that plagued them upon the Amanto’s invasion.

With the military academy being effectively shut down as a result of the sword ban, the esteem that the house had once held was shattered into dust.

It was a fitting justice for those who despicably held onto that power and used it to prey upon the weak.

But as the house fell into ruin, a high ranking Bafuku official had taken interest in Miyuki and wished to court her.  In return, the household would be brought out from ruin and financial woes.

Despite having the power to change the tides for her family, they treated her no better.

Her adamant refusals to go humor the official with dates resulted in beatings that included kimono sleeves and layers of makeup that would just barely conceal evidence of abuse.

Her attempts of escape led to recapture with padlocked doors and chains on her legs.

Her attempts to simply leave the world led to an uncomfortably intolerable surveillance of her actions for every second of each day she spent in captivity.

And now, powerless, she stood before the man whom she held no affections nor care towards as she nodded and agreed to his vows to become his until death do they part.

And as she felt the press of his lips against hers, she felt the last bit of hope and defiance in her disintegrate into oblivion as the vows between the two of them were sealed.

Miyuki stared blankly ahead as the food and festivities of the wedding began.  Her now husband placed a kiss on her cheek for which she could not muster even a look of disgust for.

The music and noise of the party were lost to her as she herself grew lost in her reminiscence of what once was, not caring for the unwelcomed hand of her husband that was now intertwined with hers.

As a young girl, she could never hold, much less practice, with the sword.  It was ironic despite her family hailing from a military background and running an academy to train the new generation.

Her fascination with the sword and learning from it manifested through her admiration of Takasugi.

Her eyes would observe his stance and swing with an intense curiosity, her own hands gripping a calligraphy brush or a flower stem and replicating his moves to its exact arc and velocity.

She was stricken with sorrow when she came across news that Takasugi left the dojo to study under the tutelage of someone else.

She did not grieve for long.

When she had snuck out to trail him after he had left his house one day, she stumbled across the school of Shouka Sonjuku.

Her eyes followed Takasugi in amazement as she watched him spar with another silver haired kid -- wide smile on his face.

Even as he was struck down and lost the round, he looked the happiest she had ever seen him look before.  She secretly watched him bicker with the student and teacher before finally leaving.

Trailing him quietly as he walked on the road back toward home, she noticed the cut on his hand and without a second thought rushed over to him in a state of concern.

“Y-you!”  She had startled him.

“Are you ok?  You’re hurt!”  She immediately took out her handkerchief to wrap around his hand only to be slapped away-- the fabric falling to the ground.

He immediately began to storm off.  “Don’t follow me!”

“A-ah, wait!”  She reached out and grabbed the sleeve of his arm.

He spun around in annoyance-- eyes glistening with distrust and hostility.

“You’re going to tell my parents aren’t you?  Like the goody two-shoes that you are!”  The words he spoke had barbs that stung the flesh.  But Miyuki paid the pain no mind.

“N-no!”  Miyuki exclaimed in protest.  “I-I got worried about you since you weren’t coming to the academy…”  She picked up the spoiled handkerchief from the ground and looked back up at him.  “I-I won’t tell anyone!  I promise!”

His eyes scrutinized her as her heart fluttered from him looking at her directly like this for the first time.

“...tsk…”  He grabbed her hand and spun around to walk back home-- pulling at her arm and walking at a pace with no regards to her.

As she stumbled in a breathy run to match his pace, she was unbelievably over the moon that her hand was intertwined in his.

The virtues of two people holding hands as viewed by a child are often perceived as pure and untainted.  The memory faded out of mind as she was brought back to the reality that was the honeymoon suite that her husband had rented out for the both of them to consummate their first night together.

Her husband’s hands slipped around her, tugging at the kimono caring not about the integrity of the expensive cloth that covered her.  

“My wife…” her husband’s whispers were low as he uttered that hateful title she now bore into the crevice of her neck.  She felt warm and wet traces trail across her neck and back knowing full well that there would be unsightly marks in the places where it lingered.

She passively stood there, her own hands placed atop his roaming ones as they traced paths up and down her body-- lingering in places of particular interest.

The mannerisms of her treatment made her realize the extent of which she was considered and treated as a tool.

Her past self would have toyed with the notion of love in marriage and the yielding of oneself as an act of declaring eternal love for one another.

But as she faced the reality she was in, there was no such thing as love.

She knew that now as the grip on her arms and legs were tight enough to hurt her and the blatant disregard for her comfort was evident in the drawing of blood as a result of viciously left bite marks and scratches.

She was foolish to once think that she could ever receive love.

Takasugi was never a man that she could even hope to love.

But her heart back then refused to accept that reality and only ever pour its love out endlessly for him.

Reality was cruel.

If her heart dreamed and beat to the rhythm of a fairytale, her eyes would at the very least open one day to see the truth.

That night was clear.

She could see the stars -- infinitesimal in the sky.  She wondered if she would be able to see them reflect in his eyes when he came to see her.  She wondered how many strands of his purple hair she could count as they tosseled in the warm and gentle breeze of a midsummer’s night.

Miyuki stood underneath the cedar tree overlooking the river’s bed.  The ambient sounds of nature lulled her into a peace of mind as she listened for the sound of footsteps amongst the buzzing of cicadas, the rushing of water against rocks and the chirping of crickets.

She had left home to find him.  For once, she could seek freedom and happiness on her own terms.  And she wanted to find it with him.

He had gone off to fight in the Joui war.  It was perhaps the kindness -- or cruelness-- of fate that allowed them to meet once more.

“Would you give me an answer?”  Her voice was shaking as she poured out her confession of love for him.  “I-I’ll wait for you at the top of the hill overlooking the river.”  She pointed at the lone cedar tree on the hill nearby before anxiously looking up to meet his eyes.

The unit that he led graciously let her through to speak with him in addition to having enough tact to leave personal space for the two of them to speak.

She would be content with anything.  She’d follow him into the army to help as a nurse or helping hand if he wished.  She would wait somewhere in the promise of his return from the war -- praying for his victory and luck.  Anything.  She would do anything for him.

But affections needed to be mutual.

Miyuki knew this.

The smallest corner of her rational mind compelled her to ask him.  Ask if he returned her love.

Whether he did or didn’t, her love for him must accept that.  She loved him enough to love him from afar.  She loved him enough to ask for nothing in return.

Her heart trembled in fear and excitement as she stared up into the sky waiting for him to arrive.

She wondered if she should have specified a time.

Her legs eventually grew tired from standing on the incline of a hill and she resigned to sitting down-- leaning against the tree trunk for support.

As the moon traversed overhead and the stars spun around and about the sky, she waited.

Until the dawn broke and the sun rose high into the sky, she continued to sit there.

Day waned into night again, and she silently thanked her family for not feeding her at times-- otherwise she would have to sit up and potentially miss him if he came by.

The pure, innocent hope of her love overrode the disparaging crackles of her heart as her eyelids grew heavy.  Miyuki thought that hopefully she could wake up just before Takasugi arrived so that she wouldn’t embarrass herself by sleeping so awkwardly.

But when she awoke, she found herself back in the manor of her home.  Confined to her room as punishment for running away, she despaired over how he might have been looking for her on that hilltop.

And on the tenth day of confinement in her room as she was remembering all the things she loved about him, did she have to force herself to realize that never once did he look at her with the same adoration as she did with him.  Only then did she finally open her eyes to realize that he would have never come to find her on that hilltop in the first place.  That he would never love her.

As she gripped the sheets of her bed, body driven into the bed with each careless and sloppy thrust of her husband’s hips -- pain and aches resonating throughout her body as sweat beaded on her forehead-- she knew that she would never be loved.

Her dreams of freedom, her hopes of love and her wishes of respect are all but an illusion that she had so carefully wrapped herself in to distract her from the painful truth that those were things unattainable for her.

Miyuki stared out at the foggy night sky-- barely making out the dull shine of the moon beneath the clouds.

This would be the last night in a long time that she would ever reminiscence on a more innocent time of her life.

#The Night's Reminiscence #Takasugi Shinsuke #gintama fanfiction