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drabbles-of-writing · 2 years

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Haunted Hallways

“The First (and friends)”

AO3

Chapters: 2, 3

For as long as Hunter could remember, he'd never been lonely. Sure, he didn't have any friends, but being lonely implied someone was alone, and he wasn't. He had his uncle, his subordinates, and anyone else who he had the displeasure of working with to keep him some form of company.

Oh, and the weird translucent witches that kept bothering him. But he didn't really count those. Truthfully, they were too much of an inconvenience to be dignified with the title of 'company.'

- - -

In which Hunter talks to ghosts that look way too familiar to be a coincidence.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hunter remembered the first time he saw them.

Well, one of them. For all he knew, he saw the first one way back when, before any memory could reasonably be recalled. But the point was that his memory went back far enough that he could determine something close to a first.

Somewhere, in the jumbled mess that was his mind, he thought he was three or so, maybe two. Which was pretty damn impressive, considering his memory up until the age of about nine was so fuzzy and distorted it might not have existed at all. As everyone else’s was.

He couldn’t remember the scene leading up to it, nor the context. But he knew he was descending down into the lower bellies of the castle, where he was pretty sure Belos kept him until he got his own room. Not like he had any desire to ask and find out.

But he knew that he was heading down, and he thought Belos was carrying him. He knew he was being carried by someone, at least. Whoever was carrying him didn’t matter, because above all, he had a decent enough memory of turning his head away.

He remembered looking to the side of the stairs, off towards the darker, shadowed hallways, where no lights dared reach. Not very far, at least.

This part, funnily enough, was so vivid in his mind he might as well have seen it just a few weeks ago. In fact, most of his memories of them (because he couldn’t, wouldn’t, call them anything else) were strikingly clear. For his own sake, he chose not to look into it.

There, down the hallway, was a person. They were walking down the hallway, towards them, in a slow, drifting movement. He’d call it akin to a lamp in an attic, had he the desire to be poetic.

He remembered they had a long, pale yellow cloak. Remembered there was a hood pulled far over their head, face hidden completely from how low it was ducked. Remembered they didn’t make a single sound.

He remembered that he pointed to them, probably babbling some nonsense. Likely just asking who the weird person was. After all, in the dark emptiness of the hallway around them, they were glaringly obvious.

Whoever was holding him looked in the direction of the figure, pausing on the steps. The figure, similarly, also turned their head, though it was towards the both of them.

Something circular and golden-brown covered their face, though they were too far away to make out any details. He recalled that they froze then, one foot hanging out midstep. He could’ve mistaken them for a petrified victim for how still they were.

Whoever was holding Hunter only stayed still for a few seconds. They simply shrugged after a moment, continuing down the stairs at the same pace as before, unbothered. He remembered thinking that was a little odd. His uncle didn’t like anyone other than a few specific people being around him, and this wasn’t one of those people.

The figure, however, was quick to take a good few quick steps back, cape swishing. He believed he pointed and babbled some more, but they were already turning right on their heel before he could form a mildly coherent word. He remembered being surprised at just how fast they sprinted right back down the way they came.

They swung to a harsh left when they reached the opposite end of the hallway, and Hunter watched as they nearly stumbled right into the wall before running out of sight without a moment’s hesitation.

They didn’t come back.

The second time was when he was four. More or less.

Same premise, not a lot of context. But he knew that he was in Belos’s throne room. More specifically, he knew that he was on one side of the room and Belos was on the other, ascending the stairs to his throne.

Maybe Belos was telling him to follow. Maybe he’d been dropped off by the select few who were permitted to watch him. Maybe he’d been wandering again.

But he knew that he looked to the other end of the room, to Belos turning around at the top of the stairs, standing right before his throne and looking directly towards Hunter. Whatever words he was saying had long-signed blurred together in his mind.

He remembered seeing something curled around the back of Belos’s throne. He squinted at it, and only when it started to move did he realize it was a hand.

He remembered being alarmingly calm, if confused, to see someone creeping out from behind his uncle’s throne. Remembered that they had a pale cloak and a circular, golden mask with a million cracks in it. Remembered that when they stepped free of their hiding place, they were looking directly at his uncle.

That they were holding something curved, shining, and sharp.

Like before, he pointed. He probably said something like “who’s that?” or whatever was similar enough to it. He remembered, vividly, that the hand holding the sharp object had been raised high over the person’s head when he spoke.

The figure froze.

He remembered their head tilted in his direction, a slow, deliberate movement, and he got the distinct impression of eyes piercing straight through him. It unnerved him enough to shiver, hand lowering.

His uncle jerked his head around, evidently ready and prepared to fight whatever intruder had come for him. As soon as he did, the figure scrambled back in a frantic haste, nearly tripping over their own feet.

His uncle, however, didn’t react. He just kept moving his head back and forth, scanning and searching for who Hunter was still staring at, who now stood many meters away from his uncle. Their hands shook around what he would later know was a kris dagger.

His uncle still didn’t move. He just kept looking around, tightly gripping his staff. His gaze passed right over the shaking figure as though they were nothing more than any old piece of tile.

“Right there, Uncle!” He thought he said. His voice may have cracked, or he may have imagined it.

The figure looked at him again. They tilted their head, much like an inquisitive bird. Hunter almost ducked his head, as if that would save him from their unwanted stare.

Belos spoke again, he remembered. Growling something like this is no time for games or where, Hunter? even as he kept looking right past them.

The figure stayed still for a moment, still staring. Then, with a sharp twist of their body, they turned and darted back behind the Emperor’s throne.

They didn’t come out the other side.

The first time he talked to them, when he truly counted it, was when he was five or so.

Once again, he didn’t remember what happened before it. But he knew that he was alone, and he was in one of the long, dark hallways of the upper levels. Maybe he ran off. Or maybe he was lost. Or maybe there was someone just out of sight. He sure as hell didn’t know.

But he knew that he was peeking down one of those hallways, and he was afraid. Because toddlers are scared of the dumbest things, and he was reminded of this all throughout his childhood. Frequently.

But he knew not to show fear to childish things, now. So it worked out.

He remembered shaking as he peered down that hallway, holding his arms. And he knew that as he looked, he realized it wasn’t as dark and empty as he thought it was. Which was a surprise, because they almost always were.

There was someone standing in the hallway. This time, he had enough memory (or was just close enough) to remember the finer details of their appearance.

They bore a white capelet with golden-brown trims, though he believed that the caplet was torn and frayed at the ends, so it might’ve once been a regular cape. Underneath it was a dark gray tunic tucked into black pants and big, black and gold boots with broken soles. Their heavy-duty gloves were similar in color, stopping halfway up their forearm when he saw them trail a hand over the stone wall next to them. He believed there had been small, silver chains wrapped around their wrists.

They were facing away from him, white hood drawn over their head. Even at that age, he knew there was something downright haunting about them, as there had been for the others. Like a bright splash of yellow in a mansion that had long-since begun to gather dust and cobwebs. Which made no sense, since aside from the white, their color scheme actually fit rather well. If anything, they looked like they belonged a lot better than the last two.

But, in the mind of five-year-old Hunter, they still seemed like a better alternative than being alone. Somehow, they were less scary than the Coven Guards with their pointed, smoothed masks and visible eyes. He never liked when he could see their eyes.

Then, the figure began to move. It was slow, deliberate, and they clearly weren’t in a rush. But their walking was away from Hunter, rather than towards him.

And so, with all the wisdom a toddler can have, Hunter panicked, thinking the one not-scary thing in the whole castle was leaving him. So, in a very sensible manner, he rushed off from the corner he’d been clinging to on not-very-quiet-feet towards the stalking figure.

He didn’t think he was crying, but it was close, and he thought he hiccuped a quick, quiet “wait!” as he ran.

The figure paused, still casual as ever, slowing to a stop as they leisurely looked over their shoulder—

And Hunter had thrown himself at their legs before he could even see what their face looked like.

He remembered it feeling wrong. Like moving through thick sludge and tar. Because when he collided with their legs, his hands and body went through it, if much slower than it would through normal air.

He remembered it was only then that he realized they weren’t completely solid. Because if he squinted close enough, he could see the floor through their legs.

“What the fuck?”

Hunter stumbled, on his hands and knees as he blinked and processed that he had not, in fact, hit the solid wall that was a comforting leg. He blinked a few moments more, staring at the floor, before turning his head up and back, fear replaced with plain confusion.

The tunic apparently had loops all along the front, each with a silver chain connecting across it, despite the fact it wasn’t even a button-up. There was a similar, thicker chain clasping the capelet together, though it connected to a small, silver sword in the middle.

Like all the others, there was a brown and gold mask over their face.

It was only at that age he could recall that it didn’t look like any of the other masks he’d seen in the castle. It was round, reminding him of an owl, with a line down the middle and two thinner holes stretching out where eyes would be, hiding them from view.

It was broken, though. The mask had a huge chunk taken out of the lower left side, exposing blemished, light pink scar tissue all along what was visible of their cheek. There was another smaller piece missing from the same side, a bit higher up than the other, with paler, unmarked skin beyond it. Cracks spread out from both missing pieces, and two more weaved upwards from the right eye. Where one of the cracks ended on the right side of the mask, a small chip was missing.

And they were looking directly down at him, tense and poised.

Hunter stared up at them. They stared back.

Confused (and dangerously curious), Hunter pushed himself up onto his feet again, swaying a little. The figure’s head turned slightly to show they were tracking his movements as he stood, which Hunter took as a win.

He took one, small, step towards them, still staring.

They scrambled back so fast they nearly tripped over their own feet, yelping and cursing as they stumbled. He could see their jaw moving with their words through the holes in their mask, quick flashes of the corner of their mouth through the big hole in the left side.

“What magic is that?” He asked curiously, deciding to stay right where he was.

Hunter thought he meant the ‘magic’ that made the figure semi-translucent. and why he could run right through them. But he was, tragically, still incredibly young, and didn’t know he had to clarify these things.

The figure probably didn’t care, anyway.

“What the fuck.” They repeated, more in a hoarse whisper now, stepping until their back hit the side of the hallway, hands raised as though Hunter, in all his tiny glory, was a threat. “What the—hi? Hello?” They greeted, sounding panicked and shrill as they did.

“Hi,” Hunter greeted back, because he wasn’t rude, “I like your clothes.”

“Holy shit.” They said, very eloquently, and maybe a bit in awe. “Holy—hi. Titan below—yeah, hi.”

Hunter tilted his head, frowning. “You already said hi.”

“Yeah,” the figure breathed, slouching a bit, “hi.”

“Hi,” Hunter repeated, a little annoyed, “you don’t gotta keep saying it.”

“Uh huh,” The figure said, slowly easing themself back against the wall and to the ground, “yeah, my bad.”

“It’s okay,” He said, deciding he could move closer again in a ‘subtle’ shuffle, “why are you wearing that?”

“Huh?” The figure wheezed, still stunned as they finally reached the ground, legs bent and bunched in case of a need to run.

“The mask.” Hunter simplified, because he could be patient, stopping before he was in between their feet, wringing his far too-crooked and misshapen hands in front of him. “Uncle doesn’t have that mask.”

“My mask?” The figure echoed, shaking their head a moment later, one hand coming up to press against the side of it. “Titan—what the hell, okay—aren’t you…” They paused, swallowing, “aren’t you the…the Emperor’s new guy?”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to tell people that?” Hunter frowned, tilting his head.

“Oh Titan,” The figure breathed, “yeah, okay. That is…alright. That’s cool.”

“It is?” Hunter blinked.

“Yeah,” The figure nodded, dazed, “very cool. Do you have a name?”

“M’not supposed to tell people that.” He mumbled, wary as he ducked his head.

“Oh, well—that-that’s okay,” The figure stuttered, hesitantly leaning forward a bit, “I won’t tell, I promise. No one will know.”

“...not even Uncle?” Hunter narrowed his eyes.

“No, no, not even him.” The figure shook their head. They paused, then reached out a hand. “Can you see all of me?”

“Yeah?” Hunter frowned. “Course I can. I’m not blind.”

“Just checkin.” The figure hummed, still a bit shrill, and he could see the edge of a mildly panicked smile through the hole in their mask. It made him feel weird when he saw it. “Haven’t talked to someone like you in a while.”

“Like me?” Hunter pricked his ears.

“Like you.” They confirmed, hand halfway outstretched. “Can…can you come here?”

“Why?” Hunter asked quickly, defensively.

“You kinda fell through me.” They said, chuckling a bit. They had a scratchy voice, much older-sounding. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry about that. You…I wanna see if you fall through again. I don’t want you to fall through.”

Their voice sounded a little heavy. Some emotion he couldn’t pick out. It wasn’t as threatening as when he couldn’t determine his uncle’s, even if only just.

He inched closer.

But Hunter was a smart kid, if you couldn’t tell, so instead of touching their gloved hand, hesitantly reached for their knee.

With a featherlight touch, he felt something solid. Not completely, about as much as a soggy cake would be, but solid all the same. He heard the figure suck in a quick breath.

“Oh,” They croaked, “maybe that oracle was shitty.”

“An oracle?” Hunter echoed, still in wonderment of how weird they felt, but he didn’t think they heard him.

“‘You have nothing but hauntings for company,’ sure I do.” They laughed, a hollow sound as they pressed their hand over their masks eyes, hanging their head a bit. “Yeah, yeah, sure I do, but betcha didn’t see what came after that, huh? Titan below. ’Oh, yeah, he’s gonna have a tiny look-alike kid staring at him’ wasn’t even on the radar? Not even a little bit?”

He seemed to be talking to himself, so Hunter wasn’t sure if he should bother him. His uncle talked to himself sometimes, too, and he didn’t like to be bothered. So he just experimentally kept pressing his hand against his knee, noting that with enough force, his hand started to sink in.

“This is what I get,” He bemoaned quietly, inhaling shakily, “this is what I get. A fuckin’ baby talking to me.”

“I’m not a baby!” Hunter bristled, ears lowering.

“Yeah, sure,” He said weakly, loosely dropping his hand from his eyes, “you sure look like it.”

“Babies can’t do anything!” He protested, crossing his little arms across his chest. “I can do lots of things!”

“Course,” He hummed, shifting so his legs were drawn back, “yeah, course. Cause babies don’t have names.”

“I have a name!” Hunter snapped, turning his nose up and before he could think about it; “it’s Hunter.”

“Hunter,” The figure repeated reverently, sitting on his knees, “Hunter. Of course he called you that.”

“I—well I like my name.” Hunter grumbled, glowering. “My Uncle said it—“

He didn’t get to know what he was planning on saying next. Because in one scarily fast movement, the person had reached out and snagged an arm around his side, making him stumble. This made Hunter squeak, and the figure bark out a shocked, wet laugh.

He pulled him closer, held him tighter. His arm nearly went right through Hunter until he realized the problem. He was much lighter after that, with just enough force to almost send Hunter into his chest.

“Holy shit,” He giggled, sounding a bit delirious, “you’re tiny.”

“I am not!” Hunter protested, pushing at his stomach and trying to pull back, movements feeling like swimming. “I’m really big!”

“You’re tiny.” He cooed, dropping his head. “Oh, Titan, you’re so small.”

Hunter spooked when their masked forehead dropped to the top of his head.

Really, he froze up, heart beating wildly in his chest. He didn’t dare move, let alone breathe. His uncle used to hold him something like this when he was younger, though he stopped as he got older.

He didn’t like it when Hunter moved while he was being held, way too close for comfort. The sharp points on his gloves would hold so tight it made him bleed. He never said a word.

“Oh, Titan,” The figure choked, sounding close to tears, “was I that small?”

The hold on his side grew heavier.

Hunter, in a moment of panic, shoved at his chest. It startled him enough that the hold lessened, and Hunter stumbled away till he fell onto his back, a soft spitting noise escaping him before he could smother it. His uncle hated it when he made those noises, he said it was for feral beasts.

The figure gave a half-assed reach as Hunter scurried further away, backwards on his hands with his feet kicking out at the stone floor.

“Don’t touch me!” He hissed, pleaded, really, because this wasn’t his Uncle, and his Uncle didn’t like it when other people touched him.

The figure stared at him silently for a moment, seeming bewildered. He looked like even more of a disheveled mess than before, and Hunter thought he could see blond hair poking free of his hood. He still had his arm halfway outstretched.

“Oh, kid…” He murmured, sorrowful and, from the downwards curve of the side of his mouth, horrified, “what is he going to do to you?”

Somehow, it sounded worse than the hands around him had felt.

“Whoa, is that a kid?”

Hunter jerked his head around, hissing like a cat.

Two scouts stood at the other end of the hallway, halted in their tracks, confused. Hunter stared at them for a few seconds, hiss dying in his throat.

They glanced at each other as one of them pushed up their mask, revealing a red scaled demon underneath. He remembered she looked worried.

“The—he just—“ Hunter started, pointing to the figure—

Who wasn’t there anymore.

Hunter paused. Then jolted, looking around frantically, hallway blurring together. Nothing. No hide nor hair of the person that had been right across from him.

“Should we take him to the captain?” He heard one of the scouts ask hesitantly as he ran over to where the figure had been, patting at the wall and ground.

“Probably, I mean—I assume he’s someone’s kid?”

“Maybe they couldn’t find a babysitter?”

“Yeesh, you’d think this place would at least give enough money to hire one of those. Must be a trainee.”

“Where is he?” Hunter demanded, a bit desperately, still sitting on his knees where the figure had been, looking to the scouts.

“Who, kid?” The scaled demon hushed soothingly, slowly approaching with hands outstretched. “You looking for your dad?”

“The guy!” Hunter insisted, patting at the wall again. “The-the weird mask!”

“What mask, little guy?” The demon asked gently, still moving closer, slightly crouched.

“Owl! The-the owl mask!” Hunter huffed, frustrated as he glared at them. “The guy with the weird mask! Where is he?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, kid.” The demon said, hands reaching over him. “C’mon, let’s go find your—“

“Don’t touch me!” He barked for a second time, jerking away. “Don’t touch—where is he?” He demanded again, looking around. “He was here!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, kid.” The demon said, holding her palms up, her friend hovering over her back, nervously looking down both ends of the hallway. “It’s okay, I won’t touch you. I’ll help you find whoever you're looking for, okay? It’s gonna be alright.”

“But he was right here!” Hunter repeated, weaker. “He…he was right here.”

Hunter may not remember a lot about his younger years. But he remembered that moment very potently for two reasons, neither of which he liked.

First, well, it was his first memory of ever talking to someone like that figure in the hallway. Every few months, he’d think about him again. Try and piece together all of his words in a puzzle that he knew would never be completed. He was always frustrated when he came up with a few pieces missing.

Secondly, he remembered it because it had to be his earliest, and may have even been his first, memory of feeling so entirely, so terrifyingly, utterly and completely helpless.

It was a feeling he’d get awfully used to.

He didn’t remember how, or when, the scouts got him back to Belos. But he remembered that Belos didn’t like people seeing him wandering about unless the captain assigned to look after him was there, or Belos himself.

So he knew that Belos would be upset before he even found him.

He didn’t want a lot of people to know about him, he said. As far as the Coven was concerned, he was just a kid that Belos took pity on. Nothing more.

Hunter didn’t remember how angry Belos had been when he was returned. Most things like that were blocked from his memory no matter his age. But he had a very, very faint recollection of a conversation not long after it.

Or maybe he imagined that it happened. Who knows, he may have a better overall memory past nine, but he didn’t have any trust for the bias his own mind had given him until the age of thirteen.

“What’s the owl mask for?” He asked. He thought he was standing beside Belos’s throne, hands gripping the armrest, up on his tippy toes.

“Owl mask?” Belos scoffed, head turning slightly towards him. He hastily dropped his hands from the armrest, moving back to the soles of his feet. His uncle’s mask was by far the scariest.

“Yeah, the…the circle one.” Hunter mumbled, shoulders hunched. “The golden one with-with the little eye holes.” He said, raising his hands to his face to mimic the circular lines where the figures had been.

His uncle went very, very still. He’d been still before, but there was something about how he was frozen now that turned Hunter’s blood cold and insides coiled. He was still staring.

“I-I was just wonderin.’” He said quickly, head ducked and hands behind his back. “It-it’s okay.” He didn’t need to know. He didn’t.

“Where did you see that mask, Hunter?” His uncle asked, far too evenly. He made a mistake.

“I’m-im sorry, Uncle—“

“Where did you see that mask?” Belos growled, voice sharper and Hunter flinched, head lowered further.

“N-nowhere.” He mumbled, then hastily corrected, because Belos didn’t like it when he said that, “I-I just—I saw it in the hallways. On-on the ground. Some…someone was messin’ with it, I think.”

He hated lying. His uncle hated it even more when he lied. But his uncle must not have liked that Hunter saw that mask, because he was really angry now. He must not have wanted Hunter to know about the Coven members who wore those masks. He didn’t want to ruin it any further.

“On the ground?” Belos repeated, voice low. “Who had the mask, Hunter?”

“I dunno.” He mumbled, eyes still on the floor.

“Was it a scout?” His uncle pressed. Still too evenly.

“Uh, y-yeah, I think so.” Hunter thought quickly, brain whirring. “It-it was the…the red scout. With the scales.” He said, gesturing to his face with one hand. “And…and the spikes on her head.”

“Was it?” Belos asked. “She had the mask?”

“Y-yeah, I just…I wanted to ask her about it.” Hunter scuffed his foot on the ground. “But she said we needed to find you…”

There were a few moments of silence. Then, the sound of a sigh, and Belos leaned back in his chair. Hunter dared raise his head slightly, glancing at his uncle out of the corner of his eye. He was looking out at the throne room again.

“Is that the truth, Hunter?”

“Y-yes, Uncle.” Hunter nodded quickly. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t know it was bad.”

“That’s quite alright, nephew.” Belos said, reaching out. Hunter willed himself to remain very still as a hand cupped the side of his face, keeping it upright. “I was only surprised. I’ll take care of it. But if you ever see that mask again,” a harsh grip on his face, and Hunter bit back a whimper, face scrunching, “you are to not touch it, and tell me immediately. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Uncle.” Hunter whispered.

“Good boy.” Belos released his face, and Hunter didn’t dare move. “I knew I could trust someone like you.”

Hunter just nodded in a tiny movement, heart pounding so loud he thought it might drown out the Titan’s.

It wouldn’t be till years later, when he thought back on such a memory, that he realized he never did see that scout again. It was a thought that haunted him on sleepless nights, squeezing his chest tight with jeers of your fault, your fault.

Which was especially stupid when he wasn’t even sure if that conversation had happened in the first place.

He never saw that figure in the hallway again, either. That one, however, he could live with much easier. At least he had chosen to disappear.

Or maybe he didn’t. But Hunter didn’t particularly feel like looking it into it more and find out.

Sometimes, never knowing was a better alternative.

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goofyrpmaniacs · 5 months

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Kage: *raises a brow* You can? How?

Tw: unwanted touching

Bella: Well I can—*eyes Kokoro* Hmmmm….

Kokoro: W-what? What is it?

Bella: Hmmm…*pokes her arms* You feel organic…but something about you is different…*squeezes her arm* Kokoro:…*uncomfortable*….p-please stop!

#goofyrpmaniacs #Tw unwanted touching

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hells-greatest-performers · 1 month

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So Alastor, can you nurse?

Alastor: *not looking down*

Lucifer: *checking and massaging his chest* Nope. No milk. Maybe because your pregnancy was so fast?

Alastor: *mortified that Lucifer was touching him* That could be it…

Lucifer: *ponders* Well the baby will need formula. I can go grab some! *poofs out of room*

Alastor: *still in petrified state after being touched like that*

#tw: unwanted touching #Lucifer was purely seeing if Alastor can breastfeeed #ask alastor #ask lucifer #lucifer morningstar #Alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel #hells greatest performers au #radioapple #fanfic #hazbin alastor #fanfiction #hazbits

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ayyy-imma-ninja · 9 months

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Hey! I was looking through the serial killer au tag, and found this post! X

I was wondering what this line meant: Such as forgetting to keep their hands to themselves after taking advantage of his kindness.

It's okay if you wanna keep it a secret for now, but I'm nosy lol

part of me is hesitant to explain, but it's no fun if everything about the AU is kept a secret >w<

But this does cover a serious topic involving unwanted touch and attempted assault.

Some time after Sun and Moon got their upgraded bodies they were talk of the town for a few days. Most wanted to check them out, either approaching them or dragging them into places to show them off. At one point the latter happened, and it was at a bar.

After a while a girl who was clearly drunk was looking for someone who could walk her home. She asks Sun specifically. And Sun, only wanting to help, agreed to make sure she got there safely. She said she didn't live far and that they could get there on foot. She wasn't local and was staying at the inn.

The whole time she holds onto him until they get there. He assumes that's the end of it, but then she claims she needs help getting up to her room on the third floor. He feels a bit off about it at this point but he helps her there anyway.

(tw: topic of attempted assault below the cut)

He gets her to the door to her room when she suddenly pins him to the wall; he can easily break free but he's more shocked by what was happening to do so. She speaks in a drunken sultry tone about thanking him for his help and wanting to reward him, and she starts feeling him up. Her hands go to places he doesn't want them to go. She even tries kissing him.

He snaps out of the shock and is scared shitless by this, pushes her away and runs out of the building and straight to his and Moon's apartment. He never sees the girl again as she leaves town the next day.

Sun never told Moon about this incident until years later (still before Detective Y/N returns) because the girl was absolutely wasted and likely didn't know what she was doing; that and he was afraid Moon would kill her. When Moon does find out after Sun suffers a panic attack at a resident's party, he is livid. He's pissed at the girl for doing it, not caring she was drunk, and pissed at Sun for keeping this a secret because they always told each other everything.

But yeah. Because of this incident, he doesn't like going to gatherings that serve alcohol, nor does he like going into places that serve it. It's also why he's not interested at all in a partner.

#answered ask #dca!serial killer au #sk sun #good samaritan #dca!serial killer au lore #tw unwanted touch #unwanted touch #tw sa #tw attempted sa #sk moon #angst #tw alcohol

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s-creations · 2 years

Text

Never Mess With a Warrior’s Emotions

Macaque gets a little more than he bargained for when he agreed to face a possessed Wukong head on.

( I put it in the tags, but just a warning here as well. There are moments of unwanted touching at the beginning of this story. It's not that severe, but I don't know how to tag it other than that. )

Fandom: LEGO Monkie Kid Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationships: Shadowpeach, SunWukong/Macaque, Warnings/Additional Tags: Other characters are mentioned, be warned, there is unwanted touching at the beginning of this, don’t know how else to word it, possession, hurt/comfort, happy ending, if i need additional tags let me know

The plan was pretty straight forward. Or as straight forward as it can get dealing with a skeleton demon. All Macaque was worried about was his part. Keeping Wukong distracted enough for MK to get the staff. Simple. But the Shadow Warrior knew it was easier said than done. Wukong was holding himself back for the kid’s sake when they’d first fought all those months ago. In talking with MK, he and Nezha also came to the realization how strong Wukong truly was. Almost winning against the Lady Bone Demon, before…

Macaque shook his head. Now was not the time to worry about that, he couldn’t change the past. He had to focus on getting MK to the top of that mech as fast as possible. Clearing his head to prepare himself for the soon-to-begin fight between him and the newly possessed Wukong.

“Come on kid!” The Shadow Warrior called out from the opened van door. MK gave one last look to his companions before joining Macaque. Both transforming to birds and taking to the sky.

Just as they thought, getting the staff back from Lady Bone Demon’s hold was not going to be that easy. MK was just barely able to dodge Wukong’s first attack, Macaque able to catch the kid before he was quite literally blown off the mech. Hiding behind sarcasm and smooth words, Macaque’s heart raced seeing Wukong take a fighting stance. He gave the call and MK responded, dashing forward, appearing to be making an attempt for the staff again. Macaque held off for as long as he could before blocking the attack meant for MK.

Even just standing there, holding the other monkey back, was a struggle. Macaque knowing he had a task ahead of him. “Alright MK…I hope that staff is worth it!”

He flung both himself and Wukong back. Holding back a wince as his back connected hard with the cold metal. Pushing away the (self-inflicted) pain to kick Wukong off and knocking the golden monkey further from MK. Every hit seemed to actually send shockwaves through Macaque’s body. The black furred monkey knew that Wukong wasn’t using his full strength at this point. Which just made the feeling even more worrisome.

“Why isn’t he fighting with his full strength? Is he just…toying with me?” Macaque growled as he went to deliver his first hit. Shocked when he actually connected, sending Wukong into the mountain side. “Maybe…she’s spread further than I originally thought? If she’s unable to get Wukong to actually fight me, then-”

That thought quickly ended when a chill traveled up Macaque’s back. Just registering that Wukong was right there before he was slammed into the ground. The possessed being following closely to pin the Shadow Warrior to the ground.

Macaque struggled, which only caused Wukong to press down harder. “L-Let…me go!”

No reply, the golden monkey didn’t even move. Continuing to stare down at his trapped prey. The Shadow Warrior growled, snapping at the Great Sage. “What, did you break? Do something! Hey lady, did your toy break! Why aren’t you-”

“Macaque?”

The black-furred monkey almost swallowed his tongue he’d stopped talking so fast. Wide eyes stared up at Wukong. Noting the other’s face had softened considerably, the harsh glare no longer in place. His eyes still held a lingering bit of blue, but Macaque could see flickers of gold showing on occation. Even with these changes, Wukong made no move, still keeping the Shadow Warrior pinned. Macaque had his guard up.

“Wukong…haven’t heard your voice in awhile. How are you feeling?”

“...Amazing.”

“I- Really? That’s a little hard to believe.”

“Our Lady has taken away all my pain.”

Macaque faltered at that. “Is…that so. What pain would that be?”

“My mistakes, the faults that rested on my shoulder, they’re no longer mine. My mind’s been freed from those burdens, I no longer think of them.”

“...How thoughtful…and what of MK? Pretty sure that kid’s dealing with what you left behind. You really want that resting on your shoulders.”

“MK…” Wukong laughed, but it wasn’t the sound Macaque remembered. It wasn’t warm and inviting. It was quiet and cold. “MK will join us soon enough! Our Lady is a kind individual, she’ll allow us to live on as her soldiers-”

“Wukong, this isn’t you! Stop talking like this, you know what the Lady Bone Demon is capable of, she’s not going to let any of us live.”

“Our Lady-”

“Stop saying that,” Macaque growled, “I don’t work for her.”

“But you do, your debt has not been repaid. You still have much work to do, My Shadow.”

Macaque felt the air get sucked from his lungs. Eyes widening, from shock or fear he couldn’t tell, as he stared up at Wukong. He hadn’t heard that name in so long. Heart hammering with joy upon hearing it once more, but he crushed that feeling quickly. “Don’t…call me that.”

“I thought you liked it when I did?”

“This isn’t you.”

“Come with me, My Precious Shadow.”

“Stop talking.”

“Our Lady can take away your pain.”

“Please stop…”

“We can be together again, after so many centuries.”

Macaque had his eyes shut, breathing deeply trying to keep himself together. The words were so soft, so welcoming, but he knew they were empty. The Lady Bone Demon must have dug into Wukong’s memories, found out about their…past lives. Using that as some sort of sick leverage against him. But he wasn’t going to fall for it. He wasn’t. Wukong wouldn’t even look his way, let alone say those things. Not now, not after everything they’ve been through.

He flinched, feeling a hand cup his face. Macaque realized that one of his own hands was free. Taking advantage, he let out a growl as he threw a punch. But it never made contact. Wukong caught it easily and pinned it down once more. Moving to have both pinned by one of the golden’s own.

Macaque attempted to turn away from the gentle touches. Shivering weakly, knowing he didn’t want this, but it had been so long…

“I’ve missed you, My Shadow.”

Macaque responded by trying to bite at the hand. Missing and being given a harsh slap. Head ringing from the sudden impact, he couldn’t fight back as a hand gripped the back of his head. Macaque hissing as he attempted to move, legs digging into the dirt. He let out a noise of complaint as lips harshly clashed into his. Shivering, in disgust and pleasure, as Wukong’s tongue was forced into Macaque’s mouth. Thinking quickly, the black-furred monkey bit down hard.

Wukong pulled back quickly. Glaring down at Macaque as he spat blood onto the dirt. “My patience is running thin.”

“You try that again and I’ll bite it off. I don’t care if you’re possessed.”

“But I’m giving you what you’ve wanted for so long. Haven’t you missed me? I have…I’ve missed you so much.”

“Stop talking, this isn’t you Wukong!”

“You were always fearful of opening up, weren’t you? Afraid I would hurt you…that I would leave.”

“You did, you did leave me! You left me for dead, you never came back for me!” Macaque held his tongue, wanting to shout this, but knowing it would affect nothing. He twitched, shutting his eyes tightly as he felt lips pressed against his cheeks. Wukong slowly moved down to nip and kiss at the Shadow Warrior’s neck, who couldn’t help but shiver. “Stop this…”

“I’ve missed you so much. Everything about you-”

“S-Stop…”

“Holding you close, our quiet conversations at night, talking about our future together.”

“Please stop.”

“You always made the most adorable chirps when I was able to take you by surprise. You were clingy, I wasn’t able to go anywhere without you following…but I loved that. Because it made me feel like you’d always stay with me.”

“Wukong…”

“Don’t you want that back? I do, I want you here with me, by my side once more. Please Macaque…let me love you again.”

The words were sweet, but dripped into his ear like poison. Macaque wasn’t sure if it was left over magic that the Lady Bone Demon had over him. Or if his wanting heart was being won over by the sweet, empty promises. But it didn’t matter how hard Macaque tried to pull back, he felt himself losing.

Macaque didn’t fight back this time when he was pulled into another kiss. Didn’t shy away from the gentle touches that graced his cheek and neck. When his hands were released, instead of pushing the other away, he instead pulled Wukong close. Their tails wrapped together as they pressed closer.

Macaque was falling hard once again. That harsh voice of telling him to stop, stop this, this is wrong! was continually pushed further back. Seeming to ignore the chilled air that had begun to enter his lungs the more this continued. His racing thoughts started to quiet down.

All he needed to focus on were the gentle whispers from another.

Focus on the comfort from the other, the warmth (chill) coming from Wukong.

Allow himself to sink further into the calm quiet…

Macaque’s ear twitched hearing a cry sound a distance away. It…sounded familiar. Where had he heard it before? The ground shook, pulling the Shadow Warrior further out of his stupor. He was doing something important…something to do with…

Another cry sounded and this time, Macaque knew where he’d heard that from. “MK.”

“It’ll be alright, My Shadow, he’ll join us soon.” Wukong’s voice sounded wrong, a tinge of her voice coming through.

“No…No, this is wrong- Get off me! Stop this, Wukong, stop letting her use you like this!” Macaque reached up to swipe, landing an attack over the Great Sage’s left eye. Wukong let out a cry of pain as he stumbled back. Cradling the injured eye that was freely bleeding. Macaque was back on his feet just as fast, breathing heavily as he attempted to regain his focus. Mind still holding a little bit of fog.

Wukong let out a low, warning growl as he pulled his hands away. Three clean claw marks running over his eye, but thankfully not enough for it to be lost. The golden monkey let out a soft laugh. One that made Macaque’s fur stand on end. “Oh…My Precious Shadow… An eye for an eye, is that where we are now? How poetic…”

“I’m not falling for this again. MK needs my help and-” Macaque let out a gasp as a hand was instantly wrapped around his neck. Clawing desperately at it as he tried to suck air into his lungs.

“You lost your chance at a given path. One where your end would have been far less painful.” Wukong had fallen quiet, stoic once more. Instead, Lady Bone Demon’s voice was the only thing heard. Echoing in Macaque’s head. “I gave you what you’ve longed for the most. I simpler time where it was just the two of you-”

“You can’t erase centuries of…of turmoil with just a few simple words,” Macaque hissed back, “I know better than that.”

“...Then you shall suffer, just as the rest of them.”

____________________

The day was won.

The city was in ruin, there was a pile of scrap metal lying around the mountain range, and there’s a lot of physical/mental/emotional damage to deal with. But right now, all were content to just enjoy their food in peace. MK was clearly exhausted, dark shadows under his eyes, but was smiling widely. Content with the people surrounding him. Mei and Redson were practically glued to each other’s side, the demon teen going so far as to rest his head on the dragon teen’s shoulders. Nezha, the being covered in the most wrappings while sitting around the fire, was content to just watch and listen while everyone celebrated. The child, once possessed by Lady Bone Demon, had color returning to her cheeks, a wide smile resting on her face.

All were gathered around the warmth of the campfire. All…except for two.

Macaque couldn’t speak on behalf of Wukong, but the Shadow Warrior wasn’t feeling much for being social. His mind and heart were still heavy, not wanting to share his experiences during the final fight. As far as anyone was concerned, he’d held his own against the possessed Monkey King long enough to weaken the hold over him to allow Wukong to break free. They didn’t need to know of his…slip up.

So he’d taken to a nearby tree, hidden by the leaves as he ate. Content with just watching the group below him. His own bowl had been finished only a few minutes after being given. Resting at the base of the tree he now sat in. He’d return it later, but he just wanted to remain in his hideaway for a few moments longer.

In the back of his mind, a nagging voice told him that he should be out looking for Wukong. The golden monkey had disappeared the moment everyone was accounted for and settled in. Macaque wasn’t even sure if the other had grabbed food before fleeing. But the Shadow Warrior wasn’t comfortable with finding Wukong. His stomach still churned and his head hurt thinking about the other monkey.

However, he wasn’t going to get his way that evening. No more than a few minutes after having this thought did MK appear. Knocking on the tree while he stood at the base of it. Macaque let out a sigh before dropping down, offering a tight smirk. “What’s up kid?”

“Um, so, you have good hearing, right?”

That was…a strange question. But Macaque played it off. “Sure do. Missing something?”

“I was going to ask if you could find Monkey King.” MK was looking away towards the surrounding forest, missing the way Macaque winced. The black furred monkey’s tail swishing anxiously. “I haven’t seen him and…and I’m really worried.”

“You gonna talk to him? I can search him out pretty-”

“I was actually hoping you could talk to him? Please?”

Macaque faltered at that. “Me? I…don’t think that’d be a good idea kid. You know the Great Sage and I…”

“You worked together, just now! You helped me get him back,” Macaque felt his skin crawl at that, “You…You know him better than I do. And…”

“And? Come on kid, you’re not really making that good of an argument here.”

“...I’m afraid to be around him right now.” Macaque was thankful for his sharp hearing because MK barely spoke, barely opened his mouth. The teen appeared like his age now. Arms crossed over himself, looking away fully from the monkey now. Looking…small.

Of course…of course the kid would still be feeling the effects of everything they’d been forced to face. It would probably be a long time before MK could look at his mentor and not think back to all the moments he was almost handed his end by the person he looked up to. To the person he cared about and who cared about him in return. To have that trust and comfort shattered…

Well, let’s just say Macaque knew what MK was feeling. Even if the monkey’s fall out was far more damaging.

“Okay, fine, I’ll go find the missing Sage. Make sure he hasn’t run off again.”

Wrong thing to say, regretting it the moment he saw MK wince. But it was wiped away and replaced with a wide smile. “Thanks Macaque.”

“Yeah, yeah, just get back with the rest of your little family. And get some more to eat, you’re looking skinny.”

MK replied back by sticking out his tongue, dodging a playful swipe from the other, and grabbing the discarded bowl before running back to the group.

With that matter settled, Macaque made his way into the forest. Once he knew he was hidden well in the foliage, he let the glamour fall away. Six ears, each a color of magenta, blue, and green respectfully, twisted and turned. Fluttering as they sought out a familiar sound. One he’d heard plenty of times before.

Macaque perked up, ears facing towards the steady beat of a heart. Eyes opened as he followed the strong sound. Passing through the planets easily as he made his way closer. He eventually found himself nearing a river bank. The soothing sound of the running water unable to drown out the steady beating. Resting at the edge, back facing Macaque, was Wukong. The heavy armor off, sleeves from the undergarments had been torn off and were now crumpled next to the golden monkey.

Even from a distance, there was a heaviness to Wukong’s stance. Shoulders slumped, unaware of his surroundings. Macaque didn’t even see an ear twitch when he drew closer. In the rippling water was the reflection of the Great Sage. Looking tired, golden eyes not holding their normal luster for life, Wukong seemed to be glaring at that version of himself. Not looking up as Macaque sat next to him. The silence stretched on between them.

“...Do you remember the first time we met?” Macaque voiced quietly, eyes landing on Wukong’s reflection. “You were…being an idiot. Even before your abilities, you were a bleeding heart. Keeping younger ones safe from some predator… I had to step in because you took on way more than you could deal with… I think that’s what I was drawn to. You doing what you thought was right, no matter the consequences… Heh, probably why we got into so many fights with other people.”

“Is this supposed to be a pep talk.” Wukong growled out, now glaring at the water.

“Eh, kind of. More of I didn’t like the quiet. Kind of weird to not have you talking my ears off.”

“What do you want Macaque?”

“Nothing, really. Truth be told I’m only out here looking for you because the kid wanted me to.”

That caused a reaction. Wukong’s gaze broke away from his reflection to look at Macaque’s, worry and fear weighing heavily in his eyes. “Is MK alright?”

“He’s been better, we all have. But if you’re so concerned, you could go talk to him.”

“...I can’t…not right now anyway.”

“Okay, fair. Nice fashion statement by the way.”

“I felt constricted.”

“Fair part two.” Macaque’s ears twitched as they fell quiet. Really hating how much Wukong wasn’t acting like…well, like Wukong. The Monkey King was loud and boisterous. This quiet was alarmingly unnerving, Macaque feeling jitter from it. “So, crazy past few days right? Who could have guessed it, right? Better be happy you found a successor that could handle a lot. Fast thinker and quiet the man of words, when the situation calls for it. Did you know that-”

Macaque faltered when Wukong gave a harsh sob. Arms wrapping around himself and he bowed, forehead almost touching the muddied ground. The Shadow Warrior panicking, hands hovering nervously over the distraught form. “Wukong? Hey, this- are you okay? Did I say something? Was honestly just trying to lighten the mood. Figured you’d be happy to hear how MK did-”

“I saw everything.” Wukong choked out, clawing at his arms.

“...Wukong.”

“I saw everything and I couldn’t stop myself. It was like I was chained up in my own mind and my actions were displayed to me like some movie. I came so close, so many times, to killing MK. It had taken everything to not land those blows. Every time I held back, she whispered how soft I’d become, how weak. Telling me that if I really cared, I would be able to break free.”

“You did.”

“Yeah, eventually! But I’d done so much damage already! I betrayed Mei, I hurt Redson in hopes of keeping MK safe. As if damaging one would make sure I could spare the kid. And MK…jeez, MK. Whatever trust that had been left before I left was gone. He wouldn’t even look at me during the final fight. Not that I could blame him… Why would you even want to give a passing glance to someone who tried to kill him so many times?”

“...That wasn’t you Wukong, you know that.”

“It doesn’t make it hurt any less… I keep thinking that, maybe if I had reached out before, asked for help when I could, it wouldn’t have turned out like this. That MK wouldn’t be hurt. That everyone could trust me. …That my secrets could still lie with me.”

Macaque perked up at that. “Secrets?”

Wukong laughed weakly. “Don’t act coy… She made me spill my heart to you.”

The Shadow Warrior swallowed hard, facing away slightly. “...I thought…she was just… I thought it was just a ploy to lower my defenses. To try and bring me back to her side.”

“I think that was the original idea. Then she found my deeper thoughts and just…she made me say everything I’d hope to say to you one day. You know, when we weren’t at each other’s throats.” Wukong trailed off, still hunched over.

Macaque clenched his fists, suddenly torn by what’s been said. “...You’re saying this as if I’ve forgiven you.”

“I don’t expect you to forgive me, that wasn’t the point. I know I played everything off. What happened between us. What I’d…done. But I wanted you to know that I felt grief, every day, since I lost you. Losing you hurt more than anything I had felt before and I knew there was no coming back from it. The first time my actions…made me feel sick.”

“I was trying to save you.”

“I didn’t…want to be rescued.”

Macaque’s head snapped over quickly. “What the hell? You were being tortured-”

“I was being disciplined.”

“Wukong-”

“You said it yourself, I did things without thought no matter the consequences. Not everything I did was for the right reasons and I think I knew that. After the mountain…I wanted to change. I knew I had to change or else I would become something I hated. When you…tried to pull me back, when you tricked my companions, I was angry.”

“And I got the brunt of all that anger.”

“...Yes.”

Macaque huffed, looking back to the river. He allowed a moment's pause before continuing. “Being alone for so long, it gave me time to think. When I approached you, it was for selfish reasons. I had the front of freeing you and it was true. But…I also missed you. And when I heard you were off on this adventure, that you were free, and you didn’t think to even find me… I was crushed. It felt like I had been just tossed aside. So, I guess I also lashed out because of anger too.”

“Heh…guess we really were meant for each other.”

“The sun and the moon.”

Wukong laughed softly. “I remember that story… It was one of my favorites.”

“Because it starred you.”

“And you too! Don’t just put this on me.” Wukong leaned over to gently push Macaque with a weak smile. To which the Shadow Warrior replied with a smirk. “...Do you think we could ever get back to where we once were?”

“No…but that doesn’t mean we can reach for something new.”

“...Don’t get my hopes up Macaque.”

“Then don’t act like you’re the only one who wants this.” Macaque felt his cheeks warm up, pointedly turning away, feeling Wukong’s eyes on him. “Don’t make it weird-”

“You loooove me.”

“Don’t you dare-”

“You caaaaare about me.”

“Wukong, I will take it back-”

“You woooorry about m-” Wukong let out a small ‘mmph!’ when lips pressed against him. Shock wearing off and he desperately kissed back. Uncaring as he was moved away from the bank. Being laid down, Macaque now positioned over him, never breaking away. When the other pulled back, Wukong opened his eyes again. Letting out a small laugh. “Your ears…I haven’t seen them in so long.”

“Well, had to find you somehow.” Was the simple reply. But he didn’t argue when hands reached up to scratch behind both sets, unable to hold back a purr.

“So cute!”

“Stop being weird…”

Wukong only let out a laugh, nuzzling under Macaque’s chin before initiating another kiss.

The sun had started to disappear when the two returned to the camp. Trying to appear casual as they left the foliage. Wukong was immediately filled with an excited teen, MK beaming as he wrapped his arm around his mentor. Who faltered, but eventually returned the gesture. “...Hey bud.”

“Hi Monkey King, you okay?”

“Yeah…just a little lost in my head. Nothing that you need to worry about. Although I’m sure you’re going to, no matter what I do.”

“You know me well.” MK pulled away, beaming up at the other. Laughing as his hair was ruffled. Batting away Wukong’s hands playfully. He stepped back, eyes landing on something on the ground with a brow raised. “So…did you two talk?”

“Yeah…there are a few things that I need to work out. But I’m feeling better.”

“Ooooh, we can tell!” Mei called out, giggling furiously behind her hand.

Wukong looked confused, turning back to MK. Who merely pointed to something between the two monkeys. The teen holding back laughter by biting his lower lip. When looking down, Wukong felt his face flush up, fur puffing out. At some point, his and Macaque’s tails had wrapped around each other. Swaying between the two easily.

“Um…so, we can explain-”

“Oh Wukong!” The Monkey King stumbled as Macaque practically collapsed against him, The Shadow Warrior seeming to have swooned. “I didn’t know you felt that way about me!”

“Macaque, I swear to everything-”

“A confession in the forest would have been a lot more romantic.”

“Get off me!”

“You were always so bad at timing- Mmph!”

“Ewww! Get a room you two, bleh!”

“Kid, you’ve seen Tang and I kiss plenty of times. Calm down.”

“Pigsy, don’t just say that out loud!”

“Do you peasants not know the meaning of privacy?”

“Oooh, this is so much more scandalous!”

#lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #tw: unwanted touching #possession #fanfiction #s-creations #also on ao3 #shadowpeach

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s-acrificium · 4 months

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verses! Dion

“An oracle of a different kind. I’m the right hand of Bahamut, and he uses his vessel as he sees fit…”

no matter how much it revults me…

Dion Lesage, son of a prominent man who utilizes connections to many high ranking families. Sylvestre Lesage is descended from those who worshipped Bahamut, just as the Lucis Caelum family worshipped Etro. Power to glimpse the future, skill in war and conquest, might and dominion is what the Lesage family craved and Bahamut gave it to them. However, after the war of the eikons and the others turning their backs on Bahamut (not wanting to deal with his shit). In the Lesage line, they got afflicted with scorge and the people were turning left and right. Crying out for help, the dragon told them he needed a vessel. Those Chosen of Bahamut, could take on his power and given an ability similar to the oracle. Absorbing the scorge into their body…through intimate touch.

Dion is the latest chosen, and he is used as a grand soldier in protecting Sanbreque or being used by the nations his own have friendly ties with. He has known since his powers awakened that he was nothing but his father’s tool. Nothing but a weapon to be used. A container for the scorge that people made him take as some ritual. he stopped fighting it years ago. The sickness and pain is unimaginable by those not given this power…everyday he feels himself waning. Everyday he wishes for escape.

He wishes Etro would just take him.

He is Dion Lesage. And he has become ruthless in battle, and distant in heart, for no one wants him for the man he is. All they see is bahamut’s weapon. The body who they touch and takes the scorge from them. He is ….no one.

#• Empty Heart• | Verses Dion #dion lesage #au #ffxvi dion lesage #Alternate universe #headcanon #tw unwanted touch #tw: bad touch #tw: ritual sex #tw: Bahamut is a dick #final fantasy rp #final fantasy au #final fantasy xvi #versus thirteen #verses 13

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fog-covered-sekai · 8 months

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mother

filthy dirty violated

violated

so vulnerable

too vulnerable

cant say no, cant refuse, you owe it, you owe her, you have to, theres no choice, no say

too vulnerable

youve been violated

my personal space, its been violated

my autonomy

my boundaries

cant say no

no no no not me please dont

dont touch me please dont hands soff dont make me

violated

so so vulnerable

you owe it to her, you have to, you are all she has left

all she has left

you have to

you must

cant say no

so violated

im so sorry

i cant protect you

i cant protect me

im so vulnerable, im sorry

im all thats left, i have to do it

i may hate it, but i have to do it

it feels disgusting, but i have to do it

it makes me feel filthy, but i have to do it

it makes me feel violated, but i have to do it

theres no other choice.

just move your body, hold your head still.

its painless.

its violated.

it lasts for hours,

but thats just the autism.

you can breathe now, you can move now. choice is yours now, autonomy is yours now. safe again now. no more now. you are done for now.

just.

for now.

but it will happen again.

#foggy laments #fog rambles #melanfogy #vent post #violation of personal space #unwanted touch #unwanted interactions #sa tw #this isnt about sa #but i realize it sounds like it could be #so a warning regardless #contact just feels so slimy #thats what this is about #i cant bear touching her #but she hasnt assaulted me #its complicated #personal post

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inktheartsyfreak · 1 year

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I don't think I said that before, but we have an Error Sans in our system too. He is quiet, but when he is not he is usually at least midly annoyed at the people around us (and probably at us too lmao). He is nice though. The local emo cousin.

Now uhh tw unwanted touch? its sfw. idk how to tw

We have a sibling who really likes to hug and kiss people even if the person says no and he gets really pissed at them when they do that to other ppl. He defends very much people who don't like being touched. I know that's what ppl should do, but that's something he does that really makes me think about him and how people view him.

#tw unwanted touch #fictive #endo safe #actually plural #plural pride #pluralgang #pro endo #multiplicity #introject #plurality

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arthursaus · 2 years

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Error’s really fucking tired and he just wants a nap and a million chocolate bars.

Poor thing. Yes, I kin Error, yes, I simp for Error, so don’t be surprised when I talk about Error softly. He deserves the world.

Also, speaking of Error, I’ve been thinking about something on and off for the past few weeks. Is it really that hard for people to respect other’s boundaries? Like, it’s so easy to just. NOT touch someone. Or to not crowd someone.

And this isn’t just about Error, this is also a personal thing for me. I don’t have haphephobia or anything, but I am sensitive to touch due to a sensory processing disorder. And it’s just. Why? Is it really so hard?

Honestly I think I brought this up while talking about Error because when it comes to Error that stuff infuriates me. When it’s me, I’m very uncomfortable and I hate it but I’ll get through it, but when it’s Error I just get really angry.

I don’t know how it feels for people with haphephobia, but I hate it when it happens to me. I have to be in the right mood and mindset for physical touch.

If not… everything feels wrong. Like, inherently, basely, unexplainable wrong. Nothing is right, nothing is as it should be.

It feels like my mind sort of partially separates from my body. Not in the form of having an out of body experience, and I’m not sure if it counts as dissociation either, but my mind’s connection to my body dulls significantly. I can still control it, but I have to seek it out first.

My mind separates from my body while simultaneously drawing further into it. Or into itself? Everything dulls. I can’t think. My head is silent. It shouldn’t be silent. I can’t function. I feel…. Cold? Not cold as in the temperature, but cold as in numbness. Numbness toward the world around me. I feel numb. What am I? Where am I? I feel disconnected from the world around me. I feel… not small, and not insignificant either, but also insignificant at the same time? Something similar?

I just don’t get why people can’t keep their hands to themselves. I get it, my hair is pretty, and you wanna play with it, but 1: you don’t have my permission, and 2: you’re screwing me up. Like, fucking me up. In the right circumstances, a single unwanted touch can throw me off for the rest of the day. I almost feel like… IDK, like a stranger in my own body? No, not really that, I feel like my body isn’t mine to control. Not that it’s not mine, but rather that though it is mine, it is not mine to control.

It’s awful. Sorry, just had to rant. Probably will reblog this to my side blog and/or main blog too.

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bl33ditout · 8 months

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i don't like flirting, it's so stupid and embarrassing to watch people do it. especially when guys have tried to flirt with me. just not the best experience lol

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angeldarkrose · 11 months

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I’ve never really understood people who touch people in any way without asking. I’ve felt so uncomfortable in my own home for so long now bc of someone. Then they just decide to hug me while I’m standing in the fridge looking for a drink. I don’t care if they were leaving what do I look like, my mom? Don’t hug me from behind like that and definitely not kiss the “side of my head” which was more the upper part of my neck. I really don’t care if it’s just a goodbye. You know I hate being touched by people unless I tell them it’s okay due to past things. First it was constantly talking about my chest when I walk and my outfits then complaining about not being able to unbutton my shirt. Then it was talking about my ‘essence?’ After my showers but hiding it with a Simba joke?? I’m kinda at my end with some people🫱🏻‍🫲🏼

#personal #tw sa implied #tw unwanted touching mention #literally jumped into the shower.#or as my brother says “’I’m over thinking’ it #or also my brother defends any guy who’s creepy bc ‘it’s just a guy’ ANYWAY.#I’m just done all together

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yanderenightmare · 4 months

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TW: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, captive reader

gn reader

Thinking about poly yanderes…

Being held still by one of them, forced to sit between his thick thighs – getting so sick of being outnumbered – feeling so weak, stuck in his muscle-swelled arms keeping you tight against him, wrapped snugly around your torso with your back to his chest while his hands grope your front, locking your own to your sides.

He rests his chin off your shoulder – whispering sweet words laced with mockery as you’re left to quake on his lap, struggling to keep your own pathetic sounds to yourself, having grown tired of screaming to be freed some time ago.

"You're shaking so much, sweetie~” He teases while licking your neck – smirking at how the fight in you, once so wild and untamed, had turned into you trying to restrain yourself in favor of breaking free. Fighting, now instead, to hold yourself back from spiraling until coming undone by the heat surging in your belly.

Your face, dewy with a thin sheen of sweat, is held steadily in your other captor’s hand, keeping your misty hooded eyes looking up at him, where he leans over you while his other hand plays an eager one-sided game of war between your thighs.

His mouth ghosts yours with small kisses, and everything smells of his breath as he pours sweet unwanted nothings down your throat. "Oh, y'so sweet in my hand~ so soft on my fingers~"

It’s as though you can see the��sickness in his eyes – leering at you like you're something he wants to devour.

��Don’t be shy~ show us how pretty you are when you cum~” He continued cooing.

“You know you want to~” The other accomplice added hot and damp right at your ear – just as amused as his partner. “Come on, baby~ show us~”

You whined, pathetically trying to wrench your face away from their pestering – overheated and overwhelmed – thighs shuddering around the stimulation, wherein the distress you wanted nothing more but to close your legs.

But the one behind you had them both hooked and spread beneath his, keeping you still and accepting of the one in front’s brazen touches.

You pinch your eyes close and bite your lip, not wanting it but feeling it take you nonetheless.

“No, no, no~” One of them tuts then, his mouth on your cheek catching tears. “Don’t look away, Angelface~ Keep your eyes on me~” He begs with fingers curled around your jaw, nuzzling your nose with his while pressing his forehead flat against your sweaty one.

You whimper, and his thumb swirls over that place you're most sensitive. Cracking a splitting smile when you buck your hips in response.

“So close, buttercup~” He simpers before dragging his hot tongue from your chin to your temple. And you sob, thinking it’s just too cruel how your body decides to react to it.

The knot within you seizes up, coiled so tight and stretched so thin it snaps – leaving you to throw your head back against the chest behind you – moaning out while they watch you gush for them with a shared smile on both their faces.

BNHA – DabiHawks, ShinKami, BakuDeku, ShigaDabi, TodoDeku, KiriBaku

JJK – SatoSugu, Toji x Shiu, MahiJaku, YujiKuna

HQ – Miya twins, IwaOi,

BLLK – NagiReo

HxH – KuraKuro, HisoIllu

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk smut #bnha smut #yandere bnha #mha smut #my hero smut #yandere csm #yandere aot

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allfearstofallto · 4 months

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You are Made to Greet them When they Return Home

Yandere! Forced marriage x fem! Reader head canons

Ft: Childe and Scaramouche

Synopsis: Your yanderes require the domestic pleasure of being greeted by their wife when they return home.

Word Cound: 1k

TW: yandere, obsessive themes, forced marriage, NSFW themes, mentions of previous abuse/punishment

Childe

“Master Childe has arrived home,” a maid said after knocking gently on your bedroom door. A notice to anyone else, but a warning for you. A warning telling you to be your most joyful and happy self, to be ready for your husband that had a temper that could change like the flick of a light switch.

Your nicest dress hugged your body, a satin slip in his favorite shade of blue. It barely went past your plush thighs, something too cold for the typical Snezhnaya air, but perfect for the inside of the estate, which he kept warm for you.

Scurrying down the stairs, your heels clicked against the floor. No matter how many times you'd done this, your heart wouldn't cease beating like a drum. The fear and the worry all sat deep inside your chest and made you tremble, but you tried to not show it on your face.

Arriving at the door to the home, you stood there obediently, as you'd been told to do time and time before. You and a few of the house maids. And almost right on cue, it opened.

For the briefest moment while the door was open, you could hear the sound of the wind howling outside, like screams of the night. A little snow blew through the door, and tickled your toes, but it melted as quickly as it showed up. All that stood there now was him.

Snow covered his coat and frosted the tips of his orange hair, but he still had a beaming smile on his face, overjoyed to see you. “My angel,” he said sweetly at the sight of you.

You were pulled into an embrace, his gloved hands still wet from the elements. He kissed your cheek, his cold red nose tickling you, and you tried not to notice the blood splatter near his neck that he didn't clean off. No matter how domestic he tried to make your life together seem, he could never truly hide what he did for work.

When he pulled away from the hug, you began to take off his cape. No maid was allowed to do this, as he said that undressing him was a job for his wife and his wife alone. It was a heavy, white piece of clothing, with black fur on the nape. He'd always smile at you as you undid the clasp, his height dwarfing over you to the point where you had to reach up to touch his neck.

“Was work okay today…” you gulped down saliva nervously as the cape fell into your hands, the weight of it making your arms sag just a bit. He had a questioning look on his face, raising his eyebrows while his smile began to falter ever so slightly. He wanted you to say the rest. “Was work okay today, m-my love?” you barely managed to force yourself to say those words. You could already feel the bile rising up from your stomach, but the content look on his face told you that he was happy regardless of how strained you sounded.

His large cape was handed to a maid to be cleaned and she ran off without word of orders. You weren't the only one scared of Childe in this house, you were just the one who had his attention.

You didn't even get the chance to completely turn and face him again before he was wrapping his arms around you and resting his body against you in a dramatic display of his fatigue.

“Work was tiresome!” He groaned while placing many unwanted kisses on your cheek and neck, “But my beautiful wife will make it all better, won't you?”

Scaramouche

Such a beautiful, vibrantly colored kimono was nice for special occasions, but it only weighed you down in these instances. The multiple layers piled on top of each other were a pure sight for eyes, but absolute hell to wear. Especially for someone who wasn't native to Inazuma.

You struggled to drop to your knees in front of the door. It felt like all of these layers were swallowing you whole, and with one wrong move, you wouldn’t be able to get up. Not without assistance at least.

The lighting outside illuminated his silhouette through the translucent white, paper of the sliding door and you hurried to make sure you were in position.

The second you heard it click and slide open, you bowed your head down before him. Your palms against the floor, thumbs in the shape of a triangle, and your forehead pressed against the ground. You'd practiced this position a million times before, with him studying your figure to make sure you got it right each and every time.

“We welcome you home, my lord, Scaramouche,” you said with your head still angled towards the floor. He merely hummed at your greeting. A hum was good, it meant that you hadn't displeased him yet.

You were to stay in this position until he told you to rise. Some days he did it immediately, so that he could begin to kiss and undress you like an animal in heat. Other days, he would leave you there to see how long he could keep you on your knees before him. Those days were hell, the weight of the kimono made it feel as if you were suffocating, drenching yourself in sweat. But you knew better than to move an inch. Being crushed by heavy fabric was better than any punishment he'd given you before.

You could hear the sound of him shuffling, taking off his shoes and putting away his jacket, then finally, you heard the familiar jingles of him lifting his ornate hat off of his head, and handing it off to a maid who also stood beside you.

“You may look upon me,” he ordered.

You rose up, but still stayed on your knees in front of him, finally meeting his gaze for the first time today, “Greetings, my lord. Did the day treat you alright?”

“My day was the same as usual,” he muttered while stepping past you and up the stairs, “Meet me in the bedroom, and bring tea as well.”

When you heard the familiar click of the bedroom door closing, you breathed a sigh of relief. You'd made it through another moment with him, but still rose to your feet with hesitance. Making it through the greeting was the first part, now you'd have to manage in the bedroom.

#yandere genshin #genshin #genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche #yandere childe x reader #yandere childe #x reader #yandere x reader

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idkwhatthisisbutheresdcandstuff · 7 months

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Haha imagine planning to take your partner out on a date bc you finally have enough money but then you have a nightmare about a bunch of girls touching you while you're begging and crying for them to stop so now you can't even be touched haha couldn't be me

#tw: vent #tw: unwanted touch #the girls in the dream werent sa'ing me but they kept touching my hair #i couldnt get away #it felt so fucking real #i know that was my subconciuos telling me to set boundries #but now being touched feels disgusting

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yandere-daydreams · 7 months

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Title: Meat.

Pairing: Yandere!Ayato x Reader (Genshin).

Word count: 4.5k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Branding/Burning, Prolonged Imprisonment, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Descriptions of Gore, Implied Stalking, Mentions of Pregnancy, and Suicidal Ideation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You always thought you would wear red on your wedding day.

It was a family tradition – passed down with dutiful care for as long as anyone could imagine. Your grandmother had given her dress to your mother who had gifted it to you, her only child, on your eighteenth birthday, years before you would so much as think about getting something as permanent as marriage. Still, you safeguarded it with a religious devotion, never going more than a week without laying it out to check for signs of moths or mold. When you found yourself on a boat set on a course for Inazuma and could bring nothing but what could fit in the space underneath your bunk, her dress was the only item you truly could not bear to leave behind.

It was one of the few things Ayato let you keep, when he first brought you to his estate. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d known that you’d throw yourself off the nearest cliff if anything ever happened to that dress. You still would, if he so much as touched it without your permission.

The kimono you were being fitted for now was not red. The fine silk was pure white, the detailed embroidery along the hems and sleeves dark blue and bright, shining gold. The symbol of his archon glowed violet on the swell of the train – meant to appease the other factions of the tri-commission who protested when Ayato announced his intent to not only marry a commoner, but a foreigner. You hated that embellishment most of all, more than the sickly way his colors crawled over your body, more than the irritating smoothness of his favored silks where they hugged against your form and groped at your skin. It marked you as a tool, something to be used to one end or another. It marked you as a sacrifice – and an unwanted one, at that.

“Just as exquisite as I knew you’d be,” Ayato announced, his voice strong and unabashed. You’d begged him not to, but he’d insisted on sitting in on your appointment, making sure you couldn’t correct seamstress or overrule any of the choices he’d made on your behalf. The tailor hummed as she fastened a temporary sash around your midriff, tight enough to press uncomfortably against your ribs. If you needed to cry on your wedding day (which, in all likelihood, you would), it would have to be loosened. “How do you like it?”

You hated it. You despised it. You wanted to claw it apart with your own pristine nails, separate each thread and seam with your very own teeth. You would’ve set yourself on fire just to see it turned to ash that much sooner.

“It’s perfect.” Your own voice sounded distant, distorted. There was no façade of sincerity. He knew as well as you did that there was nothing he could force onto you that you wouldn’t loathe, and you knew that any word uttered as to your hatred for him outside of the privacy of your shared bedroom would result in a collection of fresh rope burns to decorate your wrists, the better half of a night spent bent over his knee. “So long as it pleases you, my lord.”

You dropped your eyes to the floor, attempting to spare yourself what suffering you could, but your resistance didn’t matter; you could hear the sharpness of his smile, picture the way his head tilted to the side as he basked in his own self-satisfaction as he went on, addressing the tailor. “If there’s a veil, you can get rid of it.”

You didn’t think you would ever get used to the way his voice seemed to grate when he was happy with himself.

“I think my heart might give out if I’m not able to see my beautiful fiancé’s lovely smile.”

After meeting Ayato, you began to dream in red.

It was more of a pink, at first – during the first few weeks of his courtship, when the extent of his intrusive affection was a few dendrobiums left on your doorstep and a lingering glance as the handsome young commissioner passed your stall during his weekly stroll through the city market. For a short while, after his possessive habits began to rear their head and you were able to catch his guards in your peripheral more often than not, your subconscious was tinted a near-violent shade of scarlet, the kind that would leave you drenched in your own sweat and half-suffocated by the time you forced yourself to wake up. Recently, since he announced your engagement, they’d taken on a darker shade; choking velvets and deep crimsons blurring the distorted setting as Ayato’s faceless body moved on top of you, as his mouth unhinged and his lashing tongue dragged you down his waiting throat. On your worst nights, he’d tear you apart with his hands, first, divide you into neat, orderly pieces that he could slip past his lips and savor one at a time, one after another, until there was nothing left of you. He’d always preferred you in your most consumable form.

It was ironic, really, considering just how little red he let seep into your waking life. Maybe you had a deficiency; like a pregnant woman craving fish to make up for a lack of calcium. The closest you got to red from the doorway to his study were a few cherry blossoms fluttering past the window, their color dulled by age and their tree nearly stripped bare by the approaching winter. He looked away from his paperwork as you shrugged past the screen door, his pale eyes lighting up as he saw the tea tray in your hands. It was Thoma’s handiwork, but you doubted Ayato cared. He wanted to see you in the role of a caretaker, playing out the part he wrote for you to the best of your limited acting skills. What happened behind the curtain was none of his concern.

“To what do I owe the honor?” he asked as you set the tray on his desk. “I can’t remember the last time you visited me on your own.”

You flashed him a small smile. “Can’t I dote on my soon-to-be husband freely?”

He visibly straightened at the word ‘husband’, a familiar zeal infecting his expression. There was a quirk to his grin, a light tap to his thigh, and the tea went ignored as you obediently fell into his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair as his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you snug against him. If he was a monster, he’d be one with a thousand hands and a million fingers; he couldn’t seem to go a full minute without clutching at your hips, groping at your chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a deep, relieved sigh. “Husband,” he repeated back to you, all spellbound awe and deceiving wonder. “Archons, I can’t wait to be your husband.”

You wondered, sometimes, if it was his childhood that made him the way he was. After so many years of loneliness, so many tiny disappointments and frigid betrayals, you could only imagine he’d be eager to grab the first warm body he could and refuse to let you go. But, he let Ayaka come and go as she pleased, and seemed to take a certain delight in sending Thoma off on long-winded, far-flung errands. Whatever cruelty his upbringing had bred, it was clearly reserved for you.

His hand slid underneath the slit of your yukata, his breath turning hot and unpleasant against your collarbone, and you drew back with an airy laugh. “I do have an ulterior motive,” you admitted, hoping his curiosity would offset his insatiability, if only for a few seconds. “It’s about my wedding dress.”

“The breathtaking and priceless dress I’m having made by the nation’s most talented tailors so that all of Inazuma will know that I’m marrying the most beautiful person in Teyvat?” He raised his head, clicking his tongue. “What about it?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” you said, because he wouldn’t listen to you if you didn’t and you needed him to listen to you. “It’s just— I’m such a long way from home, and I know my family won’t be able to come, but—” You cut yourself off, swallowing back the bile that threatened to spoil your sweet smile. “I was hoping we’d be able to incorporate my mother’s dress, somehow. If it’s not too late.”

It wasn’t. You’d been tracking the progress of his tailors meticulously, counting down the days until your wedding like a prisoner waiting for their execution date, and if it was one of his whims, another row of bedding added onto the sleeves or a new embroidery pattern worked onto the train, you knew that there’d be all the time in the world to make any adjustments he asked for. Still, his smile wavered, a brief sigh slipping past his lips as he shook his head. “My love,” The petname lulled off of his tongue as if it’d been coated in sugar and syrup and all the worst things you could think of. “That’s quite the risk to take. The poor thing’s so old, it might fall apart as soon as the tailor’s needle touches it.”

He'd been crueler, before – called the dress a rag as he looked at you with disdain-tinted pity, swore that your reliance on the filthy relic must’ve been caused by some inherent failure of your homeland – but your heart still clenched just a little tighter in your chest at his veiled disdain. “I’d like to try, at least.” Your hands curled around his collar, your frown taking on a more pleading note. “Please, my lord?” A pause, a tightened hold. “Please, Ayato?”

It was his given name, loving and tender and so rarely spoken in your voice, that did him in. He relented with an airy groan, letting his head roll forward in faux exasperation. “We’ll see.”

You beamed, but he was too lost in you to notice, already preoccupied with pressing open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your neck. The sash of your yukata was drawn loose, your sleeves pulled down to your elbows and your body shifted onto his desk, where he could spread your legs apart and bury his face between them. Your eyes drifted back to the cherry blossoms trickling past the window, but whatever tree they’d been falling from had finally been stripped bare. All you could see was the bright, cloudless sky – blue enough to leave you burnt and begging for a storm.

Two springs ago, the Kamisato Estate had been overrun with finches.

It’d been a comedy of errors, in hindsight. Ayaka had taken up a fondness for a new kind of flower – one native to Sumeru, introduced to her by an outlander with golden hair and knowing eyes. Thoma, the miracle worker that he was, quickly found a way to propagate it in the estate’s garden, and within the month, little violet blossoms had consumed all that they could reach despite the best efforts of the gardeners to keep them in-check. It would’ve been a delightful problem to have on its own, but the peak of the infestation happened to align with an annual migration of a type of finch that happened to hold a particular shining for a plant with a similar shape and color and— well, anyone could’ve guessed what happened next.

It was a nightmare for Thoma and the other groundskeepers and, since Ayato was staying in the city on business, paradise for you. You spent your days in the courtyard, showing the servants’ children how to braid crowns out of vines and press flowers between the pages of books stolen from Ayato’s personal library. You and Ayaka fed seeds to the red-crowned invaders and coaxed them close enough to pet and sketch, as little talent as you had for the latter, and she listened as you rambled excitedly about the crane-headed whistles you used to make every summer for a very wealthy ornithologist with very slippery fingers. She was just as lonely as her brother, albeit significantly less deranged, and you – trapped, isolated, desperate you – were the perfect victim for her. The two of you were never quite friends, but you came close that spring.

And then, Ayato returned. The flowers were uprooted, the children sent back to their chores, and the finches driven away with nets and stones and salt. You sobbed for hours the day the final flock left, and by means of consolation, Ayato presented you with a blue-speckled wren in a cage of pure silver, silk flowers bound to the bars with yellow ribbons as a reminder of your lost haven. To this day, you still aren’t sure if he meant it to be as cruel of a gift as it was.

You made it all of two days before risking another month spent shackled to Ayato’s bed and sneaking past the guards posted at the estate’s frontmost gates, the golden cage tucked against your chest. You released it in the woods, somewhere with plenty of tree cover and places to hide while it remembered how to be a wild creature, and watched with a smile as it fluttered past the cage’s door and into the open air, eventually landing on the leaf-littered ground.

It hopped all of three tiny steps before a fox emerged from the underbrush and swallowed it whole.

“Are you still with us, love?”

You should’ve gone limp. You should’ve acted as if the pain had gotten to you. You should’ve pretended you were dead to the world and that you couldn’t feel his cock languidly thrusting into you and that you’d gone numb to the searing iron slowly cooling into against the small of your back but, for as resentful as your mind was to him, your body was entirely subservient to Ayato. You tried to respond verbally, and when your voice caught in your throat, you forced yourself to nod, the motion small and shaky. Ayato rewarded you with a breathy chuckle, a fleeting touch to the curve of your spine. A hundred pinpricks of purified agony accompanied his touch.

The silver brand had been commissioned from the finest metal crafters in Inazuma City, made to resemble the warped camellia that was the Kamisato Clan’s crest, and you let out an agonized scream as Ayato drew it back and pressed a calloused thumb into the tender patch of burnt skin. “You always do make such pretty noises for me.” He circled the shape of the white-hot bloom, drawing out another ragged whimper. “It’s a shame I only get to hear them when you misbehave.”

You wanted to apologize, to beg for his forgiveness, but try as you might, you couldn’t seem to remember what you’d done wrong. You hadn’t tried to run away. You hadn’t talked to any of the servants. You hadn’t done anything aside from smile and sit beside him as he spoke with the head of another clan – an older man whose eyes burnt into you for the entirety of their brief conversation. As far as you could tell, he was just a particularly shameless nobleman trying to decipher the curiosity that was the Yashiro Commissioner’s reclusive bride, but Ayato hated letting other men gawk at you at the best of times. Such prolonged exposure would’ve surely brought out the worst of his possessive habits.

You felt something tighten in your chest, catch in your throat, but you only realized you were crying when Ayato’s lips ghosted over your cheek, the gentleness of the gesture quickly replaced with the brutality of his fingers tangled in your hair, your head forced down and into the plush of his bed. You body threatened to collapse, but his free hand fell to your hip, keeping your back arched and your ass raised as he ground lazily into your cunt, in no rush to put you out of your suffering. “I think,” he groaned, lust heavy in his voice. “We’re going to have a big family. Half a dozen kids, at least.”

You beat your fists against the mattress, shaking your head violently, and he twitched inside of you. “They’ll have your eyes,” he went on, a sadistic delight in his voice. “And my swordsmanship, and I’ll love them as much as I love you.” He paused, the head of his cock scraping against something deep and vulnerable inside of you. “Well, almost as much as I love you. As much as I can.”

You tried to struggle, to get away from him, but Ayato held you close, his grip as unrelenting as his slow, aching tempo. With a calculated sort of grace, he leaned towards you, slotting his chest against your back and bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “You don’t think it’s too soon to start, do you, darling?”

All you could do was try and fail to scream in response.

The first gift Ayato ever gave to you was a necklace the color of freshly split sapphires.

He insisted that you not think of it as a present, that you consider it little more than justified repayment for an item from your stall broken by the clumsy fingers of one of his couriers, but it was a present, it couldn’t be anything else. His courier had paid for the ruined pottery days prior, and yet, he’d sought you out in person to apologize with that sun-bright smile, to let his fingertips brush against yours as he passed you a satin-lined case with a perfect, ocean-blue velvet choker tucked safely inside. It was a beautiful thing, embellished with silver and dripping with transparent crystals, but you’d liked the color most of all. It’d reminded you of Ayato, and there’d been a time when you treasured any excuse to think of him.

You’d worn it the first time you saw each other properly, too. The occasion wasn’t formal enough to warrant something so needlessly extravagant, but you couldn’t seem to stop smiling for the entirety of your brief-meal-turned-seven-hour-conversation, and as your night came to an end, perched on the edge of a cliff underneath the Raiden Shogun’s palace and breathless from laughing, he told you that if you weren’t careful, he might just fall in love with you. You’d told him that, if he waited a few more days, you might fall in love with him, too.

You’d been wearing the same necklace when he broke your heart for the first time. It’d been an overcast day, the sky a clouded blueish grey and the shogun’s fury just barely audible in the far distance. He told you, with that perfect grin and those lonely eyes, that it really was terribly improper for the lover of a commissioner to run some meager stall in a sweat-soaked market, that he owed you better than a cramped room on the outskirts of the city where you had to wade through hours of farmland to reach anything of importance. When you said that you enjoyed your work, that you adored the back-breaking labor of your craft and loved having neighbors who would leave baskets of cabbage and lavender melon on your doorstep in exchange for misshapen cups and off-pattern bowls, he laughed as if you’d said the funniest thing in the world and cupped your face in his hands, pulling you into a kiss deep enough and sweet enough to make you forget whether or not you’d agreed with him.

You were brought to the Kamisato estate less than a full month later and had yet to leave since.

The final garment was delivered two weeks before your wedding day. You watched from your pavilion as Ayato met the courier at the estate’s gates, accepting a large package wrapped in scarlet silk and brushing off the guards’ attempts to carry it on his behalf. You were embroidering, that day – a delicate, time-consuming art that Ayato praised in comparison to the messy, unpredictable medium of clay. You loathed the monotony of it, the strictness of the patterns, but it meant Ayato was less likely to break your fingers when he found you scrounging away spare mora in the hopes of some perpetually eventual escape and so, you embroidered.

“My mother’s dress,” you said, as soon as he was close enough to hear you. The wooden hoop was forgotten in your lap as you stared up at him, hope written clearly across your expression. “Do you know what they did with it?”

His grin widened. “Eager, are we?” You nodded frantically, and he added, “If I’d didn’t know better, I’d say you care about a dress more than your own betrothed.”

He settled next to you, the package laid across his thighs. He moved to unwrap it, then pivoted – his attention shifting as his gloved hand took hold of your wrist. He’d been touching you more delicately, lately, something you couldn’t help but link with his long-brewing but only recently materialized desire for children. It was a problem you elected to deal with later on, after the wedding, if only for your own inability to process just how horrific of a problem it was.

(There was a part of you which knew, even before your conscious mind could bear to accept it, that you would never be able to love something he put inside of you. Ayato’s obsession was enduring, able to feed off of nothing and contort reality to suit its needs, but your love had always been a rational thing, bound to end the moment it became inconvenient to house. Your love for your homeland died with your mother. Your love for Ayato died with your abduction. And, whatever love you could’ve had for a child— no, a shackle would die the moment the foul creature was born. You could hold no affection for a child that was made in Ayato’s image, that would be cleaved from your flesh for the sake of his happiness, and if by some miracle you did love the monstrosity, then you could only assume it would be because you’d abandoned all hope for yourself. Both futures seemed equally grim.)

“Ayato,” you simpered, leaning against his side. “Please?”

He rolled his eyes, playing soft as he handed you the oversized package. “It should be wrapped separately. I said I didn’t want to see the finished product until the day-of.”

Your hands shook as you undid the many knots. A smaller bundle sat within, separate from the tumor of ivory fabric you forced yourself not to linger on, and you took it up with a desperate sort of keenness, practically trembling as you tore it open with no regard for the integrity of its packaging. The crimson silk was torn away to reveal—

Blue.

Dark, never-ending blue.

“The color came out so beautifully. I’m glad you protested the way you did – otherwise, I might’ve never known we were missing something on our wedding day.” This time, you didn’t fight as he tore the remains of your mother’s dress out of your hands, holding out a sash the shade of apathetic night. You searched for something familiar, for something you could use to ground yourself, but it was absent of all recognizability, desecrated to the point of being all-but alien to you. “It had to be dyed, of course, but I’ve been told the process only cost it a moment of its integrity. The tailors—”

You blinked, but your vision remained black when you opened your eyes. Your body was lurching forward, and then you were in Ayato’s arms, limp and buzzing. Ayato was laughing, as shocked as you were drained, and you made no effort to pull away from him. “My poor little wife. I know – the anticipation’s almost too much to bear.” He pressed a kiss into your forehead. “Why don’t we spend some time together, like we used to? I think I can push my obligations aside for the day, considering the occasion.”

You didn’t respond, but he gathered into his arms regardless. He had always seemed to prefer you as dead weight.

You did end up in red on your wedding day, but you doubted you’d be getting married, anymore.

His own sword slid and out of his back with a wet, gripping noise – only interrupted when the blade slipped in your hands and hit bone rather than viscera. Blood splattered against the white of your kimono with every plunge, staining the susceptible fabric easily and leaving you struggling to keep your feet underneath you as the puddle of scarlet grew deeper, as the screen walls began to drip and your lungs filled with copper and iron. Ayato, the ever-worried lover that he was, had come to check on you before the ceremony, fussing over your blank eyes and the tear-tracks that had ruined your make-up twice, by then. He’d been concerned, but giddy, unable to keep himself away from you despite his many promises of tradition and decor.

He'd made it three, maybe four minutes before beginning to toy with the clasps running down your chest.

You’d taken up the first thing you saw – a hand mirror gilded with shining rose gold – and brought it down on his head.

That, on its own, would’ve left him with a scar and little else, but you’d worked quickly, drawing the sword from its sheath on his belt and bringing it down into anything that seemed vital, anything you could reach, anything that bled calming, soothing red. He stopped moving on the fifth strike, his uncalled upon Vision going dull on the sixth, and on the seventh, you heard someone call for the guards.

You waited until you could hear their footsteps before falling to your knees, bringing the point of your blade to your stomach and clenching your eyes shut, praying to any archon who would listen that you’d hit something they couldn’t be healed, that they’d lend you a more merciful fate than another jail cell, another lifetime of entrapment. You plunged the blade into your stomach and—

And were met with little more than a cold, blunt sensation and a bottomless pit of despair.

You opened your eyes, your gaze flickering from your ice-coated blade to the doorway of your dressing room, now occupied by Kamisato Ayaka, one hand raised and her Vision pulsing at her side. Guards rushed in on either side of her, grabbing at your shoulders and wrists, but your stare never left Ayaka, her parted lips, her flushed cheeks.

Her bright eyes, just as blue and just as lonely as her brother’s had ever been.

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