#which sounds manipulative but you know. i do love working on commissions and they are fun

[isbergillustration]

[Biweekly reminder that I am so very open for commissions, still including the $30* digital ones, selling all originals, have a print shop, more info in pinned post]

#horrific self promo ft. 2 min doodle on the back of some packaging #i am just. not getting a lot of shifts at work and still no response on any other job searches #which sounds manipulative but you know. i do love working on commissions and they are fun #*i have not managed to do a single one of them in under 1.5 hours of the 1 hour ive set myself as a limit so #now they’re 30 #it's my fault for taking longer but i am deciding i get 20/hour. or 18 because paypal fees but you know

[nqmonarch]

hello......... we meet again...........clown to clown communication............... youve infected me so bad with your yandere blade thoughts please i have to be euthanizeddd.......... please i need to know more of your thoughts on the matter so bad /nf

Hello again :) So I ended up turning a bunch of mini thoughts into a mini story, if you don't mind. If you want more just brainrot thoughts lmk and I can get those out of my brain as well

Originally I was going to publish it in one part however, it's getting a bit too long (6775 words) and I don't like having such long posts.

This is a lot of the leadup portion Part 2 will probably focus more on the Yandere although it starts to lean on that a bit in the end.

TW: Yandere, violence, manipulation, drugging all that kind of stuff.

Also spoilers for Blade and High Cloud Quintet's identity (I don't know exactly which quests I spoiled)

I think the big question first off is how do you even get Blade interested in you?

It could be the classic, knowing Blade in the past, being his lover or friend before he became mara struck. Maybe even being his rival, someone that loved to challenge him, and ended advocating for him to be allowed to die an honorable death out of admiration for your opponent. Either way he'd have lingering feelings for you.

But I like to think you met him by chance on the Xianzhou Luofu when he returned as Blade. Maybe you were a healer, that not only helped but put people out of their misery, peacefully. You were someone who specialized in working with mara struck, finding ways to suppress and calm it, staying by your patients side as they slowly lost their mind, and making sure they didn't hurt anyone. You were trained well in the ways of combat, after all you had to be in order to deal with mara.

Your goal was to help them come to terms with their death and once they had you would hand them off to the Ten Lords Commission. If they weren't ready, that was okay they could stick around. Either way when they'd fully transformed into a mara struck, you killed them. Only once they'd fully transformed would you be able to, otherwise they'd regenerate.

One day, you'd been wandering about when you found a curious person. Someone you knew well because their face was on countless wanted posters. You'd never done much research into the Stellaron Hunters but were surprised to see one of their members was afflicted with mara.

You weren't cruel. Instead you grabbed some medication and approached him, cautiously like how one would approach a stray cat. A few seconds after you'd begun walking toward him, he reached you. Tip of a blade pointed at your neck, grazing it, cool metal pressed against warm skin, it shook ever so slightly each movement threatening to draw blood. He was barely restraining himself, you weren't sure why he was even trying. But you did know that your head would be on the floor if he really wanted it there.

"Let me help?" Your tone was friendly, and you held up the bag of medicine in your hand. Your words didn't register with him, you doubted he could even see your lips moving. But the most important thing was to have a nonthreatening presence.

For mara struck you could strangely talk your way out of it. You were surrounded by mara while working, to the point you stunk of it. For some reason mara struck soldiers never attacked you unprovoked, it was a strange phenomena and that was the only reason you could think of.

Unfortunately, it didn't work for you this time, and you quickly found yourself trying to outrun one of the most dangerous men alive. Oopsie? At least it was kind of fun! This exhilaration was really nice, you should get in near death experiences more often! You felt the wind whip around you as the hunter was hot on your trail.

You wouldn't be able to outrun him much longer, the only reason you'd gotten this far was because he'd been in the middle of swinging his sword at you. So your only option was to unconsensually drug him. That sounded really bad. But your life was at risk! You slipped one of the pills into your hand, it was one of the heavier ones that would cause the patient to pass out. There were some cases where even your medicine couldn't comfort, then the best thing would be sleep.

With a minor turn of your ankle you swung around and placed your hand in his mouth, opening it, and getting the medicine in. He bit your hand near immediately, but you kept it still, even though his teeth would sharp as fuck you could feel them even inside your hand clenching down. You felt the warmth of blood, and waited a moment looking into his eyes.

You wouldn't hold it against him, he was mara struck. This was how they acted toward most people, not normally you, but it felt good to be treated like most people for once. You were normal. It was nice. Then he fell off your hand, tumbling straight backwards, and hitting the ground with a painful thud.

"Oooh, that's gotta hurt," You muttered, not entirely sympathetic to the man that just tried to kill you. But he was an interesting person. A Stellaron Hunter with mara, huh?

Maybe you didn't know as much about them as you thought. You slipped off the cloth bag around your shoulder and fixed it over his face. Then you grabbed him by the arms and began to drag him, his clothes dirtying upon the street floor, back to your little apothecary. Heavy.

You managed to lift him for a few moments to put him on a cot, before placing your hands on your knees, and taking a moment to catch your breath. You prepared some medicine in case if he was still mara struck and a glass of water. He woke up in only an hour, you were lucky to have enough time to finish bandaging your hand. Normally, it'd keep people out for six hours. The farther along they were the less productive it was. By all accounts he shouldn't be able to have a single moment of sanity.

Yet when he got up from the bed he seemed normal. Eerily so. You remained poise in a seat near his bed which he hadn't noticed. His eyes rested on the pills before looking around the rest of the room and reaching you. He reached for his blade, moving his hand next to his side and grabbing at empty air. Thankfully, you'd already removed the blade from this room, he was probably more deadly when he had his wits about him.

You chuckled at his response, feeling your nerves heighten as you resisted the urge to run away. Maybe this was a bad idea. "Hello there, good sir!" You greeted chipperly, "I saw you passed out on the side walk and dragged you back to my humble abode! Is there anything I can do for you?" You kept on your 'being yelled at by a 500 year old Xianzhou long life mother whose kid had just been told they couldn't throw stuff at people' smile.

He remained quiet for a moment, assessing to see whether or not you were a threat moving his eyes up and down, "...My sword?"

"What sword?" You replied back innocently. No way were you giving that back.

He let out a sigh, getting up from the bed, and heading to the door. The good news was he didn't try to attack you, the bad news was that the most fascinating mara struck victim was leaving. You couldn't let that happen.

You raced in front of him, putting your hands and waving them defenselessly. He looked down at you, red eye glaring down at you as if you were obsolete. You laughed again, "Well, uh, good sir, as someone that helped you can I at least know the name of uh--"

"Get out of my way -- knowing me won't do any good." He was definitely going to kill you if you didn't move. But you couldn't just let him leave!

Your smile grew even further, holding your cheeks up painfully, "Well-- you see-- you're so beautiful!" You said desperately, "I was taken by you-- love at first sight, you see? Right? You're just-- so wonderful!" You stammered out, voice shaking, "Can I at least know the name of the breath taking soul who stole my heart!"

The long blue haired man froze in his path, hair swaying to a halt behind him. No fucking way that got him. He seemed befuddled, glancing further away from you, eyes focused on a small portion of the floor. "Blade." IT WORKED?!

Blade remained quiet for a moment longer before turning his head back to you, "Now move." Of course it didn't work, if it worked you would've been in a relationship by now.

He side stepped you easily, leaving you to stare at his broad back, clothes tight around his muscles. Now wasn't the time to think about that. "You have mara right? I can cure it." It was a bold claim. You'd never done anything like that before, and his case was more severe than others.

He stopped in his steps, "What?" One deadly word made you almost want to take back everything you said but you couldn't. Blade experienced mara differently than others, that was clear. If you had the chance to work alongside him then maybe... you could figure something out?

Even though you portrayed yourself as undisturbed by your job getting to know so many people and then watching them turn into monsters was horrifying. Blade was interesting, you'd hate to call him a test subject but, if he consented he'd likely end up helping your understanding of mara. You just needed a reason for him to stay.

"I work with mara stricken citizens and soldiers. I've researched it for my whole life and I use this knowledge to aid others, helping alleviate their pain, calm themselves, or sleep when mara takes them," That was convincing enough, right?

He appeared skeptical, still poised to attack even without his sword. But as you continued smiling, a hopeful yet scared look in your eyes he let out a sigh.

"Can you kill them?"

You paused a bit, understanding his intention, "Only when they're fully taken by the mara." Otherwise they'd only heal, "I can alleviate your pain until then." You were shocked at how self assured you sounded, as if you could genuinely help him rather than just use him for discoveries.

Blade remained quiet and unmoving, a statue with the first rays of sunlight hitting it and breaking it free from darkness, "Okay." His voice was quieter than it'd been this entire time, you thought you'd misheard him.

"Okay?" You repeated, as if what you'd heard was a dream.

"Keep your distance." He stepped out of the sun and toward your door frame before pausing glancing back for such a short time you thought you'd imagined it, "I will return, if it's what you want."

It was strange, Blade had a peaceful sleep unplagued by dreams of dying and pain. If there was a chance it was because of you and you really wanted to meet him again, then he shouldn't resist too hard, right?

You felt a smile grow on your face lifting up its corners as the swordsman continued to walk away, "Yes! That's wonderful!" Then you paused realization sinking in, "Oh, Blade!" You called out, hoping he wouldn't kill you for this, "Your sword's by the door!"

You saw him glare at you and instinctively shut your eyes preparing for a sword to be lodged between your eyes. But when you opened them neither he or his sword were to be found.

Part of you expected him to never return and he didn't tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow he didn't come back. You wanted to give up hope. It made sense and was likely better for your safety but, Blade was the breakthrough you were looking for.

You smiled at the elderly Xianzhou long life that you were walking with through one of the fake gardens on the ship. They continued to rattle on about their great granddaughter and how hard she'd been training to be a cloud knight. To care about someone's progress, such that the smallest milestones mean as much to you as they do to them-- that must be love right? You were a bit envious. You wanted to love like this old soul. Someone who had nearly lost their mind the other day to mara but could continue going on, loving, and hoping.

That day was the day they left, agreeing to be taken away by the Ten Lords Commission. It was bittersweet, as it always was and you were alone, again. That was alright though.

What wasn't alright was being woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of footsteps. Someone had broken in. They weren't well, they sounded limp, as if they were dragging one leg. But since you hadn't heard the door being broken down, they'd likely come in through the window you tended to leave open. Look-- people on the Luofu don't normally resort to these matters and if they did then they wouldn't go after you.

It meant whoever came was both highly skilled and injured. With careful steps, putting your feet down gently and slowly one in front of the other, you approached the trespasser.

You smelled the blood first, the faint irony scent that made your noise scrunch up momentarily as your mouth imitated the taste of blood. Then you saw it. The small dark red trail that gleamed in the moonlight. Then him.

You felt rather satisfied, even in a state where he was taken over by mara Blade had somehow made it back here, "I knew you'd come back," You spoke playfully.

At the sight of agony in his eyes, a pang of guilt struck your heart. It really wasn't the time to be joking around. Perhaps there was some sanity still left in him, as his whole body shook, shaking even more as you approached closer and closer. Part of him must want to attack you, to kill you, to rip you apart until you were nothing, but he wasn't.

"Good," You commended him, as you stood in front of him and knelt down, aside from the shaking Blade remained still. He looked like he wanted to scream, hurt himself, kill himself, rip himself apart until nothing remained. Did he want to die more than he wanted to hurt you? Was experiencing mara that painful? You'd never know.

"I just need you to do one small thing for me okay," You spoke gently, even though you knew he likely couldn't hear your voice at all.

You thumbed through the few medications you always kept handy in your pouch, and picked one for pain relief. Last time you'd needed him to sleep or you'd die, this time you could see the effect of what they did. You moved the pill into his mouth and saw him struggle to swallow, you weren't moving your hands close to his face though for some reason you had a feeling he might bite them off-- like a dog would.

He was a lot more like a dog than you expected. The medicine had been able to work, body instantly relaxing, to your surprise. The more surprising thing was what happened after. Blade visited you, more often out of his own free will, not just when he was mara struck.

Blade was an awkward companion, terrible at small talk, and you couldn't take care of patients when he was near for fear they might see the Stellaron Hunter. Sometimes he would mumble under his breath about a price, or bring you small things, little trinkets, food, a severed hand-- A SEVERED HAND?!

"Why are you giving me this?" You looked down at the bloody hand he was holding onto, your eyebrow twitching slightly. You were used to blood and all but this was unnecessary.

He looked up at you, partially confused and disgruntled at your obvious disapproval, "He bothered you?" His statement came out more as a question.

Oh. It was him-- You let out an aggravated sigh, "You didn't get caught right?"

You noticed Blade perk up ever so slightly as if he thought what he did was right, "No."

That was good at least. "Don't do that again." What was he a dog? Or maybe a cat was better, bringing you pieces of their hunt. Now that you think about it, where did he get those trinkets from? It was probably best not to think about. "Go put that away," You said dismissively, moving your hand up to touch your forehead lightly.

You were going to regret this weren't you? Well, that was a problem for future you. You weren't sure exactly where Blade put the severed hand but as long as it was away from you it didn't matter. For a moment you considered asking him for help, to maybe capture a mara struck so you could test to see if anything would work on it. But that was too far, wasn't it?

The days carried on and so did Blade visiting you. He'd come to you for medications that alleviated his pain or helped him sleep without his memories tormenting them and you obliged monitoring him all the while. Then one day he started to request it.

"Kill me," He'd spoke suddenly, as you were leaning over some finely grounded herbs trying to come up with something new to keep stronger pain at bay. Your medicine's effectiveness was starting to wear off on Blade.

You flinched spilling the small specks to the ground and staring at him in the eyes, "Excuse me?"

You didn't think he'd hated spending time with you that much! Sure, you were kind of using him, and you got upset at him whenever he brought you something drenched in blood but who wouldn't?! You thought the two of you were getting along just fine! You'd even consider him a friend... A strong word for a Stellaron Hunter. You knew he'd have to leave the Xianzhou Luofu eventually too.

"You can do it," There was a slimmer of affection in his voice it made you almost think you misheard the part about you killing him, "If anyone can, you can." It was oddly affectionate. You kind of despised how he spoke, as if he would never speak to you again.

You let out a small laugh, "Shut up Blade." Drop the conversation topic.

But he kept pushing, "Find a way to kill me." Blade took a step closer to you, and for the first time since you met him, you felt in danger.

"And what if I said no? Remember, I'm uh... head over heels for you," You said lightheartedly referencing to your excuse when you'd first met him. "I wouldn't be able to bare it if you died!" You smiled up at him, squinting your eyes.

Normally, you'd be a bit peeved that your sample had been knocked over but right now you were unnerved, and much worse, worried.

It looked like he was more in pain from your words with the way he grimaced at them. "Please." It was wholly desperate and vulnerable, a statue split open to reveal a bleeding heart which begged to be free from its misery. If you stabbed it the statue and everything around it would crumble. Not that there was much around it to begin with but-- there was you.

But Blade was your friend, in a very odd way you'd started to care for the strange man, "I'll try." He was in pain, it'd be wrong to let him just suffer, right?

Plus, you'd already collected enough data... You knew when medicines would stop being effective on the normal mara struck Xianzhou long lives and what to swap to. You hadn't found a solution but you'd found something that could better keep their sanity while they were in that state, even if it required the rare, Vidyhara bone marrow. You'd begun to find something that could supplement that as well, although you'd only heard of it in books you had to find Scalegorge Water Scape.

It was okay. You had all the information from Blade you needed. This was fine. This friendship always had an expiration date. His smile made it all worth it anyway. It was really the first time you'd seen him smile and for once he looked relieved, completely relaxed.

"Thank you," Foreign words from him, "When the mara strikes... It's no longer me." But what if you could fix that?

If you helped him keep his sanity then you couldn't use the pills to keep away the pain, or the ones to sleep. They couldn't clash. Maybe you had to figure out how to make it so multiple could be taken? Your mind raced for a different solution but in the end all you could do is smile back. Blade smiling was a beautiful sight. One you thought you'd never be able to see.

That night you cried. You hadn't seen Blade happy before. So why was he only happy at the idea of death? But you were a doctor you would remain stony cold and do the best you could.

It didn't work. Of course, it didn't. Why would it? You could've sworn his heart stopped for a bit, a few minutes after passing out after swallowing your "medicine." Was it really medicine if it killed someone? But he lived and he woke up coughing blood.

Blade wasn't happy but at the same time he seemed rather relieved..? You hated it. Someone too used to dying by the hands of a sword, by the strokes they were used to performing, that poison was a soothing way to die. You absolutely despised Blade. But you smiled and told him you'd try harder. You just didn't know what to do.

A few days after your promise Blade came back with a strange gift for you, a book titled Views of the Universe From a Starskiff. At the time he brought it, he'd been in pain, grunting, and making too much noise for you to have any patients over. You'd stopped taking patients recently anyway. Instead only selling medicine promising you'd been on the edge of a break through and needed more time.

His memory had been scattered and he didn't recognize you. He'd swung his sword at you only to stop a moment before it hit you. You were right. When you'd originally met him, if he wanted you dead he could've killed you. You could still feel the air sweep by your head, and the cool blade on your skin. He didn't remember why he brought the book to you and when he returned to a better state of mind, you decided not to ask.

Instead you did some research on your own, and it lead you to an interesting person. Someone you really didn't want to talk to.

You shifted uncomfortably under the amber gaze of the general, "Do what do I owe the pleasure General?" Your voice was stiff, and shoulders tense as he only smiled in response.

"General is a temporary title, you can just call me Jing Yuan." You smiled in response, corner of your lip twitching a bit.

"Right, so what do I owe the pleasure, Jing Yuan?" Your smile strained further but all he did was laugh causing your smile to shift into a scowl.

Jing Yuan smiled down at you, not the least imposing, "Relax, I was just curious about some activity around this area." Did Blade kill someone without you knowing?

Throughout the whole conversation you remained tense as the general idly brought up his younger days as part of the High-Cloud Quintet. He was clearly just talking about this sort of stuff to get you to let down your guard! You looked at him warily, paying special attention to every individual word looking for hidden meaning. Eventually you found the hidden meaning. He was helping you.

The author of the book you'd been researching, Views of the Universe From a Starskiff was named Baiheng. "You knew this whole time," You muttered, a bit peeved, you'd thought you'd done a good job hiding Blade's presence and yet this old man somehow managed to figure it out.

The General simply smiled in response as you tried to clarify the situation further, "So Yingxing is--"

He stood up from his seat, "It matters not. The past is the past." Yeah, you probably shouldn't talk about this. You stood up as well.

"I'll walk you out," You spoke, still wary of the man but if he wanted to hurt or expose you, he would've done so already. "...Is it really your place to tell me this though?"

Jing Yuan paused as if in contemplation, still smiling, it was eerie how he could smile after everything. He was an unbreakable monument dedicated to the Xianzhou Luofu, "Who else could?" No one else would remember nor be able to share, so was that why he decided to step forward?

You opened the door for him, feeling the sun greet you again. "I hope it brings you peace." Your voice was sudden, as you looked at the man with new found appreciation. Even the hardiest statues still had bleeding hearts.

You would kill Blade. If it was the last thing you did.

You grinned rushing over to the blue haired man, the scent of iron around him. You told him that if he made anyone bleed before coming to visit you that he should bathe. You'd have to check if he was bleeding. "Blade!" You greeted him cheerfully, rushing over, and grabbing onto his arm. He stiffened.

You dragged him over to your work station moving your hand gradually down his forearm and to his wrist to be able to pull him better. His hand reached out for yours, and latched onto your wrist instead. The two of you were friends. Killing him was the right thing to do. But if he didn't want to die, you wouldn't mind Blade sticking around. You would take care of him as you would a patient.

"Do you still want to die?" You might as well check, there was no harm in it, maybe he'd stay after all.

To your dismay, he nodded, it was cold and steady. Your smile stiffened but remained on your face, this was fine. It was what you expected.

"I'll still do my best to help you," You promised him, truly meaning your words. It was just, you didn't have any idea of how to proceed. Maybe, the mara struck would have an answer but even you weren't foolish enough to wander into their hordes. Sure, you were lucky that the mara struck seemed not to attack you normally but luck couldn't be all you relied on. "But, in order to do so I need to observe mara stricken more up close," You admitted, that was your best bet, "Could you help me with that?"

Blade was strong. You'd seen the way his muscles flexed and tensed under his shirt whenever he made a swing with his blade. This would be easy work for him. The selfish part of you was happy you could spend more time with him too.

That started the third phase of your friendship with Blade. The first being the initial visits, the second being your attempt to kill him, and the third being yielding him as if he was a blade. It made you feel kind of guilty. Speaking commands beneath your voice of who you needed restrained, looking down at abominations as you tested new pills on them to see the effects. They'd writhe as Blade held them on and you watched onward apathetically. They were monsters, you shouldn't care about their pain.

Then you'd try to kill Blade. Again and again. Seeing him cough up blood and lay motionless on one of your cots. Or seeing wounds reopen over his body, blooming as if they were flowers. It was sickening. You didn't know how many times you did it nor how many times you could continue trying to do it. He would bare his teeth, biting down on cloths, letting out whimpers, blood slowly covering everything close to him.

"I can't do it." Maybe if you were competent it would be okay, you could give Blade the freedom he deserved away from the pain and mara and biting harsh memories. But you weren't a competent enough doctor. Nor were you a good enough friend to tell Blade to the face.

It had been a cold night on the Xianzhou Luofu when you decided to leave. There'd been a lot of commotion recently, the Ambrosial Arbor had risen and fallen again. Blade had been more distant, visiting less often, as if there was something he was keeping from you. How he made your heart ache.

You loved him. That was why you had to do this. You stopped by the divination commission on your way out, a letter from Jing Yuan in your hand. You'd never met Master Diviner Fu Xuan before nor were you looking forward to doing so. If she could see your memories that would mean Blade would be at risk. But you had to know if this would lead you down the path where Blade died.

But you didn't end up meeting Master Diviner Fu Xuan at all. Instead you met a much taller, purple haired woman, with hazy eyes. She greeted you as if you were a friend, and you approached her with caution smiling in response. "I know you," your voice was laced in excitement, "Kafka, the Stellaron Hunter! A bounty of 10 billion, right?" Why did she have to show up now?

You held your hand out with a smile, "I've heard wonderful things about you, you're even more beautiful in real life than on the poster!" Your heart raced trapped in your ribcage, thrumming against it nervously. This certainly complicated your plan.

"Hi, Y/N. I've been meaning to meet you," Her voice was sultry yet teasing, which was more menacing than if it'd been cold and harsh like Blade's. She knew your name too, that must not be a good sign.

She remained back against a wall, small smile on her face as if she was toying with you. You dropped your hand back down to your side. "Is there anything I can do for the esteemed Stellaron Hunter?" You really just wanted this to be over with.

"Not for me," She pushed herself off the door frame and you could see into the battered room. Blade was slouched over, eyes stapled shut, the small shakes his tense body let out were barely noticeable.

You were by his side in an instant, kneeling before him before you could even think, hand resting gently on his chin. Since when had you begun to care so much for him? Was it when he'd gotten slashed in the arm by a mara stricken soldier due to your negligence? Or had you cared for him before you ever met him?

You had half the medicine on you, half back at your place in case he ever returned in search of relief. The half on you was for research but it would be better used for something like this wouldn't it? You glanced behind you feeling eyes stare into your back, and Kafka simply smiled as her eyes met yours.

"Well, Bladie's never been so obedient," She replied simply at your questioning look, causing your shoulders to tense.

You turned your attention back to the patient in question only to be met with a red eye gazing into yours, his face much closer than you remembered it being. You stood your ground looking into his eyes with a harsh look, did he really have to always go and get himself hurt? You could smell the blood on him.

"Who... are you?" Sometimes symptoms of mara included memory loss so you weren't surprised by the question but it still hurt. But it surely didn't hurt as much as Blade was hurting right now, you could see his wince as he accidentally glanced at the light behind you.

You slipped a pill between your fingers, "It doesn't matter, I'm here to help you," You replied simply, lifting your hand up to his mouth, "Now open."

Once Blade became more docile around you during his mara episodes you'd started to deliver his medicine this way. Originally, you hadn't done so since you valued your fingers. He opened his mouth without a second thought, albeit he looked rather confused as to why he complied.

You glanced down at his faint pink lips a sheen covering them, he really was beautiful. If only he could experience the beauty of the world at full. The pill was placed between two of your fingers and you brought it up to his lips, pushing past them, and his teeth leaving the pill in a good place for him to swallow. This was how it always was.

You felt his tongue move as he swallowed it without a second thought and you removed your fingers like normal, except. You glared at him, keeping your hand still. Apparently you still had to worry about him biting your fingers off. "Blade," You spoke warningly feeling the teeth pressed threateningly into your index finger, the other finger escaping freely.

He didn't respond and you swore you heard a laugh behind you which only further irked you. He wasn't biting down hard enough to hurt or draw blood but you knew the second you tried to move it he would. Instead of responding by letting go Blade only looked up at you like a dejected puppy. His bandaged hand reached up and grabbed yours, you could see faint blood stains near the edge of where it reached his wrist and disappeared beneath his sleeves.

"Don't bite me," Your voice was stern as you looked down at the blue haired man, only growing more remorseful by the moment. It was strange behavior, a kind he hadn't exhibited before, but he hadn't forgotten you before either.

This time his teeth let go of your finger, leaving it slightly warm and wet in his hand's hold as he clutched onto desperately as if he was afraid you'd disappear before his eyes. It should only take ten minutes for the medicine to leave him vulnerable and helpless, yet he was already so docile. You had to wonder if he knew you were planning on leaving.

You let out a quiet sigh, keeping your voice low as these words were only for Blade and you. Your hand reached to brush his hair off to the side, resting along his jawline near his ear. You moved close enough so that he could feel even the slightest inhale and exhale against his ear, "I'm doing this because I love you."

It was a shitty excuse but it was closest to the truth wasn't it? Maybe if Jing Yuan hadn't told you the truth then you wouldn't be so determined to help Blade. Maybe you would've cried to Blade that you couldn't keep failing to kill him because you didn't even want him dead in the first place. You wanted Blade by your side.

"I'll figure it all out, I promise." It was the most loving your voice had ever been yet when you met his eyes again you didn't see a subdued look instead a more panicked one took its place. It didn't take long for you to be entrapped completely, arms holding and rooting you in place, leaving you unable to move.

It was as if he was trying to merge your bodies into one. So you'd never be apart again. Your nose resting above his shoulder as the rest of you was pressed into him, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, his arms wrapped around your waist pulling you closer and tightening. It hurt a bit. They continued to squeeze you, hands pressed against your sides gripping onto them.

"Gentle," You reminded him, voice tickling his ear, and as he eased his hold, Blade's head collapsed against your shoulder, hot breath hitting your neck. It took you a few moments to realize he was crying. That the sudden small burn against your skin was tears.

He spoke in a broken voice, "Who are you?" You began to cry too, wrapping your arms around him with equal need.

"It doesn't matter, I'm going to help you." Your voice must've sounded ugly as well, off pitch from emotion.

"You... can't leave." They weren't words you expected, but you noticed his grip loosen on you anymore as time continued onward.

You couldn't reply. You had to leave right now, the answers you were searching for weren't here. They lay with Yaoshi and the lands Yaoshi had touched. If you could journey to those and research the people and mara there... you would be able to kill Blade. You didn't want to kill him. But to leave him in this agony was more painful for the both of you.

"You..." Blade looked up at you, head tilted, agony in his eyes, "don't... ...leave." You smiled down at him, unable to find the words and instead moved your lips to press against his tearstained cheek.

At your lack of response you felt his head tilt and his breath hit your shoulder. Then he bit. It didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. You thought his aim would be to tear through your skin and take your flesh with him, leaving a bloody hole in his wake. But instead it was a persistent gentle movement, desperate to leave an imprint, to keep you here, to convince you. The both of you knew he'd pass out in a minute or two, the decision would be up to you after that. So he pressed his teeth into your skin, removing them for a second and pressing again, hot tongue licking your skin in between the pattern. You really shouldn't be feeling these sorts of things at a time like this but you couldn't help the heat rising to your face.

There... wasn't any harm in this right? "...You're beautiful," You muttered, only able to see his long hair you rested a hand on it. You moved your hand through it slowly, untangling any knots you came across. "Really," His body collapsed into yours, completely devoid of any strength, "I love you," You couldn't help but smile despite the tears.

It was hard to hold his body up by yourself. You were strong but Blade with all his muscle mass was heavy, either way you placed him back down on the seat without aggravating any injuries further.

Then you stood up and turned your back, ignoring the minor twitching and hand reaching out for your warmth that came from his subdued body. Kafka, had turned her back to the two of you, instead looking outside as if she was searching for someone.

"All done?" She asked, voice playful when you joined her outside. Yet you felt some type of understanding from her.

You nodded and handed her the pouch of medicine, "I am, instructions are in the bag," you said you'd brought it along for research but hadn't that just been an excuse? If you'd seen Blade again you could've given it to him. "There's some more at where I stayed."

She looked back at Blade, lying motionlessly, "Well, you have made my job a lot easier."

"Take good care of him," You replied, beginning to walk off.

"Bladie will be awfully sad to hear you left," Kafka called out, her voice carried its usual lilt but you sensed a strange seriousness to it.

If anyone had ever told you you'd fall in love with a Stellaron Hunter you probably would've believed them. If they told you, you'd be trying to kill the person you were in love with, you would've hated yourself. "I know, but this is the way I show my love." But... wasn't this the best solution?

You decided to not go see Master Diviner Fu Xuan, having run into the Stellaron Hunters so recently probably would make it easier for her to see them in her divination. At least you assumed so, you didn't know much about divination. The night was quiet and dark aside from one gray haired individual walking toward where you'd just been, looking around anxiously with each step. When you reached the starskiff you didn't look back.

Kafka played with the small pouch in her fingers, letting out a slight sigh. Everything was going as planned, albeit she couldn't help but feel a bit bad for Bladie. Her eyes darted to the source of sudden footsteps, finally, the Trailblazer was here. She couldn't interfere with what happened anyway it was best not to dwell on it.

You were part of the script. The ending Elio had promised, the one where Blade died.

Lots of notes here:

OKAY GUYS IDEA SO LIKE BLADE X READER BUT ALSO YAOSHI X READER (why do I simp for Yaoshi so much)

Like dude Yaoshi would love the way that reader treats the life they've curated and grown. While Yaoshi lets it grow without regard and only cares for the abundance they have to admit the life you cater to comes out more beautifully.

SCREAMS

Also sorry for the wait but I wasn't doing super okay mentally past week so I didn't write much, thank you guys for your patience! I had a lot of fun writing this, I know it really isn't thoughts or anything but I like having a story play out :D

And I also wanted the romance to seem organic and more natural even though it's yandere I wanted it to make sense. So I hope I managed to accomplish that even though I feel like it considerably lengthened this (especially nonyandere portion)

Was originally going to edit this but it turned out way too fucking long.

#hsr #hsr x reader #blade #blade x reader #yandere blade #soft yandere #long read #drugging but like its medicine it makes more sense in context #desperate blade #jing yuan is too good for us honestly i love that man he deserves so much better #unedited

[ataraxiaspainting]

Heyy!! I don’t know if you still do Chrollo fics , but if you’re doing recommendations/commissions , can you make something like where the readers like “do you think you’ll kill for me one day?” and he’s like “yes. of course I will my darling” ?? It’s based off a sound I heard somewhere .. I think the song is called “I want it all” by Lana del ray. Thank you!! 🫶

damn he really would say that huh?

Bad Habit.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: “Where there is carnage, there is beauty.”

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, general anxiety and uneasiness, references to disturbing works of art (Saturn Devouring His Son, The Nightmare, Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan), manipulation, and talks of violence.

Word Count: 900.

*~*~*~*

There are as many things people can see as beautiful as there are shades of light shining through a prism.

Spectrums are quite common along with comparison and placement. It varies greatly from person to person, their preferences and their life experiences and their joys, and their fears.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, yes, but the eye of the beholder is also the window to their soul, to their psychological responses and traumas and memories of a past that would rather either be forgotten or worshiped. Every soul is different, and there is beauty in that. So, why do you find the heart and soul of Chrollo Lucilfer, whom many would call beautiful if they never knew him for what he truly is, so, so simply lovely? It does not have to do with his mannerisms or his confidence or his knowledge of virtually everything in this world, you concluded one day, after receiving yet another call from him, with him, as always, asking general questions like if you miss him and such. It is because he is the only thing I can cling to that will stay here, with me.

You cling onto him like a lost puppy, yearning for any sort of affection they can get no matter the cost. You did that when he first transported you from one place to another with hardly regarding any words from you on the matter. You do that now, in this art museum, full of unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar artwork and unfamiliar architecture. You missed home, back then. You still do now, and Chrollo still does not care one bit.

His hand is like a cuff, his arm like a chain, as he walks with you from one room to the next. But, still, it is the only thing that keeps you from falling apart.

So, like a sort of dance, you two move in sync. It is up to Chrollo as to if or when you will stop. It is never up to you, after all.

Does Chrollo enhance the horrific allure of these paintings, or does he once again bring all the attention to himself?

*~*~*~*

“Mythology often comes from our own woes.” He says, pointing upward, slowly, to Cronos’s eyes, which are bloodshot and large and dark. “A popular theory was that Goya was representing an oppressive government through Kronos, and the son that was prophesized to kill him as an adult represented the people who had started to revolt. But others don’t see it that way, oddly enough.”

You don’t respond, you simply look at the beheaded infant, which looks so soft and so rotten at the same time, with blood and deskinned chewed flesh running down his neck. He fits into his father’s hands perfectly, like he was made to be eaten.

*~*~*~*

“While most incubi are written and drawn as physically attractive creatures, this one in particular looks more akin to a gargoyle than that of a man.” He hums, and you can feel his hand wrap more tightly around yours. Not so much in a strangling, hurtful way, but rather just in a sort of reminderful way. “Maybe Fuseli was trying to make sure that the point of what the incubus really is is sent across to the viewers?”

With not a single word coming out of your mouth, a sure sign that you are zoning out his words, he squeezes a bit tighter to get your attention back where he wants it to be.

“What do you think, beloved?”

Once again, instead of answering, you choose to remain silent and focus your attention on other things. So, you look around. To the floor. To your high heels. Everything else, anything else. Only silence remains for a few more moments, but when the silence is not enjoyed any longer with another increase in his grip, you decide to answer before you get yourself into trouble.

“...I… I think that maybe it deals with sleep paralysis.”

Chrollo widens his eyes and smirks, and from those actions alone you know you have created a believable lie and concept that is sure to be amusing to him.

You’re forgiven.

*~*~*~*

“Historians say that the son’s death was the point of no return for Ivan.” A cradling of the arms and a Cat’s Cradle are the same; they both trap those within them.

Eyes are still eyes, whether they are real or not. Ivan the Terrible’s show a thousand tragedies and a thousand other faces his destiny could have worn, if he pushed the other one aside, if he had the strength to.

“Just like how Ivan was his son’s undoing, his son was also his.”

*~*~*~*

“...Would you ever kill for me?”

Violence is often not the only path Chrollo can choose to take. His words can be another, albeit that road will be much longer, and less smooth.

Who knows what he will choose when the hour of the heist comes to fruition when the art can finally be grasped and never let go of?

Which path do you prefer?

Which path does he prefer?

Do you prefer to be threatened with sweet honey that sticks to your skin or is so hot that it burns it?

“Of course, my dear.”

What you find grotesque, like the way the topic of violence is spoken so naturally from you and him, Chrollo always seems to find beautiful, like the way your moving lips are so lush.

…

Paintings are often just a reflection of how the world is, after all.

#aya abstractions #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere hunter x hunter x reader #yandere hxh x reader #200 followers event

[princess-of-the-corner]

I mean, yeah, that’s fair. I just really love the dynamic of Akamei having another kid to push Hirokazu. Like, if both Hitori and Miu feel like too much, I’d keep Miu, make her Quirk more “Ashen Harpy”, and work with that. Partly cause I also feel like having ONLY Hirokazu is a bit … not unrealistic exactly, but like, why are he and Nijiko the only “successful” kids (ones who made it to term)? Nitaru has his genetic disorder/supplement thing going on, that makes sense, so like, why not try to make more Hero kids?

But on the subject of other kids in the program, I feel like they TRIED to have more than just Akamei’s spawn. Like, if no one else, they had plenty of Hawks DNA. But I imagine they aren’t just doing basic IVF. They are doing DNA manipulation. Trying to pick and choose the best traits. So, like, they TRIED to have more kids, but given that they’re fucking around with the genome, a lot of them didn’t take. Loads of the volunteers miscarried. Some of the kids were born, but were weak, sickly, and ended up dying. The only kids that survived? The Hawks kids. And like Akamei would definitely play the angle of how her kids are “stronger” than anyone else’s, but part of it is just that they had so much Hawks DNA, they can afford multiple tries.

I would also have, like. Nijiko is oldest, by like … Say a few months? If that? And she would have the least amount fuckery - they barely altered her genome at all. Hirokazu, they would have played around a bit more, done a bit more picking and choosing. Like, Nijiko was stable and all, but the Program wants some heroic ideal. Nijiko’s heavy mutations were probably “not desirable”, so Hirokazu they did more careful selection. When he came out fine, they figured “hey, I guess this means we can pick and choose whatever, right?”

Yeeeeeeah, no. They got lucky with Hirokazu, honestly. The more they manipulate the DNA, the more they pick and choose? The less likely it is that the kid survives to term. The more likely they are to have health defects that impact their survival. Like, Akamei’s kids, she can argue all she likes that it’s cause she’s “better”, and maybe something about her Quirk did make the kids more stable, but otherwise? It’s pure luck.

So … I guess I answered my own question. But I still feel like just Nijiko, Hirokazu and Nitaru are … like. I feel like they need at least one or two others. More than that and, yeah, that starts sounding complicated, but otherwise, it feels like too few. You know?

OR scrap Hitori AND Miu, and make another, younger kid from a different hero (maybe Miruko?) that’s an up and comer (despite being, you know. 7.) and Akamei is pissed this brat seems to be “upstaging Hirokazu(/her)”. (Though now it’s getting complicated, isn’t it?)

-

Honestly my hesitance with it is that they only have so much to work with.

Like. Again, to get technical and kinda gross:

Nitaru was made through the fuckign around with DNA samples to clone. Nijiko and Hirokazu would’ve been made with actual like. Sperm samples they had on hand. Which like. God knows /why/ they collected those samples. My current thought is that the few members of the Commission who wanted this whole build a bear bullshit but kept getting shot down decided to do that just in case they ever got the green light. But they only have so many ‘samples’ to work with.

So between making Nijiko and Hirokazu, various failed attempts(the IVF not being successful in the first place, various complications causing loss of the fetus, etc), and then yeah the couple of projects on altering that resulted in more like Nitaru.... it’s unlikely they’d have anything more. And it’s not like they can get more of those samples!

#submission #cc next gen

[writingquestionsanswered]

Subtle Portrayal of Toxic Romance Pre-Betrayal Twist

Anonymous asked: I want one of my main villains to infiltrate the MC group (about 7) and show his true colors in the end to them and the reader. The villain will also turn one of the groups into “the dark side” but in a more manipulative way, making the character thinking he’s in love with them. How do I make it so I can show the villain (who will be an unreliable narrator) sneakily start gaslighting and turning the other character away from the group without the reader knowing fully well what’s going on? He needs the character to have a kind of..dependency on him, but idk how to show them start their relationship without it being wayyyy to obvious. And later on he won’t hit them or anything but gaslight and just be a toxic in general, to give them the mindset of “no one loves you and I’m all you have left” So how can I make a character who once loved their group and all, suddenly leave because of a toxic partner, and for it to be believable and not too obvious? Thank you!

This is potentially tricky scenario for a few reasons. Part of making something believable is to lay the foundation ahead of time. When you want that thing to be "believable but not obvious," you create that foundation through subtle hints... things that will give your reader just enough pause that they notice it, but not enough that they figure everything out. But...

It's tricky to lay the foundation for a toxic relationship with subtle hints, because at the very least the reader might not catch on, and at the most it might look like you're romanticizing a toxic relationship. The main way we avoid romanticizing a toxic relationship is by making it clear that's what it is, typically through the thoughts of the person experiencing it or through the thoughts/dialogue of concerned characters who are witnessing it. Obviously, if you're trying to subtle, that's not going to fly. Not easily, anyway.

That said, I think the best you could probably do is figure out toxic features of the relationship that could manifest in ways that don't seem overtly toxic at first, but maybe give your reader (and maybe witnessing characters) a bit of a pause. As the relationship unfolds, these can become a little more overt, making the character experiencing them have faint inward doubts, and causing the characters who witness these things to express some concern. But the character's faith in the love interest leads to them finding plausible reasons to excuse the behaviors--which other characters (for the sake of not romanticizing) can then view with skepticism, saying it sounds toxic, but hopefully this is just a one-time thing. Then, it can become less of a question in the scenes preceding the betrayal/big reveal, to the point where the witnessing characters are 100% on the side of "this is toxic," but they're so preoccupied with that, they're totally missing that this is about so much more than the character being in a toxic relationship... they're ALL about to be betrayed by this person in a big way. So *that* will be the thing that is the big, shocking twist.

I hope that makes sense and will work for you!

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[junebugwriter]

Defrocked

(CW: emotional abuse)

I used to be a pastor. Let me explain.

I grew up in the United Methodist Church, and when I received a calling to ministry, that's where I decided to get ordained. To do that is a long, involved process called "candidacy." There are a LOT of requirements to getting ordained, the biggest hurdle usually being a Master's degree in Divinity, or an M.Div. While it was difficult, getting my M.Div. was perhaps one of the most fun, life-giving and enjoyable years of my life. It also gave me a lot of hope for the future.

During my time as a student, I decided to be a part-time student pastor. I got my license, and become a lay local pastor, and worked at a small-town congregation about an hour from my seminary in Texas. Honestly, if I could have chosen to be their my entire career, I would have. That church was the most loving congregation I think I have ever been a part of, and you could not ask for a better church to be a part of going through ordination processes.

However, as all things go, my time there ended. I finished my M. Div., and I began the next step in candidacy: being a Commissioned Elder. This means that I was a pastor in a probationary period of about 2 years in which I get to do ministry in a more expanded capacity. The way it was supposed to work --the way I was TOLD IT WOULD WORK-- was that I would receive interviews from three different churches to see which was the best fit, and I would be able to have input into where I would go. Sounds wonderful! That is not what happened.

I was given (1) interview with a potential church, and that one went very well. I loved the location, loved the potential senior pastor, and all of it looked great. However. The Cabinet--a group of district superintendents and the Bishop-- decided otherwise. That church I interviewed for? They gave it to another guy, because he was from the same area as that church.

Me? I was assigned to [Redacted] First UMC.

I received a phone call from the District Superintendent that I was under, and she told me to expect a call from... let's call him Pastor Dick. Pastor Dick was the senior pastor at [Redacted] and the bishop had appointed me to him.

"Why?" I asked.

"Listen," she said. "Sometimes... things don't go the way we plan. But I promise you'll be okay at that church."

Friend, I was not.

Pastor Dick used to be a District Superintendent and was KICKED OFF the Cabinet by the current Bishop. The two were mortal enemies. He had an axe to grind. He did not want an associate. Pastor Dick, I would go on to find out, was an inveterate narcissist, toxic and emotionally manipulative in every way. He was a Good Ol' Boy, and didn't much care for our Woman Bishop and her more progressive leanings.

I was to be his associate pastor. I had to make this work.

The next year and a half under Pastor Dick was, to that point, the most difficult time of my life I had ever experienced, rivalling High School, in which I was mercilessly bullied. Dick was a technophobe--man had a flip phone, and didn't even have a computer. He had his emails printed out by his administrative assistant EVERY MORNING. I do not actually know what he did during the days. I assume it was mostly phone calls with parishioners or his buddies. The man had as a part of his pay package a MEMBERSHIP IN THE LOCAL COUNTRY CLUB. There was nothing the man loved more than hearing the sound of his own voice. It was a constant barrage of hot air from him every day, all day.

At this time, I was just being diagnosed with fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue. Being under Pastor Dick made my anxiety, vertigo, and depression spike as well. I called out frequently. I did what I could to not be in the office. Pastor Dick did not like this, not one bit. I needed to be in the office! Why? I honestly don't know. I tried writing a sermon once in a coffee shop, and he threw a holy fit.

Most pastors, when they are an associate, usually get a worship service of their own to coordinate. At a church that size with almost 2000 members, this seemed obvious. But Pastor Dick thought otherwise. He did not want me to have a Sunday Service. No, he wanted both of those to belong to him. Never mind that people usually liked my sermons better. Never mind that I needed opportunities to preach for my candidacy.

So he thought around the issue. He told me to create a Saturday worship service--you know, like a lot of big city churches with lots of people have, to reach a new kind of crowd!

Hey gang, do you know why those big churches have Saturday worship? It's because their Sundays are overflowing with people, and those are the overflow services. Our Sundays? They were pretty well attended, but FAR from overflowing.

Still, this was my chance. I coordinated with my worship guy. We crafted an ancient-future worship service, with stripped down acoustic music and really challenging theology. We were going to be dynamic! Interesting! And we had a blast. We had a solid group of people regularly attending, having communion with us, becoming a community. It wasn't gangbusters successful, but it was OURS. And we loved it.

Until a "consultant" came, and killed it. He saw what we were doing. It was intentionally different from "marketable" church worship experiences. No big lights, no loud music, just a group of people, singing to acoustic guitar, an academic sermon, using new versions of ancient liturgies... and he hated it. He said it was a waste of time and energy.

The next week, Pastor Dick cancelled it. We didn't even get a final worship service to send it off.

The superintendent, different from my previous one, saw my time there as a failure. He decided to move me mid-year to a two-point charge, deeeeeeeeep in the piney woods. In the second poorest county in Texas. Two small, struggling churches. I would be the only pastor. No mentors to help me. I was failing, and he wanted me shoved off to a corner to rot.

I languished in those churches for three and a half years. I did my damnedest. I built connections. I tried to be a good pastor. I started initiatives. I did what a pastor ought to.

But here's the rub. I was a twenty-something pastor in a church entirely filled with retirees. I was an urban-suburban-leaning young pastor, who would ideally have been best suited to a larger church in the city and given a mentor pastor who gave a damn. Instead I was given a narcissistic abuser, and a sabotaged shot at success. These towns I was sent to? They were dying. <2000 people maximum. And they wanted me to get a massive growth of attendance? I barely spoke these people's language! I tried, though. I did my best, walked with them all through all kinds of difficulties. I did funerals, went to the hospital regularly. But there's only so much I could have done. The die was cast.

The truth was, the bishop had found in me an acceptable loss. I didn't look like what a pastor should look like, talk like the kind of marketable pastor-talk they wanted, and generally did not fit in the box the church had for me. I fought it. I fought my failure tooth and nail. But I was isolated. Alone. My partner and I were the youngest people in those churches, and we didn't have any friends. She put her career on hold for me. She had no prospects for her career out there. We both were miserable, but dammit, I still showed up every Sunday.

Yet the church did not see this. They merely counted my mistakes as failures, and called me ultimately responsible for not single-handedly saving two dying churches in dying, impoverished towns. The church denied me. They gave me the choice of either voluntarily discontinuing and leave the ministry, or proceed to the Board of Ordained ministry and have them discontinue me. Either resign, or be forcibly removed.

I gave up. I had weathered ten years of the candidacy process. I had given everything I had to the church. I was more depressed than ever. I was heartbroken. And they hung me out to dry. Told me that "many are called, but few are chosen."

I call bullshit. They knew what they had done by sending me under Pastor Dick. They knew that no fresh-faced seminarian would survive under him. They knew that he would take me down with him. And I still managed to last three and a half years after him, clawing for every inch of ground I could.

But the church did not care. So I picked up my things and left. I had thankfully seen the writing on the wall beforehand. I applied for PhD studies and was accepted within a week of that meeting which defrocked me. I left my home in Texas, and headed west, to California, where I am now.

I'm writing my dissertation now. Academia is far from perfect, but it's a damn sight better than being in the ministry, at least for me. I might actually have a future as a transfemme theologian, one I would NEVER have as a pastor in the UMC.

The church needs good pastors. I would support anyone who wants to take that calling on.

It's just not me. I'm done with fighting the ministry. I can answer my calling in Academia.

So what was this? Just a release on the pressure valve of my anxiety, anger, and frustration. But it's also my story, more or less. There's more to it. I could tell you about how gaslit I was. I could tell you all the times Pastor Dick was a dick. I just might! But for now, this will do.

To end on a lighter note, my mental health has never been better since leaving the ministry. I never would have figured out I was trans in the ministry. I suppose it was necessary to let that dream die to become the person I was meant to be all along. As much as it hurts to admit, it was for the best.

#ministry #church #united methodist church #transgender #academia #candidacy #texas #religion #narcissist #emotional abuse #pastor #vent #bio #biography #blog

[magician-under-the-moonlight]

Kaito Kuroba and Kenta Connery

Magic Kaito and the Dark Knight

Spoilers Ahead for one of the deepest and darkest moments in Magic Kaito, in case you’re watching the Anime or specials and / or reading the Manga and haven’t seen it yet. It’s the darkest episode if you’re watching MK standalone and is a major shift in tone compared to any of Kaito’s other adventures.

There will also be discussion about spoilers regarding Golden Eye and Red Tear.

I know Magic Kaito isn’t for everyone, but as someone who loves the series enough to dedicate a blog to interacting with and building Kaito’s character, I love Magic Kaito with all my heart.

Toward the end of the series is three big confrontations with characters that challenge Kaito’s most prominent ideals that have been built up as the story progresses: His legacy as a magician, following in his father’s footsteps and being a thief for a greater cause.

-

Ruby Jones challenged Kaito’s ideals that sometimes you have to do some bad to be the good guy. As Chat Noir (not from miraculous ladybug), she dedicated herself to retrieving the mementos of her father, which were falsely labeled as genuine artifacts from Marie Antoinette’s time. Ruby’s father was commissioned to create Cat’s Eyes accessories, and later committed suicide when his work was intentionally mislabeled.

Ruby tells Kaito that her mission is satisfied knowing the Cat’s Eyes won’t hit the market if they’re in his possession. Kaito returns the genuine article to Ruby, talking about how he empathizes with her motives to become Chat Noir. Both of them part ways knowing that their shared approach in doing what must be done for the greater good is reinforced rather than torn down for both of them, though he does challenge Ruby’s approach in being too reckless if Kaito hadn’t appeared as planned.

-

Jody Hopper challenged Kaito’s ideals toward upholding a family legacy, even if it had gotten the previous generation killed.

Jody and Kaito can relate deeply to loosing a loved one to their passion, as both Kaito’s father and Jody’s parents had died in stage fires. Although Toichi’s death was a murder, the death of Jody’s parents was an accident. Jody swore off performing magic after it killed her parents, while Kaito went in the other direction and continued to perform almost excessively in response to these events.

Jody continues to argue that she is fed up with magic, that it killed her parents, and the Red Tear gifted to her is cursed and good for nothing, ready to hand it over to the Pandora Syndicate without a fight. Kaito, who knows the Red Tear is not Pandora, intervenes and rescues Jody before she makes the mistake of handing it over.

Kaito in turn challenges Jody’s perception of magic and the Red Tear gemstone. He shows her the secret left to her by her late grandfather, the passion she held when she performed, and the smiles on the faces of her and those around her, things Magicians strive for when sharing their craft. Kaito convinces Jody to take another shot at performing, and to let the past go and be herself again.

-

Jack and Kenta Connery challenge the idea of following in the footsteps of someone less than morally sound, and as well as challenge the notion thought to be settled during the Cat’s Eye heist: doing bad things for the greater good.

As by far the darkest episode in the Magic Kaito universe, the thief known as Nightmare is manipulative, cunning and not opposed to killing to get what he wants. The impressions we get of Nightmare is that he’s evil and heartless, only using the people he teams up with and then throwing them away like trash. Legends circle around surviving the night with Nightmare leading to great fortune, and all who team up with him end up arrested or killed.

But the story goes so much deeper than that.

Jack Connery, who works with Interpol in universe and also doubles as Nightmare, has very noble motivations for what he’s doing. He loves his son to the point of wanting to do anything to save him, and with the cranial disease that’s slowly killing his son on the inside, he’s desperate for money and funding, leading him to twist his job and turn it on his head to get the most benefit possible in order to pay for his son’s surgery.

Teaming up with local thieves, taking half the loot and getting them arrested or killed so they no longer plague the streets.

Even if we don’t know that much about Kaito’s father, it’s becoming clear that Jack Connery is supposed to be a character foil for Toichi Kuroba and Nightmare to foil the original KID. A man with a son who steals and manipulates to protect their family and rid the streets of who they deem to be a darker evil through less than savory means.

Jack Connery is much more violent, much more desperate and much more irrational in his approach to his acting in darkness for the sake of the greater good. He uses underhanded tactics to keep himself from being incriminated for murder and his authority as an Interpol agent to turn the odds in his favor no matter who he teams up with.

It’s Kenta Connery who makes the bigger impact, though. The one that gets Kaito to question if he’s really doing the right thing on the deepest level. Kenta is the one who get’s Kaito to question if knowing about his father’s history is a good thing.

Nearing the end of the episode, Kaito is trying to reason with Jack. Trying to tell him that being Nightmare is pushing him too far, that he’s going to regret continuing on this path, to make it stop, for Kenta’s sake.

Kaito knows what it’s like to loose someone in this line of work. His father was killed for similar reasons. He wants to spare Kenta from this pain by trying to save Jack Connery in more ways than one, to get him to stop and think about what he’s doing. But Jack is irrationally desperate at this point, and nothing Kaito says is actually reaching him.

The only thing that gets him to stop is when Kenta calls out into the abandoned building for his Papa.

And in this desolate, destroyed, unstable meeting spot, Kaito finds himself relating to Kenta to the point where his own personal experiences begin to bubble under the surface of his poker face.

Jack Connery falls off the catwalk in the building at the sound of his son’s voice and falls, Kaito trying again to save him while holding him by the arm, demanding he let the jewels go so he can be pulled to safety, even after Jack tried to murder him, Kaito is dead set on trying to save him.

It turns out to be futile, as still irrational and out of control, Jack refuses to drop the jewels, and falls to his death as the last of his grip slips with Kaito’s glove, and he dies only moments before Kenta and the rest of the police.

Hearing Kenta coming, seeing Jack still wearing Nightmare’s mask, Kaito uses his card gun to unmask the man before Kenta arrives and sees the dark truth and his father’s criminal history. He then quickly leaves the building, not saying another word and clenching his fists, the sounds of Kenta crying for his father following him on his way out.

So why unmask Jack as Nightmare? Why not tell Kenta the truth?

Kaito was forced to put his mission and motivations into question during this confrontation more than any other heist he’s been on up to this point. Seeing how far gone and irrational Jack Connery had become stirred the seeds of doubt in Kaito. Jack was consumed by his mission and payed for it in the worst way.

Kaito himself may be too far gone himself at this point. Despite everything, he’s still KID, he’s still looking for a solution to the mess that made him KID, he’s still angry and upset and perhaps even just as irrational underneath his poker face. He’s too far gone in his own mission to give it up.

He wouldn’t want to wish that fate on anyone.

So he unmasks Jack before anyone can find out the truth about Nightmare. He doesn’t want Kenta to see the dark side of the father he looked up to with so much respect. He doesn’t want to stir Kenta into a rage that may end up making a second Nightmare. 

With how deeply Kaito relates to Kenta, wanting to be like his father, follow in his footsteps, love him dearly to the point of fighting through the worst pain just to see him again, he knows that Kenta would take his father being Nightmare just as poorly as he’d taken his own father being KID.

Kenta and Jack Connery challenged his ideals toward being KID, and Kaito’s ideals lost. But he’s too deep into this now to give it up, even if it makes his heart ache. He’s just content he could save at least one of them from following him down the same path.

#[Scriptwriting | Headcanons] #tw: death mention

[marginalmadness]

Summer Nights 4/4

Pairing: Rabbit!Hybrid Jungkook x Y/N

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Hybrid!Fantasy, Romance, Fluff, Slowburn

Synopsis: A freak weather anomaly leads to a chance encounter with a rabbit-hybrid, and your kind nature results in you gaining a small, fluffy lodger, who questions your taste in television shows. It’s won’t be for long…will it?

Warnings/Tags: Heat/Mating cycles, Light Dom/Sub dynamics as part of JK’s heat, Marking, needy/possessive behaviour, edging, sex, oral (female receiving), an almost obscene amount of cum in this chapter, cumplay, biting, breeding talk, 

Author’s Note: And finally we get to the good-good. This chapter grew in the editing, much like Endymion did by like 1/3rd, so there’s extra porn in here from what I originally wrote lol. I’m always afraid it’s going to get boring or repetitive but @johobi​ loved it and that’s good enough for me, and I hope you all enjoy it too! Thank you for coming on this journey with me, and for your patience and understanding as I blue-balled you for three weeks  💜 I also quote one of my favourite TV shows in this chapter, first one to find it gets a free commission!

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Tags: @kookiebunny97​ @mintyrae​ @skswriting​ @jjkgumdxop @unicornbabylover​

Word Count: 7K

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The events depicted here are entirely of my own imagining, and have no basis on actual people or events.

Summer Nights: Chapter Four

“I—w-want… you—” you stutter, and his hand slips from your hair to grip your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Say it,” he growls.

“Inside me.”

Your chest heaves. Your walls clench around nothing as you imagine how good he’s going to feel thrusting into you. It’s hard to ignore the wetness sliding from you.

“Good girl.” Jungkook smiles, letting go of your chin.

He sits back on his haunches, grabbing you by the knee and sliding one arm under the small of your back to pull you onto his lap as he moves. You shudder as he wraps your legs around his slim, sculpted waist. His firm, warm hand slides up your thigh towards your entrance, thumb stroking over your clit once—twice—before he takes himself in hand and presses the head of his cock into your heat.

You lean up on your elbows, threading your fingers into his hair to pull him down into a demanding kiss. You tease his lips with the tip of your tongue, licking your way inside and he more than happily opens up for you. You slide your lithe tongue against his, both of you smiling into the kiss before you pull back, pecking his nose and rubbing it with your own. “I want you inside me,” you whisper, forehead pressed to his, eyes tightly screwed closed.

“Baby, look at me.” Jungkook’s voice is soft but gruff; it’s a command. You force your eyes to open, blinking up into the dark, tumultuous depths that peer back at you. His eyes are alight with passion and lust, and something underneath it all that takes your breath away.

“I want you inside of me, Koo.” You nod, trying to express all the affection, longing and trust you feel for him in one gaze.

Jungkook slides into you easily, yet torturously slow. You gasp at the intrusion, wet enough that there’s no resistance or pain. It’s just sweet pleasure as he stretches you, pressing and pulsing against your walls.

“Oh my go—” you gasp, falling backwards and clawing at his forearms. “You’re so—” His cock feels amazing; not too long, but the girth—holy shit, the girth. He’s perfect. A flushed, bulbous head tops a thick shaft that thickens even further towards the base. The deeper he pushes into you, the more he stretches you. His large hand struggles to wrap around its root, and now it’s buried deep, deep inside you. Jungkook stretches you enough that you feel every vein, every throb, every press of his thick tip against that spot inside you.

He pulls out just as slowly, the only sound in the room the laboured sound of your breathing and the slick sounds of him moving within you. Jungkook holds the tip of himself inside you, waiting for something, and as soon as your eyes flick up to his, he thrusts. Hard.

Once.

Twice.

Again and again and again and again, all you can do is hold on, nails digging into his skin. You suddenly have a full appreciation for the phrase fucking like bunnies, because he is pounding into you so hard and fast you can feel your juices being forced out by his cock. Can feel them coating Jungkook’s thighs, making them slick and sticky, but he doesn’t seem to care. Your orgasm builds rapidly, liquid warmth spreading outward from your core, down your legs, up your spine. The hairs at the nape of your neck tingle; you’re so close. 

And suddenly your pussy is being filled.

“Darling—ah—!” Jungkook cries as scorching hot liquid coats your walls. He collapses to your chest, huffing and growling against it as he continues to roll his hips, emptying himself deep inside you. You frown, upset at another missed orgasm, when Jungkook delicately moves you onto the mattress.

He looms over you, breathing heavily, the same predatory look in his eyes as before. You glance down to where you’re still connected, legs still wrapped around his waist, and you realise he’s still hard despite the fact he just came.

“Oh,” you whisper, eyes wide. You glance back up at him. As soon as you do, Jungkook is kissing you. A bruising kiss, biting and nibbling his way into your mouth, teeth tugging at your lower lip until you gasp and his tongue slides in.

It distracts you enough that you don’t notice the way he manipulates your legs, hooking them over his elbows until you’re exposed and spread wide before him. Jungkook pulls out, only to slam back into you with no time to adjust. The room fills with wet, obscene sounds. When you realise he’s fucking you through his own cum, heat rushes to your face. Your pussy must be an absolute mess. The depravity of it makes you lift your arms to conceal your blush.

“Don’t do that. I want to see,” Jungkook demands, settling back on his knees and repositioning your legs over his shoulders. He pulls your arms away from your face so he can lace your fingers together. The warmth of him helps you feel grounded. “Don’t hide yourself from me.” He squeezes your hands as he slams into you again, his dark eyes trained on your face. “Don’t ever hide yourself from me, please.”

“O-okay,” you gasp breathlessly as Jungkook pounds into you. “I pr-promise.” The grip on your hands gives him leverage to pull you into his thrusts, the angle and subtle curve of his cock perfect for hammering your g-spot. Each thrust makes you spasm, makes you lose control of the muscles in your thighs. You whine incessantly. Jungkook laughs as you lose yourself to pleasure, laying kisses and gentle nibbles on your ankle. Within minutes he’s coming again, grunting as he spills into you. Your cunt is starting to feel too full. A strange feeling indeed. You’re still yet to have an orgasm and you’re so damn close, so sensitive, that tears prickle your eyes.

Jungkook leans forward, staying inside you, staying hard. He tugs your legs around his waist and starts up a punishing, rolling grind, at odds with the gentleness with which he kisses the tears gathering on your lashes.

Finally, finally, finally.

The pressure against your clit, the thickness of his cock against your walls as his hips undulate; it’s too much. You cling to him as you explode around him, digging your nails into his muscled back.

“Jungkookie, I’m gonna—” you mewl, burying your face in his neck as you shake apart. Every muscle in your body trembles and twitches as electricity runs through it, crackling under your skin. You’ve been edged for so long, kept on the knifepoint of desperation, and now you’re free-falling. Your cunt tightens violently around Jungkook’s cock, grasping it, milking it until he’s growling. He gives you one last slam before emptying himself inside you for the third time. His cock pulses endlessly, coating your walls with ropes of sticky hot seed.

Cautiously, Jungkook slides out of you, cock finally flaccid. The heat in his eyes has diminished to an affectionate glow. Your sweet baby Koo is back for now. Your pussy feels overfull, like it’s ready to burst. You reach down to stroke your stomach and you swear you can feel his abundant cum bulging inside you, even though you know you can’t. Jungkook’s hand covers yours and he hums, flopping happily beside you. His fingers slide lower, over your mound and around your vulva, cupping it delicately. As though to keep everything inside.

“You’re so good for me,” Jungkook mumbles into your hair. “Taking me so well. Gonna breed you so good.” His tone is somewhere between a sigh and a growl and it makes you shiver in pleasure to hear him so possessive of you. “You’d look so beautiful, full and round with my kits.” He lays soft kisses against your temple, rubbing it with his nose.

You snuggle close to him, hands trailing up his chest to carefully cup his face and pull him down to you, demanding a proper kiss. You pull apart and he nudges you with his nose. “You feeling okay?” Jungkook asks softly. 

You nod, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth again. “I feel really full,” you whisper against his chin shyly before nipping it with your teeth.

“Full?” Jungkook asks, amused, and you continue to nod as your teeth work their way up his jaw.

“Full of you. I could—” You bite your lip, burying your face in his chest, hiding though your face burns.

“Could what?” His voice deepens. “I asked you not to do that.” There’s a rumble in his chest. And then his fingers are threading into your hair, pulling your head backwards so he can look at you as you speak. You can’t defy him. Don’t want to defy him.

“I could feel you filling me up, then pushing it out,” you whisper, your cheeks flushing in shame. Or arousal. Maybe both. “I could feel how slick and sticky it was as it spilled out of me and down my thighs and over yours. It felt messy.” 

Jungkook’s breath grows heavier, coming out in heavy pants. “Fuck,” he swears. “Fuck, I need to look.” He moves, shuffling around the nest until he’s kneeling between your legs, pushing them apart and spreading you open to him. “It’s everywhere.” His eyes roam over your core, the backs of your thighs. “Oh, shit. You smell amazing, love.” Jungkook falls forward, nuzzling his face into the juncture of your thigh and sniffing deeply. His voice grows rough. “Like both of us and sex and I’m getting hard again just from the scent. Fuck. Let me clean you up. Hold your legs for me, baby.” He shuffles even further back, getting into that comfortable loaf shape he loves so much. You grab your legs just behind the knees and whimper softly as he starts laying soft kisses and licks across the backs of your thighs. Nipping and sucking red marks into them. You watch the top of his head work between your legs, breath catching with the occasional glimpse of eye contact, as he intently watches your reaction.

When Jungkook is satisfied with the job he’s made of your thighs and you’re a squirming, whimpering mess, he hones in on your pussy. It pulses and contracts around nothing in its arousal, begging to be filled, his cum trickling toward the cleft of your ass. He separates your folds with his thumbs, exposing your deepest parts to him and giving you one last, heated look before he’s teasing your opening with his tongue. He pushes it in as deep as it will go, digging his seed out of you and swallowing it with a growl of satisfaction. With the flat of his tongue, he gives you a long, firm lick, dragging it over the flushed and swollen area. You flinch and cry out.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks, eyes wide in panic.

“It’s too much… hurts,” you whine, wiggling your hips. “S-sensitive after you being so rough and filling me up.”

“I’m sorry,” he pouts.  His lips, shiny with both your juices, stretch into a wide grin. “You sounded like you were enjoying it at the time.” Jungkook quirks an eyebrow at you. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.” He pecks a kiss to the top of your pubic bone, trailing down to lay more at the soft crease of your thigh. His lips are soft and sticky, and so is his tongue when it arrives at your abused pussy. Jungkook dutifully cleans the mess created from your previous rounds, taking his time as though the act were some holy sacrament and it was his duty to carry it out. He alternates from side to side, between kisses and nose rubs, licks and gentle sucks against your skin. Jungkook performs this ritual thoroughly along your thighs and core, until there’s only one thing left. The thing he wanted all along.

The time Jungkook spends worshiping your pussy makes you feral. When he finally, gently dips his tongue into your cunt - just the tip - to tease you, you mewl, clutching at his head. Your fingers tangle into his soft brunette locks as he tongues at his reservoir of cum.

“P-please, Bun. Please don’t tease me,” you cry as your hips wind against the sheets. Jungkook swallows and growls against your open core, immediately diving back in, gentleness forgotten. He attacks your pussy like a man starved, his agile tongue probing and lapping, dragging his seed from you for consumption. Jungkook moans into your cunt like you are the finest delicacy he’s ever sampled. The vibrations send you spiraling, and before you know it you’re coming again. This time in his mouth. “Oh, God!”

Your hips buck wildly, your hands as fists in his hair. You grind your core against his face until your combined juices are flooding his mouth. Jungkook holds you steady, strong as he is, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you in place so all you can do is arch your back and strain against the mattress. Your hips fight against Jungkook’s hold to rise of their own accord.

You come harder than you’ve ever come before and yet Jungkook’s tongue continues to lave against you, lips sucking with abandon. He’s like a wild animal; taking everything you have and demanding more. Every muscle in your body is taut and your slick paints his mouth and chin. But Jungkook is still not done. He licks and sucks, licks and sucks, pulling pleasured pain from you, dark eyes watching you smugly as you shatter on his tongue. You tremble, twitch in ways that are beyond your control as aftershocks run through you. You desperately seek respite but Jungkook is entranced by your messy cunt. 

“Mmmm. So beautiful, so sweet,” he murmurs, his licks becoming softer, if just as agonising. The flat of his tongue laps a broad stripe up your slit, only to flick your clit with the tip. You fight to push him off, no words available to you, no air in your lungs. Tears run down your face at the intensity of your orgasm and once you realise you’re not strong enough to push him off, you change tactics, pulling him towards you instead of away.

“Jungkooooooook, nonononono, it’s too much. Bun, please,” you cry, shudder and shake. You tug desperately on his hair.

It works.

Jungkook growls and stalks up your body, every inch of him thrumming with erotic purpose. Your fingers never leave his hair, pulling him to you, guiding him to where you want him.

The lower half of his face is shiny with your juices.

You want to taste him.

You want to taste yourself on him.

As soon as he’s level with you, he drops to his forearms and kisses you. Forces his tongue between your lips, demanding entrance, which you willingly give. Immediately your mouth is flooded with bitter, salty-sweet liquid. He pushes it into your mouth, sharing your mixed essences and you moan as his tongue fights with yours, your mouths full of each other on a carnal, intimate level. You enjoy the taste of both of you to an embarrassing level; it feels so forbidden, so taboo, and your cheeks burn with equal shame and arousal. You swallow everything he gives you, moving your lips to lick and suck at his chin, cleaning him of your own slick. The sound he makes is almost a purr as your clean-up progresses to the underside of his jaw. You’re so focused on pulling happy noises from him you don’t even notice when he wraps your legs around his hips. 

Until he slams into you in one, forceful thrust.

“Urgh, love, you’re so perfect. Taking me so easily,” Jungkook grunts. “I’m going to fill you u-up again.” Your hands move from his hair to hook under his arms, clinging to his shoulders, nails clawing into his back as the intensity overtakes you. You’re wrapped around him as much as you possibly can be, whimpering and shuddering in pleasure. Your poor, swollen pussy clenches around his thick girth, trying to cling to him, keep him inside you, claim him as he pounds into you mercilessly.

His pace is ruthless. The sound of skin on skin echoes in the room, drowning out your harsh panting. You feel your skin prickling, heating up with every slap of his hips as they hit the back of your thighs. Jungkook watches you as he fucks you, his gaze more intense than it’s been all night. All you can do is hold onto him, mouth open wordlessly, unable to vocalise much beyond unintelligible moans. It’s a struggle to breathe when he’s fucking you so, his cock stretching you deliciously, making you lose your mind.

Jungkook huffs out a small laugh. “Breathe, darling.” His long, floppy ears hang about his face, brushing your cheeks as he thrusts. 

It’s then that you recall something he previously said. 

Deviously, you trail a hand from his shoulders to his back, dragging your nails down his flawless, golden skin; just hard enough to leave gentle, red trails. Jungkook shudders, arching his back as he fucks you. Your real prize is the fluffy tail. The one he told you not to touch unless you were in the nest. Your fingers dig into the soft tuft of fur at the base of his spine, scratching gently like you would his ears.

The effect is immediate.

“Fuck,” Jungkook hisses from between his teeth, hips stuttering in their movements. He’s coming inside you again, sudden and unexpectedly. You giggle and continue playing, trailing your fingers through his tail, swirling the soft fur around your knuckles. You smile up at him as he practically vibrates. He comes for an obscenely long time, shuddering all the while.

“Found your weak spot, Bun,” you whisper. Like it’s some big secret.

Jungkook leans down, kissing you roughly, all swollen lips and nipping teeth. “You taste so fucking good with my cum in you. I want to eat you all day, all night. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. I’ll tie you to the bed. My tongue belongs in your pussy.” A hand finds its way into your hair, tightening its grip, pulling your head back. Exposing your neck to him. “The only thing you’re ever going to ride again is my face. Understand?” His voice is a deep, rumbling growl. You squeak out your agreement as his mouth attacks your throat. 

Your ambiguous consent isn’t good enough for Jungkook. 

You have no idea how, but he starts fucking you harder, piling more force behind each thrust, tilting his hips just right to hit that spot inside you as he pistons in and out. “I said, ‘Do. You. Understand?’”

“Ooh—uh—fuh—Kookie—!”  you wail helplessly, your throat raw as you struggle to drag enough air into your lungs. Pleasure builds threateningly between your legs. That's when he strikes. Jungkook thrusts, deep and hard, angling himself to grind against your clit as he winds his hips in a slow, sinuous roll, like waves on the ocean. His mouth attaches to your neck, teeth sinking in deep. He bites and licks and sucks; marking you. The pain is sweet, sends electricity surging to your pussy, making it explode. You can feel yourself tighten around him and Jungkook growls against your neck, pulsing inside you as he comes again.

“You’re so perfect,” he groans, lips never leaving your skin as he shudders through his milking. Your orgasm lasts longer than any you’ve had before. You tremble against him for what seems like hours, his arms holding you steady as he continues to languidly fuck into you. He goes slow and deep, his cock never softening as he moves his mouth to a different part of your neck. You whimper when he switches sides, latching onto a patch of skin just below your ear that would be incredibly difficult to hide.

You feel like you’re having an out of body experience. As Jungkook rolls his hips into you, you continue to ride the high of your orgasm, your entire body weightless. Where he touches you, static electricity dances across your skin; everywhere his hands skim, everywhere his lips touch. He never lets up on your neck, sucking and licking and biting. You’re perfect, you’re perfect, you’re perfect he chants against your skin, working his way down your chest and leaving blooming bruises in his wake. Pleasure continues to wash over you, needlelike in intensity. Tears spill from your eyes; you want to cry out, to yell, but you can’t. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as you thrash against the bed, hands reaching out to grab at anything to ground you. Vaguely, you feel heat flood you again as Jungkook pumps you full of his seed once more.

“Ah!” he cries, somewhere between a sob and a sigh.

He shifts until he has you by the hips and resumes his thrusting without so much as a pause. You can scarcely believe it. His nose trails your midriff to your navel, bunny teeth nibbling the skin around your belly-button. A meandering flower path of vibrant bruises marks you from your neck downwards. Jungkook sits back, muscles rippling, pulling you flush to him. The feeling of floating finally abandons you, your entire body tingles and shivers like it’s been doused in ice water. All sensation rushes down to one singular place; between your legs. Jungkook slams his hips into you, hard and fast, hard and fast. He wraps an arm around your lower back, lifting you, suspending you in the air as he continues to fuck into you with a fury. Again and again. Unrelenting. Your arms flail, desperate for something to hold on to.

“I need to fill you. I need to breed you and you’re going to take everything I give you,” Jungkook grinds out, teeth gritted.

“Yes,” you gasp, forcing the words out. “Fill me. Breed me. I want it, want you,” you sob, covering your face. But Jungkook moves your arm, pinning it above your head, forcing the angle deeper. He stares at you as he fucks your cunt, challenging you. You’re desperate to look away, but you can’t. The intensity of his eyes, the set of his jaw, the sweat dripping down his face. All framed by long ears and damp curls.

It’s impossible to look away from him.

You reach up to pull him into a kiss. It’s open and messy; he’s using most of his focus to fuck you.

“Up, up, I want to be up,” you demand. The hand pinning your wrist to the mattress slides downward and secures your shoulders, lifting you onto his lap with ease. You wrap your arms around him, nuzzling his ears as he readjusts his hold on you to fuck up into you. The change in position provides constant friction to your clit. Your poor, engorged clit that’s been subjected to so much tonight. The curve of Jungkook's cock rubs against your front wall, caressing your similarly sensitive g-spot. His stunning display of strength to hold you up while fucking you makes your pussy clench and gush around his length. You know he’s fit; know he’s stronger than he lets on, but the fact he can lift you and throw you around like it’s nothing has you weak for him; makes you shudder in his arms. You kiss his ears which twitch and flick, and he returns in kind by nibbling along your shoulders, moaning thanks to your endeavours. You score his back with your nails, leaving more marks. Jungkook lifts his head and nudges you with his nose, biting at your bottom lip.

“Mark me,” he growls between thrusts.

“What?” you gasp, frowning in confusion. He can’t be serious. Marking is an incredibly personal thing. You understand Jungkook does it because he has urges; urges he can’t control. But you don’t. 

He’s choosing this.

“Do it properly, don’t tease.” Jungkook smirks, kissing you. “Mark me.” He tilts his head to the side, flicking his ear and hair out of the way. You look down, momentarily distracted by the way his abs contract and roll as he fucks you. But then your eyes travel up to land on his taut, sweat-covered neck. Leaning forward, you kiss it, licking and sucking something fierce. Jungkook starts to huff, sending hot puffs of air over your shoulder. His noises change, dwindle into more of a whimper, his hips stuttering the harder you press your teeth into his skin and hum. As you worship his neck with your tongue and teeth, you drag your nails up and down his back, leaving scratches in your wake, rather than just red marks.

Jungkook whines and grunts under your rough treatment; you can feel his cock throbbing inside you as he prepares to empty himself into you once again. You place your teeth against his neck and reach down around his waist to play with his cute, fluffy bunny tail. You twirl the fur around your fingers as you hum, the vibrations from your teeth travelling directly to Jungkook’s neck. And then you go for the kill. You dig in your nails and scratch, scratch, scratch as you bite down harder.

Jungkook malfunctions.

His body stops, going tense, every muscle taut and straining, trembling almost imperceptibly. You feel him release inside you, hot thick spurts of seed that fill you to the brim; that squash and spill out of you as he fucks you. His tremors become a violent shake, an internal quake that starts in his lower back and travels up through his arms. They clamp around you like tempered steel. The shuddering throws off his thrusts and ruins his rhythm until he can’t maintain it anymore. Jungkook convulses erratically, his cock dancing inside you in very interesting ways. The tremors travel down his legs, reaching his knees and making them weak.

“Gghh—haaah!” He cries out, half way between a groan and a yelp. As he falls backwards to the bed, he takes you with him.

Jungkook lays under you, quivering, his eyes closed and nose twitching. Long, floppy ears flutter against your face as he whimpers softly. You can feel his fingers flexing, twitching spontaneously against your back as his hold on you loosens. You hold your weight in your forearms  so as not to crush him in his vulnerable state. You lean over him, not knowing what to do. Jungkook just lays there, unmoving, nothing but involuntarily spasms. Did you break him?

“Bun?” you ask quietly, but he’s unresponsive, “Kookie? Jungkook?” You push yourself up into a sitting position as best you can with your legs trapped under him. His arms fall limply to his sides. 

You gasp when you realise he’s still hard inside of you.

Your eyes dart around. You bite your lip. Is this normal? Maybe you should have researched rabbit hybrid heats before you shared Jungkook’s. But just as you consider moving, his eyes slowly blink open until he’s looking at you from under heavy lids. Slowly he lifts his hands to skim over your thighs, and you shudder. Even after everything his hands feel incredible against your skin; you never want him to stop touching you.

Jungkook’s strength returns to him, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips to hold you tightly. And then he’s rolling his hips, thrusting into you with renewed determination. Slowly at first, picking up speed, picking up force until he’s pounding up into your pussy at a pace so punishing he’s lifting you off the bed. You can feel how sticky, messy and wet your cunt is; can hear it over the heavy breathing in the room. You lean forward, placing your hands on his chest to steady yourself.

“Please Jungkookie, I need to cum. I need it. I need you,” you sob, nails digging into his chest as pleasure wracks through you.

His face doesn’t change, but his soft, kiss-swollen lips part slightly as he pants in effort. You bite your bottom lip as you watch him, your orgasm building, liquid heat accumulating in your core once again. Your fingers, slippery with sweat, catch on his nipple when you try to readjust your grip. Jungkook whines so you do it again experimentally, digging a nail into his nipple until his hips falter. You drag it across the stiff peak, catching on it and pulling hard. His breath comes in pants as his thrusts become more forceful, more erratic. It’s only seconds before heat explodes out around you, white noise ringing in your head as you come hard and fast. You bend forward, your mouth latching onto his nipple, the sudden touch of teeth pushing Jungkook over the edge. He releases into you again, so forcefully it pushes the previous offering out of your over-stuffed cunt. Cum seeps out around the base of his throbbing cock.

You lick and kiss the abused nipple as an apology. And as if by some miracle, Jungkook finally softens and slips out of you.

“Holy shit,” you sigh, resting your cheek against his chest, a finger idly wandering around the spit-slicked, peaked flesh. Jungkook giggles somewhat hysterically.

He flips you onto your back, pulling a pillow from the nest wall and pushing it under your hips to raise them. Noticing your shuddering, Jungkook grabs a blanket and throws it over you.  It’s a sweet gesture, but you’re not shivering because you’re cold. You’re shivering because he just fucked your brains out and you feel like a human water balloon while this full of cum. He curls up beside you, throwing an arm over your chest and reaching up to stroke your hair. His nose finds your ear to nuzzle. He hums happily throughout your afterglow, caressing your hair, nosing your jaw, chin, cheek and temple to scent you. Gentle, reassuring words of you’re so good and such a good mama for my kits filter through your ears. 

And in the comfort of his arms, utterly exhausted, you drift off to sleep.

_ _ _

You slowly wake from your doze when you feel something cold and damp on your legs. You sit yourself up with a shake of your head, trying to clear it. Jungkook kneels between your legs in his pajama bottoms, wiping you down with a damp cloth.

“Sorry, didn’t want to wake you,” he says, smiling shyly and wrinkling his nose.

“It’s’kay,” you groan, sitting up. Everywhere aches. “How are you feeling?” you ask.

“Better. There may be another wave later, but the worst should be over.” Jungkook looks around the room awkwardly. “I should—I mean…” he trails off, playing with his ears. “I said some things. I should explain myself.”

“Don’t worry, I know it was just your heat talking,” you reassure him with a smile, even if part of you wished he meant it. Jungkook stares at you, eyes large and round, mouth falling open into a perfect ‘o’. 

He nods. “Yeah, I—I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Bun mumbles, nibbling his bottom lip. He resumes the process of cleaning you and avoids your eyes.

“You didn’t. I don’t know if you noticed, but I played along.” You’re not sure what possesses you to say it, but you immediately regret it when his hand stills.

“I noticed,” Jungkook says with a glance at you, his neck flushing red. He coughs awkwardly before resuming his cleaning. “I made food; just a simple omelette,” he diverts, reaching out of the nest to grab the plate. A forkful of omelette is extended to you, to feed you. You smile fondly at him as you gladly accept the offering. You try not to read too much into it; he’s just taking care of you because it’s his heat and you’re his partner right now. You’re in his nest, too, and in his nest, it’s his instinct to take care of you.

You carefully watch his face, entranced by his focus. Entranced by how much care he takes in everything he does. Jungkook looks up and catches you staring. You burst into laughter, as does he.

“Why are you staring at me?” He chuckles, feeding you more omelette.

“You’re very handsome,” you tease easily. “I’d be an idiot not to.” Jungkook scoffs and you grab his face, looking at him seriously. “You’re the most handsome person I’ve ever seen.” 

“Even with the ears?” he asks derisively.

“Especially with the ears.” You smile, reaching up to scratch one. His leg twitches and kicks out. Jungkook grabs your wrist, pulling it away from his ear with a giggle.

“Stop it!” He’s smiling, eyes full of stars again and you lean forward to kiss him softly. He’s hesitant at first, but soon gets lost in it. “Is this still okay?” Jungkook whispers against your lips, pecking you tenderly.

“Jungkook, I—” You swallow. “I didn’t do this just because it was your heat. I helped you because—because I want you. I’ve wanted you for a while, I was just scared to admit it. Scared I’d be taking advantage of you.” Your heart is pounding; you’re pretty sure Jungkook can hear it, but the look on his face is nothing but shock, eyes wide as he stares at you.

“Really?” he asks when he finally finds his voice. “It wasn’t just—you took me in when you found me in the rain, looked after me. You’ve looked after me ever since. Are you saying this wasn’t just you taking care of me again?” His voice is quiet, unsure.

You shake your head, running your fingers through his hair. “No, not at all. You’re so— you’ve been so…” You mull the words over. “Yes you’re handsome and the sex was good—” Jungkook quirks an eyebrow, then pouts. “GREAT!” you correct, and Jungkook snorts and ducks his head. “But I also want you. I want you singing in the kitchen in the morning, dancing in it at night as you make dinner. I want to keep arguing with you about what we watch on TV. I really love coming home to you at the end of a long work day so I can argue with you about what to watch on TV.” You laugh. “I want to take care of you, like you take care of me. I want to know about you, your past, where you’re from. I want your good days and your bad. I want to talk about your day, I want to talk about the future—” You stop and lick your lips, moving your hands to cup his face. “I just wanna talk because I like the sound of your voice.”

Jungkook smiles wide, leaning in to kiss you before pulling back and leaning his forehead against yours. “Then I think I should tell you everything,” he sighs.

You pull back slightly, your thumbs coming to caress his soft cheeks and you lean in to kiss him again. “If you’re ready, I’m listening,” you whisper against his lips.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” he says, staring deep into your eyes.

“Crazier than someone who finds a stray hybrid on the street and adopts it?” you ask with a nudge. Jungkook chuckles giddily. “Maybe we’re the right kind of crazy for each other?” Something about the question makes him sober and he takes a deep, shuddering breath before he starts talking.

“I live in one of the villages on the outskirts of the city, almost everyone there is a rabbit-hybrid. A few other hybrids, a few mundanes, but not many,” Jungkook explains, shuffling so he can pull your back to his bare chest and wrap his arms around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder and continues. “Everyone my age, everyone I grew up with - they’re settling down, thinking about starting families if they haven’t already...” he trails off.

“Everyone? You seem awfully young to be worried about something like that.”

You feel him shrug, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide a blush you can’t even see. “We like to mate early.” Something warm and dangerous blooms in your chest. “Anyway, everyone was finding their mate; all my friends had either found one or found someone they were planning to mate with and I couldn’t—there was no one I… I couldn’t find—” Jungkook stutters, breath coming out in little gasps against your shoulder. You turn in his hold, finding him staring at you, eyes wide. You lift a hand to gently thumb the soft fur of his long, floppy ear. “I’d shared a couple of my heats with others, but other than that I was alone. I was watching all my friends fall in love and be happy and I wanted that more than anything. But I couldn’t find anyone. I even spent my heat before this one alone. There was no one in my village I wanted to spend it with.”

“I’m sorry you felt so alone,” you say, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly.

“I wished upon a shooting star.” Jungkook ducks his head, hiding his eyes from you. “I wanted to find my mate. I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“What?” you ask, pulling back to look at him. He glances up at you, hiding behind his ears.

“I told you I’d sound crazy.” Jungkook smiles coyly. “I was sitting on a hilltop near my village. I liked sitting out there at night; it’s far enough away from the city that you can see more stars. I liked to imagine what it would be like to sit out there with my mate someday. Then there was a bright streak across the sky, and I closed my eyes and wished—wished I was with my mate. I must have fallen asleep after that, because the next thing I knew I was waking up in my rabbit form, cold and wet and under a bush. I ran out of it and there you were.” Jungkook lifts his head to look at you now, eyes sparkling as they dance around your face, trying to interpret your reaction. But all you feel is shock.

“How did you get there?” you ask, confused.

“I have no idea, I just woke up and found myself unable to change back.” He shrugs, arms tightening around you.

“So you were stuck in your rabbit form?” 

Jungkook nods in confirmation. “At first. The first few weeks. I didn’t know what was wrong, and when you picked me up I froze; it’s rabbit instinct. I hoped I could run later, but then I realised it was for real - you were caring for me. I thought, maybe—” Jungkook swallows, licking his lips, a large, warm hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “Maybe my wish had been granted. The longer I stayed, the more scared I became that you’d make me leave if you knew I could transform back. I only did it once to contact my family, to let my brothers know I was okay. The storm really did scare me back in my sleep,though, and I thought you were going to send me away. When you let me stay—” Jungkook leans forward and brushes his lips against yours. “I was so happy. So, so happy.” He lets out a shaky breath.

“Wow,” you whisper, turning back around to melt into his embrace.

“Are you mad? Do you think I’m crazy?” Bun asks, a waver in his voice as he presses his lips to your shoulder.

“I—I don’t know. I’m conflicted,” you answer honestly. His arms tighten around your middle as he tries to keep his breathing steady.

“About?” It’s a whisper, his lips grazing your skin like he’s too scared to ask. Too scared to hear the answer.

“I know I should be mad that you chose to stay here when you could have left at any time. I mean, you basically lied to me. But I can also understand why you did it.” You cover his arms with yours. “You were desperately lonely, and something strange happened. You thought this—this miracle happened. You’d be crazy not to take advantage of it.” You turn in his hold, delicately brushing his hair out of his face. “It’s kind of endearing to find out the hybrid I’ve grown so fond of is actually a big, sappy romantic.” Jungkook buries his nose in the nape of your neck and if the sigh he lets out sounds more like a sob of relief, you don’t mention it. “You really think I could be your mate?” you ask, sliding your hand along his toned forearm and entwining your fingers with his.

“I think I made that wish on the hilltop and woke to find someone who is kind, intelligent, beautiful and funny.” You hear the smile in his voice as his lips make their way across your shoulder. “I love how you wear sweaters three sizes too big. Cry at horror movies. Smile when you think I’m not looking.” Jungkook punctuates each point with a kiss. “I keep imagining you in my clothes. I love how you sing and dance when you’re doing chores.”

“You like my singing?” you laugh. You’ve never been accused of being a good singer, and when you look over your shoulder at him, you realise you’re still not.

“I love your enthusiasm when you sing and dance,” Jungkook states diplomatically, eyes filled with mischief. He dips his head to kiss your shoulder.

“You have a beautiful enough voice for both of us,” you say with a smile, slumping so you’re looking up at him and he’s looking down at you.

“I could have met a million different people in the city, but out of everyone, I meet you. Someone I want to make my mate,” he says cautiously, and you squeeze his hand. “You’ll let me stay?”

“You can stay for as long as you like,” you whisper softly, running your fingers over his.

“What if I never want to leave?” Jungkook teases with a smile, and you smile back up at him. 

“Then I guess you should make yourself at home,” you say softly. “Take me to that hilltop one night?”

Jungkook leans down and kisses you; a kiss that tastes like love and feels like a promise. “Try and stop me,” he whispers, smiling. 

And making himself at home is exactly what he did.

#Jungkook #Jeon Jungkook #Jungkook Fluff #Jungkook Smut #Hybrid!Jungkook #Jungkook x You #Jungkook x Reader #Bunny!Jungkook #Jungkook Fic #BTS #BTS Fic #Jungkook in Heat #Marginal Madness #MM Summer Nights #Summer Nights #Commission

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Revision.

Commissioned by the very lovely @pyrokittyowo.

Pairing: Yandere!Simeon/Reader (Obey Me).

Word Count: 2.2k.

TW: Past Trauma, Toxic Relationships, Codependency, Infantilization, Isolation, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Manipulation, Gaslighting.

The sun never sets in the Celestial Realm.

It’s less whimsical than it sounds, to be fair. Sleep is a luxury for angels, a way to pass time for the young and the injured, but that hadn't been something Simeon thought to tell you when you first arrived, as you tried to follow his mangled, irregular cycle of rest and work. You’d gotten the hang of it with time, carved out your own routine and forced yourself to follow it, but you’d be lying if you said you were completely used to it. It was grating, if anything, just how bright all of it was, the shine only amplified by the ivory and gold angels seemed so fond of. It was overwhelming, really. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve called it unbearable.

But, you did know better. This realm was warm, but not stifling, not half as oppressive as the Devildom had been. It didn’t have the same constant chill, a pervasive darkness only made worse by the humid air and that invasive metallic scent, like stone and rock and the blood that must've been soaked into the cracks of both. The darkness was worse. All of it was worse, but you tried to keep your mind on the landscape, the starless sky, the bleakness you’d slowly grown to hate.

If you let yourself think about anything else, you’d have to think about the people you’d met, the brothers, the way they’d looked at you. You’d have to remember how tight Mammon’s grip had been, the first time he took you by the wrist rather than the hand, or how dull Beelzebub's fangs were and how much it hurt when he drove them into your skin, your chest, the sensitive area just below your collarbone that never failed to bleed, when it bit down. You’d have to think about how Lucifer’s hand felt as it wrapped around your neck, the sound of your own failing breath, the way he’d laughed as you—

You inhaled sharply, cutting yourself off before you could get any more lost in the memory.

Because that’s what it was – just a memory. Something you’d never have to worry about again, thanks to Simeon.

Still, you were allowed to complain. Even indoors, perched in one of the many bay windows spotted around Simeon’s sizable chambers, you could feel the unyielding sun, notice the light start to eat away at your vision like a hungry, gnawing parasite. There were clouds in the sky, perfect wisps of nothing, but they'd been their since the day you first arrived, fixed features on an unchanging canvas. They wouldn't move. You already knew that. Nothing moved in the Celestial Realm, not unless it had a reason to.

And yet, you found yourself opening your mouth regardless, asking the question that’d been playing on your tongue all day. You could let yourself have this. You could hope that were wrong. It wasn't like this would be the first time. “It doesn’t rain here, does it?”

Immediately, there was a hum from across the room, one of the many soft sounds Simeon seemed to be so fond of. You should’ve been glad he was there to answer at all, really. Simeon spent most of the day tending to his vague responsibilities. If he had time to sit around, pouring over a scroll in a language you couldn’t recognize, it must’ve meant it was either too early in the morning or too late at night for him to be bothered with anything else. You couldn’t be sure which, not when the two were so impossible to tell apart. “Rarely,” He replied, still distracted. “Michael tries not to leave the weather up to chance. If he needed a storm, I’d be able to tell you weeks in advance.”

You almost felt bad for him. You would’ve hated it, knowing everything long before it actually happened, but you doubted Simeon would ever let himself be so careless. “I don’t know how I’d stay sane,” You admitted, your gaze moving back to the window. A white dove had landed on the edge of Simeon’s windowsill, meticulously sorting through bleached feathers with its pointed beak, and idly, you wondered if the animals bothered to regulate themselves, too. “You wouldn't like my hometown. Couldn’t see the sky most days, and when you could, it was nearly too hot to go outside. Never stopped it from snowing a month before winter, though.” You paused, letting yourself smile at the thought. You missed it; you weren’t going to try to deny that. You were still allowed to miss things. “Luke would probably love it. Say what you want about humans, but we've never gotten a bakery wrong.”

Simeon didn’t hum, this time. The silence couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but your heart still found a way to tighten in your chest, stopping completely as you heard his chair scrape against the floor, sharp footsteps following the noise immediately. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, and he was kind enough not to force you to, brushing off your avoidance as he positioned himself on the opposite side of your small shelter. It wasn't much of an improvement, though. If he'd just let himself be a little more cruel, you might've had the pleasure of hating him for it.

“You’re thinking about the human world again.”

He was getting straight to the point. You couldn’t say you weren’t thankful.

“How can I not?” You tried to laugh, but it came out strained, out of place against his sober expression. “I haven’t been home in a year. I’m bound to want to go back, eventually.”

“You know it’s not safe.” It was a familiar mantra, one you should’ve been numb to, but it still found a way to hurt, to linger, accumulate into a small, aching knot in the back of your throat as you reminded yourself that he was only doing it because he cared. That was all – he cared. He didn’t want to see you get hurt, not again. He didn’t want to see you face anything more harmful than his clumsy comfort, even if he did have a strange way of showing it. “We’ve talked about this before, (Y/n). It’s still too early to tell if Lucifer left any lasting damage. There could still be a tracking spell I haven’t discovered yet, or worse.” There was a pause, and a gloved hand came to rest on your knee. You could’ve mouthed the words, as he said them. “I can keep you safe here, but your world is neutral territory. I might not be able to stop him, if he and his brothers tried to take you away.”

You hated the way he said it. Part of you, a persistent minority, still wanted to think this was all a misunderstanding, a result of crossed wires and mixed messages and the kind of miscommunications that only ever led to such awful things. You knew it was unhealthy, to try to tint your own memories with such a forgiving light, but that didn't help you smother the temptation to believe all the soft, pleasant encouragements Asmodeus had whispered in your ear as his brothers lived out their distorted, carnal fantasies. Whatever Simeon was trying to do, it certainly wasn’t helping, either.

“I’ll be careful,” You tried, slouching against the glass. It was warm to the touch, a feeling you savored under his cold gaze. “It’d be a day trip, at most. Just a few hours. I…” He was wearing the silk gloves, today, soft and smooth as he raised his hand, cupping your cheek without a trace of hesitation. You trailed off instantly, still unused to the gentleness. “I just want to see my family, that’s all. Even if it’s only for a few minutes.”

“You’re bored of me, now?” It was supposed to be playful, the question accompanied by a light chuckle, but you still shook your head, leaning into his palm as you went on. “I can’t say I blame you. I know I’m not one for company, but if you’re dying for entertainment, I can see what—”

“It’s not just that.” You should've let him finish, but it was already too late to stop yourself. You didn’t want to stop yourself, if you were being honest. You just wanted to go somewhere else, somewhere different, a place where the sky didn’t hurt to look at and the sun wasn’t so willing to punish you for existing. You wanted to be able to step outside without worrying whether or not your angelic hosts still thought you were worthy of their concern. You didn’t want this, anymore, even if it was the better option. “I’m just tired, Simeon. I’m tired of being here, I’m tired of running, and I just want to go home—”

There was a small huff, a sharp crack. By the time you realized what happed, by the time that sudden acidic sting faded into a steady throb, his thumb was already digging into your jaw, your head forcibly tilted back in such a way that made it so you had to look at him. You couldn’t avoid the softened anger in his eyes, or the stiffness in his posture, or that tight, unignorable scowl. He was disappointed, and he wanted you to know you were the reason why. He was mad at you, and you’d done everything to earn it.

When he spoke, he did so slowly. Like he was talking to a child who hadn’t quite come to terms with reality, just yet. “I’ve taken care of you, haven’t I?”

“You have.” There was no point trying to deny it. If it hadn’t been for Simeon, you’d still be rotting in that hellscape, subject to the whims of a family of monsters. He'd saved you. He'd helped you escape, and you had to be thankful for that. “I just don’t know if I can—”

“And you care about me, right? You don’t want to see me worry?”

You hesitated, but your answer was inevitable “Of course.”

“And you do remember the last thing Belphie said to you, don’t you? What he did to send you running to me?” He let himself smile, despite the nature of the question. “I could barely understand you back then, with the crying and all. Honestly, I almost didn't notice you were begging me to save you.” It was easy to forget how Simeon could be, when he knew he was right. Most of the time, his confidence was comforting, a gentle reminder that you could trust him, that you should trust him. Right now, it just made you feel weak. “What was it, again? C’mon, love, you can tell me, can’t you?”

You could. Objectively, you could, if you tried to. You could force your mouth to make the words, you could shut your eyes and let Simeon guide you through it, and you could tell yourself they were just memories, that you were somewhere else now, that you were somewhere better, but…

But, you really, really didn’t want to, and you couldn’t convince yourself you did.

If you did, you’d have to remember how tightly Belphegor had held your hand, as he said it, his fingers intertwined with yours and his grip strong enough to leave your palm bruised, after he pulled away. You’d have to think about the small smile he wore, the hatred in his half-lidded eyes, the chill that'd run down your spine as he hid his face in the crook of your shoulder and told you that, if you ever tried to leave him, if he ever had to share you with anyone beyond the six exceptions he was already making, he’d kill you. It was as simple as that.

If he ever saw you again, he’d kill you.

You were safe, here. You were safe in the Celestial Realm, you were safe with Simeon, but you still found yourself choking on the words, your throat going dry as your shoulders pitched forward, a bolt of something frozen striking your chest before you could ward it off. You couldn't be sure why something so distant would make you cry, but you could feel it coming on – hot tears welling in your eyes, blurring your vision, threatening to spill over and strip you of what little pride you had left, but Simeon only wiped them away, as doting as he always was. As loving as he always was, even when you took his patience for granted. Even when you hesitated to lean into him, as he pulled you into his chest, urging you to hide your face and treat him like the pillar of support he was so clearly trying to be. Even when you didn't deserve it, when you didn't deserve him, when you didn't deserve any of this, not when he was kind enough to pretend he didn't know that just as well as you.

“Poor little thing.” He was humming, now, his tone teetering on the line between carelessness and comfort. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, not in the moment, not when it was all you could do to muffle your hitched sobs into small, pathetic whimpers. “It’s nothing to blame yourself for. You just need a little help.” Another pause, elongated and purposeful. Sadistic, in only because he had to try so hard not to be. “You just need someone to protect you. It’s only human.”

It was all you could do to nod, to agree, as mindlessly as you were capable of. You didn’t want to think. You didn’t want to risk remembering something you shouldn’t.

Instead, you just focused on the sunlight streaming the nearest window, how it felt as it hit you.

How, wherever your skin made contact with Simeon’s, it seemed to grow just a little more insufferable than it had been, a second ago.

#yandere #yandere love #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere scenario #yandere commission #commission #writing commissions #yandere prompts #obey me #obey me imagines #yandere obey me #obey me simeon #yandere simeon #simeon x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere fantasy #yanderecore #yancore

[hotwings0203]

as ur irl bestie i am cashing in my favor and am asking- no begging for a dilf damon fic pls <3

😑fine fineee I guess I can take a quick break from writing BNHA stuff for you🙄

CW: NSFW, Damon Albarn being an a-hole, manipulation, gaslighting, language minor stuff like that

The studio itself was pretty spacious, you couldn't lie. As much as you loathed to give this cursed group any more credit, you were hard-pressed to remember the last time you´d been called into such a professional recording booth. You were used to dingy atmospheres, crumbling walls, stained carpet, and even cramped garages at times. It felt like your years of meticulously swaying your hand back and forth on the rosin and tuning your strings until they damn near popped were slowly going down the drain, lost in spaces of screaming adolescent boys and shady market agents. The streets of London were unforgiving for a young musician like you, no room to turn to since others were exactly in the same position as you.

 It was by pure coincidence that the day you had played for a local cafe for a small commission, Graham fucking Coxon was sitting in the back of the run-down joint, sipping a murky glass of Bourbon.

 You didn't notice him at first, of course. You had simply let the music in your mind travel from your head down to your arms, and allowed it to move through your fingertips to your bow. The serene melody that sang through the air had turned his head to face you, the shitty drink in his hand stopped halfway to his mouth. 

 Your solo was only a couple of minutes, but the second you were done and packing your bags to head out, the brunette made a beeline for you, blocking your exit.

 ¨Uh, can I help you?¨ You cock your head and shift your violin case.

 ¨Yes, you can actually. Listen, I know this is gonna sound a bit straightforward, but I really liked your piece. Did you compose it yourself?¨ He sounds quiet and sounds nervous, with him barely looking you in the eyes.

 ¨Yeah, I did!¨ You can´t help but beam-it took you several days just to perfect a few meager lines, but in the end you were content with the piece.

 ¨Wow...that's serious talent right there,¨ He opens the door for you, and you nod before you head out, him trailing behind you as he leaves with you.

 ¨You make a good amount of money doing small jobs like this?¨ His voice is nasally and low, but with a slightly higher pitch than your typical London accent.

 At this, you squint your eyes a bit and turn your head at him. It was nice of him to be interested in your work, but for someone you don't personally know, the idea of talking about your small gigs that merited little to no money was not something you were fond of.

 He senses your hesitancy and immediately withdraws. ¨I´m sorry, that was probably rude of me to be so blunt about it. Actually, I don´t think I´ve properly introduced myself.¨ He stops to face you, and you do the same.

 ¨I´m Graham Coxon. You may or may not have heard of me, but I can assure you that I too enjoy music, as an understatement.¨ He extends a calloused hand and smiles a little bit, adjusting the blocky glasses on his face.

 Graham...Coxon? Graham as in....oh, holy shit.

 ¨No way.¨

 ¨Er...unfortunately, yes way.¨ His soft voice lilts as he holds back a laugh, and you gape at him.

 ¨Oh my god!¨ You drop your violin case in the excitement of eagerly returning his handshake. ¨You-you're from Blur! I know you!¨

 ¨Was from Blur, and ´careful now, don´t wanna ruin your instrument. But listen, I´m kind of in a bind here so I´ll get to the chase. We´re working on a few chords here and there back at the studio, and I´ve been on the lookout for a while for someone who fits our tune. ´Thing is, the deadline for submitting our song is comin´ up fast, so we only have a couple weeks left.¨

 You raise your eyebrows, heart pounding in your chest as you listen to his proposition.

 ¨So I´m thinking, you sound pretty good, it's exactly what we need to fill in our bridge. I´d love it if you came in and played a tune for us. If we like you and you´re cool with it, you could feature on our song.¨

 It feels surreal. Were you hearing right? Graham Coxon from Blur asking you to play on his song? This had to be a prank.

 ¨Ẅait, but you've only heard me once, what if my sound doesn't match what you're actually looking for?¨ You stammer, palms clammy as you wipe them off on your trousers.

 ¨Well, that's what a rehearsal session is for, lovely,¨ He chuckles nervously and slides his slightly foggy glasses up his nose. ¨So, you wanna give it a go?¨

 You think for a moment, biting your lower lip. There wasn't exactly anything stopping you now, was there? I mean, sure, the prospect of playing in front of one of UK's most famous bands was daunting, but this was your chance to finally be recognized!

 Taking a deep breath, you pick up your fallen case and nod. ¨Alright, I´m in. When you do wanna meet up?¨

 Graham visibility deflates in relief, letting out a shaky exhale. ¨Great. I'll text you the time and place, yeah? The boys and I´ve gotta get a few more things set up, so we´ll be in contact soon.¨

You both exchange numbers, your phone tingling in your hand long after you bid farewell and drive home in a buzz.

 When you finally get home to your apartment, you throw your keys onto the counter and flop down onto the mattress. What a fucking day.

 So many thoughts bounce around in your addled head. You want to do well, but obviously you don't have their kind of experience in the industry. Should you play more in tune with their song, or continue with your own sound? An idea pops into your head amidst your lunch, a few hours later. Why not just do some more research on the band themselves? Then you'd know exactly what kind of music they're looking for.

 The boys and I´ve gotta get a few more things set up.

 Oh yeah, who else was in the band? It's not like you didn't know who Blur was at their peak, but you paid more attention to their music rather than their faces. Truthfully, you never really basked in tabloids and newspapers purring about the next big scandal, or the top dogs of Britain´s industry when that stuff was relevant.

 You abandon your pathetic sandwich and make your way to your laptop, sliding into a chair and getting down to business. After a few quick searches, you pull up a couple tabs around the name Blur.

 Graham Coxon- Recovering alcoholic. Big fight with Damon Albarn.

 Alex James- Cute boy turned conservative. Classic case.

 Dave Rowntree- Mainly untouched. Became a successful lawyer. Good for him.

 Damon Albarn- A fucking mess.

 Puffing up your cheeks and putting your hands behind your head, you lean back in your chair. Good god, this man is a wreck. Headlines from decades ago swim in and out of your eyes, loud, obnoxious neon prints of Justine and Damon broken up again? Suede claps back!, or Will the Blur Brothers ever come back to each other? Find out first-hand from Coxon himself!, and worst of all, Albarn relapses again, Damon Albarn from Blur goes head-to-head with Liam and Noel-news flash, the brothers win!

 You think you see something about him and a potential wife and child, and that's when you decide it's time to sleep.

 After all, there's no point in getting caught up in any of their backstories.You were just there to play a solo and get out. Nosing around in their lives was more trouble than what it was worth, anyways.

 Which is exactly what you kept trying to tell yourself as you walked into the modern studio two weeks later, its grey soundproof walls and white floor screaming fancy and rich to you. And fancy and rich didn't come without grit and experience, which you had none of. As if to emphasize your inexperience, you went into the wrong halls twice before you exasperatedly checked your messages with Graham and saw that no, it wasn´t room 311, it was room 113.

 Finally, finally, you came across your designated room. The mahogany door was closed, and you placed a hand on the silver knob. You could faintly hear the sounds of a guitar being played from the inside, and it was curiosity above everything else that compelled you to push it open.

 From behind the clear window that separated the booth from the recording area, you see them. Graham, Damon, and other men you don't recognize are all in the midst of the song, the same song Graham had texted you the PDF of for the violin notes. You sheepishly take a few steps forward and clear your throat to catch the attention of a bald man leaning back against his chair right in front of the glass. He turns around and you give a weak little wave, clutching your case in the other hand. 

 ¨Hey, I´m here for-¨

 ¨-Yeah, yeah, Graham told me all about you. Go on ahead and join in, they just started.¨ He pulls a toothpick out from between his lips and gestures to the door of the divider.

 You feel your heart pounding in your chest as you make your way through the second door, and the second you step inside meekly, Damon and Graham´s eyes are on you.

 Graham continues to play the guitar, only lighting up his eyes and giving you an encouraging nod when you step in, and the other two men on bass and saxophone also give a quick smile in greeting. And Damon…well.

 Damon barely acknowledges you.

 He continues to sing and stare straight ahead at the wall in front of him as if there's an interesting scene being played out on the grey paint.

 You´re unsure of whether to catch his attention and give a proper greeting, but you decide not to as it would interfere with the song. So instead, you quickly grab a nearby chair and stand and set up your rosin and papers.

 Your timing is perfect; the bridge is about to come up. Just to be certain, you look up from your poised position and catch the eyes of most everyone except for Damon´s. They all give you a quick thumbs up or an expectant look for your confirmation of playing.

 And then, it comes. Damon stops singing, and your cue to sweep your bow across the horse hairs of your strings comes.

 Melodious, whole, fulfilling, it was. Graham´s guitar chords harmonized with the tones of your violin, and music that you´ve never dreamed of creating was made by your hands exceptionally. 

 Everyone was in awe of your raw talent, from the way their gazes were rapt onto your bow, moving back and forth,staying still in some highs and whittling away at the lows. You even thought you saw the producer from inside the booth turn his head towards you from the corner of your eye, but you couldn´ be sure.

 Everyone except Damon Albarn.

 The song ended a minute later with the signal of a fading out bass, and then there was silence.

 ¨Right on with that tune.. ´Thought we'd be fucked ova´ if we didn't find someone to take that melody.¨ The bassist with long shaggy hair grinned and you returned one back.

 ¨Yeah, I was kind of hesitant when Graham ´ere told us he found one to take this position on, but I'm pleased.¨ The saxophone player scratched his chin and hummed his agreement. You felt relief.

 Until he spoke.

 ¨Is this your first time playing?¨

 You look incredulously over at him, looking straight on at his face. Sandy hair, lines on his cheeks, slight scruff around his chin, he looked older than his online pictures. 

 ¨Uhh, no?¨ You laugh a little, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice. ¨If I was, I doubt Graham would think I´m good enough to play with you guys.¨

 ¨I don't think Graham is the only one who needs to think that.¨ Everyone shifts uncomfortably, looking nervously from Damon to you, and Graham tugs his collar as if the temperature had gone up.

 But nonetheless, you don't back down.

 ¨Oh yeah? How so?¨

¨You played the G-string too high,¨ He deadpans, looking utterly bored amidst oceanic hues.

 ¨What?¨ You flip your music pages a couple of times until you find the page where you played that part. ¨No I didn´t, I was right on tune-do you even know how to play the violin?¨

 ¨No,¨ he smirks, and with your blood boiling steadily you open your mouth to argue, but thankfully Graham butts in.

 ¨Damon, don´t be a prick, she played fine. Unlike you, who fucked up on the 5th verse.¨

 The man in question lazily stretches his arms above his head, causing his white tee to rise a few inches over his belly button. You can´t help but glance at the skin-it's smooth, cleanly chiseled with part of his v-line showing, a happy trail rising from the juncture.

 ¨Oi, sweetheart, eyes up here.¨

 You snap your gaze back to his smug face, cheeks burning.

 ¨I didn´t-¨

 ¨Sure you didn´t. Just like how I didn't mess up on the 5th verse, and how you didn't ruin the song with your shitty violin, yeah?¨ He simpers, and you almost rise out of your seat to snarl at him before Graham jumps in between you two, scolding a very inappropriately-grinning Damon.

 You get up out of your chair and huff, shoving your belongings back into your bag as everyone else packs up, the men bickering and playfully throwing shit at each other.

 The producer even congratulates you on your successful first day, and everyone cheers and pounds you on your back, your hair falling in your face and gracefully hiding your 120k watt smile.

 Damon shoulders right past you, knocking your case right out of your hands. You grapple with it for a second before it hits the ground, and when it does you whip around and shoot him an icy glare.

 He's not even looking at you, he's already out the door.

 It's quiet for a moment.

 ¨Well, there he goes again being a dickhead. Classic Damon, you got.¨ The saxophone player points to the leaving blond and grins sheepishly at you.

 ¨What's his problem?¨ You ask in disgust, shaking your head as you join the rest of the boys leaving.

¨Uh, well...¨ Graham scratches the back of his head and avoids looking at you. ¨He's always been kind of like that, y´know, so don't take it too personally, but between just us four, his wife´s been on his arse for a bit about um...some...domestic affairs.¨ He finishes lamely, and the other two men guffaw at your raised eyebrow.

 You don't have a chance to press further as to ask what domestic affairs, exactly because a loud clap of thunder shakes you all to your cores as you step outside.

 ¨Aw, come on!¨ You stamp your foot and hold out your hand for confirmation of the raindrops about to drop on you all. ¨I didn't know it was gonna rain today,¨ you grumble.

 Graham squints up at the sky and wipes some droplets off his blurred glasses, covering his head with his jacket hood as he begins walking to the parking garage. ¨I´ll see you lot in about a week, yeah? Just keep practicing, good rehearsal we had today!¨ He waves his hand and dashes off.

 ¨Good job on your first day, Y/N. Fancy the weather on your walk back for us!¨ The sax and bass player bid farewell and also do a sprint to their respective cars, splashing through the puddles and sending muddy water on your pants.

 ¨Urgh!¨ You raise your hands to try and protect your bottoms but to no avail- London's sewage strikes again.

 Sighing in defeat, you walk through the rain towards your car, succumbing to the grimy walk. Unfortunately you didn't think to use the parking garage due to high nerves when you first came in.

 You walk for about 5 minutes, the rain drenching your hair and clothes and chilling you to your bones.

 Could this day get any more annoying?

Oh, but you should´ve known that it could.

 Because right at that moment, a black limo swerves right next to you on the sidewalk, sending a massive wave of gutter water right your way.

 You swear loudly and jump back, barely managing to avoid the remnants of the sewage tsunami crossing your feet.

 Looking up wildly at the offensive vehicle, you make a fist and flip the window off, your lip curled up into a snarl.

 The obsidian glass rolls down.

 ¨Well that's not very nice, is it? Nasty weather we got going on right now, careful it doesn't get on your clothes.¨

 Oh.

 ¨It's you,¨ you monotone, less than pleased to see his salacious grin at your predicament-which was being soaked to your undergarments in brown muddy water, your hair clinging to your face and your violin case lugging down towards the ground, its weight proving mutiny against you today of all days.

 ¨In the flesh,¨ Damon beams, and you scowl at his cheery attitude.

 ¨You almost drowned me, asshole,¨ You turn your nose up in scorn, and he chuckles in his baritone voice.

 ¨Nah, cant´ve love, I can't drive,¨ he clicks his tongue and jerks his thumb to the seat in front of him, where you assume his chauffeur is.

 ¨Oh, so it was under your orders that your poor driver practically waterboarded me?¨ ¨Well, yeah, I mean what else do you expect me to do when I see a pretty lady walking so harmlessly in the rain?¨ Your voice catches in your throat for a second from his words and the way his glacial eyes twinkle for a moment, but then he erupts in dry chuckles at your demeanor and you throttle your hesitancy at speaking.

 ¨Shut up, you're absolutely vile, y´know that?¨ ¨So I´ve been told, but to be honest sweetheart, I´d rather hear that in bed, where I´m used to hearing it. Now are you going to get in or shall I talk about my sexual prowess with you the rest of the afternoon?¨ He opens his door from the inside and mockingly winks at you.

 You feign a gag, but still decide to jump in the spacious limo when a flash of lightning lights up the sky. 

 He scoots back to give you space to sit and adjust your violin case on the seats in front of you, but just as you´re about to close the door, he leans in right next to you and reaches behind you to pull it shut himself.

 You´re caught still as he draws close, you´re extended hand frozen in midair as his arm against your back flexes and stiffens with it pulling the door. You can feel his breath against your neck as he exhales, can feel some of his hair tickling against your ear and cheek. You hold your breath, not daring to move lest you accidentally brush up against his proximity.

 The loud slam of the door causes you to jump, and he laughs a little at that, signaling his driver to go.

 You don't quite face him, your gaze down in your lap as his entire body is facing you, still stuck in its position when he was closing the car door.

 ¨Not nervous, are you?¨ He murmurs in your ear, and you can´t help it when your whole body shivers at feeling the rumble in his gravelly voice.

 ¨N-no, I´m not. Do you have to be so close?¨ You stammer, barely giving him a sideways glance which eggs him on, much to your displeasure.

 ¨Not really. But if you´re not nervous, then it shouldn't be a problem, right?¨ He says quietly and leans around to catch your eye.

 Before you can lose your nerve and jump out of the car, you snap at him. ¨You just don´t quit, do you?¨ 

 He finally relents and the side of his pink lips lift lazily as he stretches his knees out and practically manspreads across the expanse of three seats. ¨Nope. Not that you really were against it though, ´could feel your heart pounding a mile a minute sweetheart. Trust me, I´m used to making girls nervous, I would know.¨

 You sneer at him. ¨Don´t call me sweetheart, and yeah, I was nervous about getting some disease-ridden prick like you getting close to me. God knows how many STD´s you've contracted from bedding some poor groupies.¨

¨Only one way to find out, right love?¨ He leans his head up to the car ceiling and lets his tousled golden hair flop back, his jawline accentuated by the cream-colored seats contrasting with his tan skin.

 You catch yourself staring, and shake your head quickly.

 ¨You must´ve been more hopped up on heroine than I thought if you think I´d ever fuck a self-absorbed, narcissitic bastard like you.¨

 The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, but once they do your eyes widen and you clap a hand over your mouth in horror.

 Damon lifts his head and slowly turns to face you, his mouth set in a thin line.

 ¨A self-absorbed, narcissistic bastard whose limo you're riding in, need I remind you, so I can´t be all that bad. ´Can't say I haven't heard any of that before love, but most girls who say that end up in my bed anyways.¨

 You open your mouth to argue but he cuts you off.

 ¨Although, ´hopped up on heroin´ is a new one. Just exactly how much research have you done about me so far?¨

 Your rebuttal dies in your throat. You were caught.

 Your ears burn and your face flushes as you bite your lip in embarrassment. Maybe you went too far, and on top of that you let it slip that you knew about him beforehand.

 But you refuse to kowtow in humiliation to this idiot, so you think quickly.

 ¨I doubt you´ve got your head that far up your ass to disregard how half the world was tuning into your personal life when Blur was big, Damon.¨

He looks unimpressed with your excuse, but before he can open his mouth to question you further, you hurry up with another save.

 ¨Also, where are we going? You never asked me where my car was.¨

Bingo His eyes brighten and he shouts at the driver, harping on about him being a brain-dead idiot for driving in circles the past 10 minutes.

 What a save.

 *******************

The moment you step into the booth next week, a drumstick is lobbed at you from seemingly nowhere. You yelp and hold your case up, blocking the weapon as it bounces off your makeshift shield. You bring the case down and shoot a glare towards the only man you know capable of acting so childishly at his grown age.

 But he´s already scrolling through his phone, looking for a measure to start from.

 ¨You´re late.¨

 ¨Hardly,¨ you mutter, glancing at the clock on the wall. Two minutes past shouldn´t be an excuse for having a drumstick pick out your eye.

 ¨Good to see you again, Y/N,¨ Graham pipes up softly, sending you an apologetic glance from Damon to you and you stick out your tongue in faux annoyance. 

 The other two members of your group greet you as well, and you all begin practice. Notes begin harmonizing together, voice and sound coinciding to make music you´ve swayed your hips and nodded your head to on blue nights.

 It´s a hot day, humidity clinging to your skin akin to the perspiration hanging off your forehead, and halfway through the song you decide to take off your sweater. You´re wearing a white tank top underneath, nothing too revealing save for the slight dip in the V-neck, but you couldn't care less about modesty at the moment when your fingers were literally slipping in their grasp on your sweat-slicked bow.

 During a quick break in your part of the song, you slip off your sweater and fan yourself out. It feels good, but you feel a pair of eyes staring at you. Following the laser gaze, you turn your head to face Damon, but he´s nose-deep in the lyrics sheet, warbling about a broken love or friendship. 

 Huh, must´ve been imagining it.

 Your solo comes up, and you prepare yourself for tackling the notes to your best ability, keeping up with Graham´s rapid guitar pace. Sweat continues to build on everyone´s vicinity when the rapid movement of arms waving around their own instrument causes more body heat to suffocate you all.

 Miraculously, the song finishes, and you collapse in your seat like the rest of the men, panting and wiping slick off your foreheads. You reach for a bottle of water on the floor and unscrew the lid, grimacing at its lukewarm temperature but drinking it nonetheless.

 For the second time, you have an unnerving feeling of being watched. This time, you whip your head to the side and catch him staring straight at you. 

 Damon´s face is flushed, his hair tousled, his rose colored glasses steamed up from the muggy aura in the room. His denim jacket is hanging off one shoulder, the rest of his torso covered with a sheer wife beater that accentuates his chiseled dad-body.

But he just stares you down, saying nothing. You frown at him a little bit and shift your body away from him, feeling vulnerable to his laser-gaze. His eyes darken, but Graham speaks, cutting him off from whatever he was about to say.

 ¨That was pretty good, you lot. Greg, Taz, hold off on the third beat of the fourth measure. We´ve gotta crescendo slightly-¨

 ¨Y/N, do you have a job?¨

 Damon's voice cuts off Graham, and everyone falters as they look at him and then you in surprise.

 ¨I don´t know what you mean,¨ you respond coolly, knowing that whatever he was about to say wasn't good.

 ¨I mean, do you have a job? Because as far as I know, most people who work don't dress like whores at their job.¨

 His eyes travel from your face down to your slight cleavage, and you sputter in rage as the rest of the boys shift uncomfortably.

 ¨Damon, for god's sake what´re you on about?¨ Graham asks wearily, taking his glasses off and rubbing his shiny neck.

 ¨I could ask you the same thing, actually. Because as far as I know, you've fucked enough women in your lifetime that one would think you could keep it in your pants for five minutes without acting like a twelve-year-old. Oh, but unless that´s too professional for you? I guess you´re not as serious about your work environment as you claim.¨ you laugh, and the sax player, Greg, snorts into his water bottle.

 Damon sneers, ¨How could I forget, you actually have done your research about my life and sexual endeavors, what a cute little fangirl you are. If you wanted an autograph, you could've just asked, sweetheart.¨

 ¨Go fuck yourself,¨ you snap. ¨You´re all wearing wife-beaters anyways, what's the difference?¨

 Damon starts again but Graham claps his hands loudly, startling you all.

 ¨Enough, both of you! What's gotten into you? Need I remind you that our song is due in less than two weeks? We need to finish this shit and get on with it. Stop acting like children.¨

 You mumble under your breath and Damon shoots a dark look to his childhood friend, but the brunette doesn't back down, and continues to give advice on how to improve their song. You don´t look at Damon the rest of the session out of pure spite, but that doesn't stop him from shamelessly staring straight at you, right until it's time to leave.

 The second Graham checks his watch and exclaims that it's a quarter past twelve already, you´re already bolting out of your seat and shoving your violin in its case, eager to get out of the disgustingly hot room.

 Fortunately, this time you had the right idea to park in the garage like everyone else to avoid any other unwanted encounters, but unfortunately while it was nice to not be waterboarded on your walk, it wasn´t enough to stop said unwanted encounters from occurring.

 Take right now, for instance.

 As you stumble to your car in the blistering weather, your energy depletes faster and faster, causing you to be light headed. Practice was already tough enough in the sweltering heat, but after Damon's little scene you don't have any energy to even walk.

 You crash blindly into your car, the metal of the doors burning your skin as you make contact with the handle. You hiss and jerk back, swaying slightly as your head fogs up. You can barely see, you feel like your clothes weigh a ton on you, so you slide down the vehicle and sit up against the tires, throwing your head back against the car and groaning. The idea of unlocking your doors and sitting in the seat where no doubt several temperatures higher will be settling on the dashboard and in the front row is nauseating.

 Weather-2

You-0

 You don't know the building well enough to know where a vending machine is, and even if you shot Graham a text, you don't have enough energy to wander around and scout for it.

 And lo and behold, from a distance, a figure approaches. You squint as it draws nearer, and let out a laugh as the features come into familiarity.

 The heat must be getting to you worse than you thought, because you´re certain you´re hallucinating Damon Albarn of all fucking people swaggering towards you, one hand holding his denim jacket over his shoulder, and a shit-eating grin on his face as he comes to stand in front of you.

 All you can do is pant like a dog, looking up at him with unimpressed eyes.

 ¨Oi, G-String. ´Brought you some water.¨ he holds out a hand, and you choose to ignore the offensive nickname, insead noticing the large bottle in it, cold condensation covering its expanse.

 Your eyes widen and you lick your lips unconsciously, holding your hands out for it.

 Damon watches your tongue poke out and loses focus before snapping back to reality and moving his arm above your head. You pout and try to reach for it again, but he laughs and holds it even higher.

 You glare and turn your head away from him, suddenly remembering how he embarrassed you earlier. 

 ¨Go away. I don't want it anymore. You´re an asshole.¨ you mumble, perspiration hanging off your lip as you lick the salty beads away once again.

 Damon´s eyes never leave your mouth as he listens to you and watches the pink appendage make its appearance again, and his mouth hangs open slightly unbeknownst to you for a second. You cross your arms and glare at the empty parking lot, silently willing him to go away.

 He snaps back into focus yet again and shakes his head at you. ¨Oh come on love, I´m just teasing. You look like you´re about to die anyways, might as well make this your last meal-er, drink I mean.¨

 ¨I´m not taking anything from a complete dickhead who enjoys harassing women about their clothes. You know, for such a womanizer, you act pretty clueless about how comments like that would make a girl feel. No one else but you had an issue with it, or rather, had the audacity to point it out.¨ You cough at the last word, your dry throat and heavy head making it harder to talk.

 He sighs and crouches down, balancing on the balls of his feet. He pops open the cap and gently turns your chin towards his face, much to your surprise. You´re genuinely too weak to protest, but when you look at his concerned face, eyebrows scrunched up and accentuating the lines on his forehead, you don't think you'd want to turn away even if you could.

 He coaxes your agap mouth even more open by dragging a rough thumb down over your lips, and you obediently open your mouth, mesmerized by his eyes. His movements are soft and slow, as if you were a fidgety rabbit about to run off at the slightest touch. He scoots closer, right over in front of you as you simply gaze up at him, allowing him to pour cool water down your throat, quenching your bone-dry palate.

 For a couple of seconds, water floods your mouth but all you can do is stare up at him. The light rays are reflecting off his back, casting a yellow glow around his silhouette and he almost looks like an angel. His hair is mussed as if he'd spent the day running his hands through the golden locks, and the scruff on his face peeks through soft-looking skin.

 ¨Swallow, or I'll really waterboard you this time,¨ he says lowly, chuckling a bit as he catches you staring so adamantly right in his face. You jerk back to consciousness and swallow hastily, accidentally choking on the gulp in your rush.

 He laughs even more and lets go of your chin much to your disappointment as he adjusts himself to sit next to you, not seeming to mind the scorching car metal. The absence of his hand on your face leaves a cold, empty feeling in your heart despite the heated blush on your cheeks

 ¨You´ll burn yourself,¨ you mumble, lolling your head over to look at him.

 But he looks straight ahead and shrugs casually. ¨Not any more than you.¨ You both sit in silence for a few minutes, occasionally sipping from the bottle he passes towards you and watching cars go by.

 ¨You didn't answer my question. Why do you harp on me in the studio? You act like a normal human being here.¨

 Damon looks thoughtfully at a white sedan passing by, then speaks.

 ¨As I´m sure Graham has blabbed to you already, I´ve been having some...trouble with the missus, let's say.¨

 You say nothing and raise a questioning eyebrow.

 ¨For the shitty attitude,¨ he mutters and swipes the bottle from your hand, taking a large swig himself.

 ¨And, like you said earlier, I am an asshole. Of course I´ll enjoy harassing pretty women over their revealing clothes,¨ he smirks and gives you a once over.

 There it was again, pretty woman.

 You scowl and get up to leave, but what he says stops you in your tracks.

 ¨Taz was lookin´ at you,¨ he says quietly, suddenly very interested in the now-empty bottle. ¨´Didn't like it, but I couldn't say anything to him. Graham likes him too much.¨

 Huh. Maybe the pair of eyes you felt back in the room didn't only belong to Damon.

 He cracks a small smile and looks up at you, his face adorably innocent and wide as he sheepishly admits, ¨I´m used to butting heads with blokes like him for women.¨

 You jerk back up to your feet, brushing off any insinuation he was giving and pat his knee awkwardly, ignoring the fire now igniting once again in your chest.

 ¨Thanks for the water, I needed it. You might wanna move if you don't want to get run over by my car.¨ You reach down and pick up your case as Damon clambers to his feet.

 He looks amused as you fumble for your keys, nervously turning the lock and sitting in the hot car, obviously eager to get away from his intimidating gaze.

 ¨I´ll see you next week, yeah?¨ You laugh breathlessly and roll your window down to call out to him.

 He says nothing, but merely cocks his head at you, his eyes now obscured by the rose-colored glasses he puts over his eyes. He waves a little and watches as you drive away a little too fast.

 But as it turns out, you don't see him next week.

 ******

It was just your luck that one of the cutest guys from your work asked you out on the very same week you had practice with the boys. You contemplated moving the date to another time, but...you deserved to have some fun time off too, right? It's not like it would make too much of a difference in your skill, anyways, you´ve gotten all the strings down and such.

 So, you decide to go on this date. It goes well, the dude was cute, dorky, lacked a little pizzazz but nothing a bottle of fancy red wine and a night of movies couldn´t coax out of him. It honestly wasn't anything too big, you exchanged numbers and made plans to meet up again soon. After parting ways, you threw yourself back into the regular regime of practicing your violin and meticulously listening to the booth recording every night, just so you could perfect your part to a T.

 The day came where you had to go back to practice, and you were ready, veins pumping with determination to make these last few sessions the best you´ve played yet. You texted Graham that you´d be there soon, and he gave you a thumbs up in return. When you finally arrived in front of the room, you were 10 minutes late. The boys were already playing, by the sound of the percussion booming outside the door. You grimace and take a deep breath, turning the handle in and hurrying inside the booth.

 No one really spared a glance at you, so you assumed you were okay in terms of punctuality. You opened your case and started strumming your strings, counting the measures and beats until it was your turn. Damon´s voice rang out, melodious and airy as ever, dropping octaves and floating on soprano tones. Your bow moved across his words, accenting his tones and adding emphasis to his sorrowful song. And then, after a couple of minutes, it was done.

 ¨Alright you lot, pretty good for today. ´Specially you, Y/N, you caught up pretty quick, I expected you to slack behind but I'm actually impressed.¨ Graham flashed you a nervous grin and you beamed back at him in return.

 ¨Yeah, speaking of, why were you gone last week? I expected someone who makes below the poverty line would actually want to work for their money,¨ Damon chuckles a little meanly.

 You feel your smile drop a smidge.

 ¨Well actually Damon, not that it's any of your business, but I went on a date.¨ You smirk at him, enjoying the way his mouth opens slightly and moves silently.

 But he regroups quickly and glares at you. ¨None of my business? The deadline is only a few days away, and you´re whoring yourself out and going on dates? I guess you´re not as professional as Graham thought.¨

 Everyone shifts uncomfortably, and blood rushes to your face, anger clouding your mind. Why was he being like this? He was fine the last time you saw him, you actually thought maybe he was going to change the way he addressed you.

  Graham speaks up. ¨Damon. You´re overreacting man, I gave her the okay, and she played fine today. No harm done, seriously, there's no need for that kind of language towards her.¨

 ¨Actually, there absolutely is a need. If I knew you were going to invite a prostitute as our sub-in then I would´ve never agreed to have her here. Didn´t know you were so low on money Y/N, I would´ve spared you a couple pounds.¨ He sneers.

 ¨Damon!¨

 You laugh bitterly and rise to your feet. ¨Oh that's rich, coming from the man who fucked half the continent just because he couldn't get over one girl. No wonder every real woman in your life including your wife wants to leave, nothing is ever good enough for you. Except heroin maybe.¨

 The words leave your mouth before you can take them back, and there's a pin drop silence as if a bomb had been dropped. In a way, it kind of did.

 Damo glares at you. Everyone is holding your breath, including you.

 ¨Get out.¨

 ¨Hey,-¨ Taz tries to gently interject but Damon throws the mic at him. 

 ¨I said get the fuck out. You´re not practicing with us anymore, you can pack your shit and leave.¨

 Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, and you choke out a small ¨Fine.¨

 You hear Graham berating him behind you as you fly through the door, telling him that they need you, it's too late to change people, but the words jumble in your ears as the door slams shut. You don't hear what Damon says, if he even says anything, and you aren't interested in his comebacks right now.

 It's only when you leave the car, tears streaming down your face in rage and embarrassment that you groan to yourself, your hands reaching an empty seat with one foot out the door-

You forgot your violin case.

 ************

 It's nighttime.

 The crickets chirp as you creep silently through the parking garage, the soft thud of your shoes echoing a lot louder than you wanted in the empty lot. The studio itself wasn't closed, but you were sure Damon must have informed the manager there not to let an ex-musician like you back in there.

 Wearing a black hoodie and black pants was a smart move- you blended in with the shadows well. The doors weren't locked, and you hiss out a small ¨yesss¨ as you slip inside the mostly dark building. Needless to say, you were proud of yourself for navigating through the windings pitch-black hallways to your old booth.

 Testing the handle lightly, you sigh out in relief when that too gives way. Unfortunately though, the second the door shuts behind you, you immediately stumble forward and fall. 

 The room is dark, darker than the other hallways so you can barely see your hands. The only source of light you´re granted is the dim red bulb on top of the booth door. And speaking of, that's exactly where you need to go...which proves to be harder when you keep bumping into random shit and cursing when you feel potential bruises forming on your shins.

 Miraculously you stagger through the next door towards where you last sat, and blindly feel around the floor and chairs for your violin case. You feel nothing there, but panic starts settling in your heart when you can't find it.

 ¨Looking for something?¨

 You scream and lurch backwards, knocking your head into some kind of stand. Groaning, you rub your head and hold a hand on your racing heart as you squint into the dim red room, placing the voice to the person.

 ¨D-Damon?¨ 

 ¨In the flesh sweetheart. ´Knew you'd come back for this, s´just my luck I came back to get it tonight so I could give it to you personally in case you wanted to be stubborn. But this is even better than I could´ve hoped.¨

 You make out his silhouette in the obsidian abyss in front of you. He's sitting with knees spread on a chair, a few feet in front of you as he leans his head back on the wall. Your precious violin case is being held hostage in his arms, and it's the absolute love you have for the brittle instrument that propels you to your feet and moves you to get the hell out instead of interrogating him.

 ¨What, so you were just here the whole time listening to me falling around like an idiot?” You laugh incredulously, and you see the area of his shoulders move up and down.

 ¨Was pretty funny to watch, honestly. You sound cute when you curse.¨ He stands up to his fullest height now, the red light bouncing off his back, giving him a sort of demonic halo.

 You knew it was actually time to leave when you felt those stupid butterflies in your stomach rise up again.

¨Right, well, I´ll be on my way then. Good luck with your song and whatever, I´ll just take the case...¨ You trail off as your extended hand is left in midair, no violin case reaching it.

 He cocks his head at you. ¨Why are you in such a rush to leave?¨

 You can´t help the scoff that escapes you. 

 ¨Are you serious? You were such an absolute dickhead to me this afternoon, you said all sorts of horrible things to me, and you even fired me for Christ's sake! I want nothing to do with you, so could you please give me my case back so I can go?¨

 He's silent for a moment before answering. ¨Are you done yet?¨

 It isn´t just the light that's making you see red now.

 ¨Fuck you, honestly.¨ You whirl around and stomp towards where you guess the  door is, ignoring the clatter behind you and bingo you locate the handle, but as soon as you turn it-

 A hand reaches from behind you and pulls the ajar door shut.

 ¨Don´t go. I´m sorry.¨

 You´re absolutely still as you feel him towering over you, his arm dangerously close to your midriff as his hand remains on the knob.

 His voice is low, and you can feel him breathe against your neck, mere inches away. You can´t help the involuntary shiver that passes through you, and he feels it too, inhaling deeply when he gets close to your ear.

 ¨You smell so good.¨

 ¨Leave me alone, Damon,¨ you whisper, your voice catching in your throat from the overwhelming onslaught of emotions passing through you.

 He breaths in and slowly lets his hand rest on your side.

 ¨I can't do that. You know why. You have to have known by now.¨

 You tremble in his touch, yet allow his hands to wander down to your hip, the other coming around in a sort of hug to pull you closer to him.

 ¨We can´t.¨

 ¨Sure we can.¨

 You can feel his erection bumping against your ass.

 ¨You´re not worth this.¨

 ¨I´ll make myself worth it.¨

 And as soon as he latches onto the back of your neck, you´re like putty in his hands, a moaning mess as he sucks galaxy-colored hickies on your skin. You can feel yourself grow wetter as he shoves his hands up your shirt and teasingly pulls down the bridge of your bra, letting the weight of your tits fill up his hands appreciatively. He starts rolling your hardened buds in between his skilled calloused fingers, and you whine and throw your head back when you feel him rut against your ass, panting raggedly in your ear.

 You rub your thighs together, desperate for some form of friction as he squeezes your tits, and then letting one hand ghost across the expanse of your stomach, down to brush against the rim of your panties. Damon chuckles meanly in your ear when you buck against the stilled hand over your mound.

 ¨You want this?¨ He lightly nips your ear. He smells like old spice and sandalwood.

 You nod desperately, frustrated with him not giving you his thick fingers already.

 But it's not enough for him. ¨No no, pretty girl, use your words now. I´ve barely touched you yet and you´re already moaning like a wanton little slut for me? And here I was thinking you weren't that easy.¨

 You stop jerking your hips and blood rushes to your face at his insulting words. You try to move out of his grip, huffing and regretting the whole thing but he outright laughs now and spins you around, tugging you forward until your chest is slotted against his. You pout at him and look away, but he's quick to grasp your chin and pull you in for a rough yet sensual kiss.

Pushing you backwards against the wall, he deepens the lip-lock, tracing his tongue over your lips, nipping at the soft flesh and darkening his eyes when you whimper and look up at him.

 He knows what he´s fucking doing when he again drops his hand under your pants and over your panties, his other palm wound up firmly through your hair. He pulls your head back and lets you breathe for a second from his kiss of death before he speaks again.

 ¨I didn't hear an answer, slut. Do you want this?¨ He leans forward until his nose brushes against your neck, flicking his tongue out to taste your saccharine flesh.

 You tremble against his firm body when he pushes his pelvis against you, letting you feel how hard he is for you.

 It doesn't matter anymore. Maybe he was right, maybe you were just an easy slut putting up a facade for him, but when his clothes erection grinds up against your pussy you can't care less.

 ¨Y-yes, yes, ´want you, please,¨ you pant, frantically gripping the back of his cropped hair as his head descends to mark your neck again.

 ¨What a good girl,¨ he whispers, finally allowing his digits to oh-so-slowly trace over your mound, pressing down harder when you jerk against him. He finds your wet clit and flicks it a few times, snickering when you gasp and moan. Your body writhes in place but he holds you literally between a rock-or, wall- and a hard place, preventing you from scampering off.

 He drums his fingers against your folds, paying no attention to the way you grip his head tighter against you, silently begging him to go further.

 But he relents eventually and retires from just pushing and prodding your folds, allowing his slicked fingers to slowly dive into your drooling hole. You whimper and bite back a string of curses when you feel him fill you completely, scraping against your walls for that one special spot.

 His mouth moves off your neck and he rises to face you, a stupid smug grin on his wet lips, his eyelids lowered and trained on you. You flush at his lustful expression and gently push his head away, not wanting to accept his victory yet.

 ¨My fingers are literally fucking you right now, and you still won´t let me look at you? What, too embarrassed you couldn't continue being a stone-cold bitch for long?¨

 You open your mouth to snap back but right at that moment he curls his fingers and grazes your G-spot, simultaneously grounding his wet palm against your clit.

 With a loud gasp and the sluttiest moan you´ve ever made, you cum hard, your mouth open in a silent scream and your tongue hanging out like a bitch in heat as you do so. You fall forward against him.

 You don't even need to look up to know that he has a shit-eating grin on his face.

 ¨What was that sweetheart? Sorry, ´couldn't hear you over those slutty moans. I think even the pornstars I´ve been with would give you a standing ovation if they heard what you just sounded like.¨

 Your words are slurred as you curse nonsense at him, yet you´re still gripping his forearms to keep a hold on yourself. Your ears are ringing and you see spots as you come down from your climax, and surprisingly enough, Damon holds you close and doesn't let you slip down to the ground as you expected to when your knees start to give out.

 Instead, he lifts you up quite easily and carries you over to a table in the corner of the room. You don´t know how he even navigates his way through the dimly lit room, but you suppose after almost half a lifetime in studios he knows his way around.

 You offer no resistance as he sets you down gently and begins to lift your shirt off of your body. You manage to lift your arms weakly up in the air for easier access to stripping, but when he starts to kneel down to take your pants off you stop his hands at your knees and look at him with scrunched eyebrows.

 He stops and looks up at you. His eyes aren't so darkened anymore, they´re wide and imploring, probably noticing your hesitation.

 ¨Damon, I...¨ You trail off as he maintains eye contact with you and slowly lowers his pursed lips to your calf, lightly pecking his way up to your knees and ensuring that you´re watching his every move.

 Your breathing increases again as his pink appendage darts out, his saliva cooling on your exposed thighs. He sucks on the plush skin and turns his head upwards to face you.

 You want to run your hands through his hair.

 ¨You have a wife,¨ You breathe.

 ¨Not for tonight I don´t.¨

 Your voice gets caught in your throat at that. He positions his hands at the side of your knees, fingers curling around the hem of your pants in a second attempt.

 ¨Let me make you feel good, love.¨

His answer is in the form of your hand reaching for his collar and pulling him up into a standing position until he towers over your seated form, once again breath stolen in a heated kiss.

 Damon fumbles with his zipper as you shove your pants off, fully ready for him now, your dampened panties solid evidence of your need for him.

 He pulls his cock out and it bounces out, slapping up against his stomach.

 You do a double take. The tabloids were right. He was absolutely huge.

 It was disgusting almost, it was insulting really. How the fuck could he be that big? You lose count of how many inches he is when you start to get light headed, realizing with a jolt that he plans to put that monster inside you.

 And fuck, why did it have to be so pretty too? Normally you wouldn´t use the word pretty to describe a dick, but fuck, that´s the only appropriate word that came to mind as you admired the white flesh as it mixed in with a dull pink flush turning into an angry shade of red as your eyes progressed up to his tip...which was soaked with precum, mind you.

 He was neatly shaven everywhere, including his plush balls. No wonder he got to fuck half the continent.

 Damon notices your gawking and smiles lazily, taking a fist around his prick and stroking lethargically up and down.

 ¨You gonna just stare at it all day or are you going to spread those cute legs for me?¨

 Spoken like a true middle aged fuck-boyman.

 You look up at him beseechingly, thoroughly intimidated by his length. He merely scoffs, winking at you when he wrenches your tightly closed knees apart.

 It's almost like he falls into a trance when he presses his now-naked torso against your chest, when he slots himself between your legs and drags his tip through your sloppy folds and up onto your clit. His mouth falls open slightly and he moans when your juices coat his dick, making it slippery and easy to push the first few inches ever so slightly into your spasming cavern.

 He can't help but want more, need more as he practically smothers his weight onto you, forcing you to lie back on the table and letting your legs dangle off the edge. He hunches over you and thrusts minutely into your pulsing folds, groaning when you whine and lace your fingers around his neck and tangle your legs around his back, dragging him impossibly close into you.

 For a moment it´s just the sound of you two panting and moaning like inexperienced teenagers, and a zing of pride zips up your spine at the realization that Damon Albarn, one of the world's most renowned playboy is whining and humping against your pussy, reduced to nothing at your hands.

 He takes your hands from around his neck and grips your wrists, forcing them above your head on the table. He leans down and kisses you, hard. You give him back the same energy when your hips move up and down along his length, pushing your inviting hole towards his eager and jumping dick.

 ¨Pretty little girl,¨ he murmurs against your lips, and you nip his bottom lip playfully in retaliation. He slowly starts to sink himself into you, and you practically purr at the feeling of his veiny member dragging against your sensitive walls until he stops. 

 You look at him questioningly, and blanch when you see the mischievous glint in his cobalt eyes.

 ¨I want you to count for me.¨

¨Count…?¨ You shake your head in confusion and he pulls out, making you groan in annoyance.

 ¨I want you to count every inch I put inside you. Unless your slutty mouth can't even do that? I'd be surprised if you couldn´t, you usually have so much shit to say.¨ His voice is low yet teasing, and a shiver passes through you when the rumble of his chest vibrates against your nipples.

 ¨F-fine, I´ll count.¨

 He hums in approval and regroups, guiding his length into your awaiting pussy once again.

 It´s almsot torture how slow he goes, and your toes curl at how vivid the sensation is at this pace.

 You almost forget to do what he asks until he ducks his head down and teeths your bud.

 ¨Ah, fuck! One!¨ You yelp, writhing to get away from his lecherous gaze and hold on your poor tit.

 He tuts and licks the swollen area until the pain subsides a bit, and then he continues to push.

 ¨T-two,¨ you moan and let your head fall back. It's unfair how tightly he´s holding your reins-you want him to plow you down, not take his sweet time in this punishment.

 ¨Damon, can´t you go any faster? Please, I want y-¨

¨-I didn't take you for a masochist, Y/N, but I´m happy to play around with these cute tits if you want to bitch more.¨

Your scowl is cut off when he suddenly shoves two more inches into you, and you mewl loudly at being filled so much.

 ¨Three! Four! Fuck, oh god, please,¨ you babble nonsense as he curses above you, his form shaking in an effort not to push all the way in.

 ¨Doing so good sweetheart, you´re almost halfway,¨ he smirks and you gape at him in disbelief.

 Halfway?

 Five, six, seven, eight, and nine go painfully slow, and by the time he´s fully sheathed inside you, plush balls pressed against your ass, you´re an incoherent, drooling mess.

 Your hair is in your face, your cheeks are flushed, and your body bounces up and down as he begins to rock inside you, finally giving you what you want.

 His name is chanted like an obscene prayer from your mouth as he grunts and shakes the table. Your legs are wobbly and unable to do anything except press him tighter against you to the point where he can barely move back. The skin of his stomach slaps against yours, his balls slap against the crevice of your ass, and your pussy practically sloshes with every stroke in and out.

 He fists your hair with one hand and pulls your neck up to meet his searching lips, his other hand holds your wrists fast against the table. You want to touch him, you want to explore your body as he has conquered yours but he doesn't let you feel anything else apart from the rapid thrusts inside your battered body.

 Damon switches positions and lifts the back of your knees up and pushes them forwards until they meet your chest. He lets his body weight rest on the back of your thighs as he pulls out and pushes back impossibly close inside you, closer than he did in missionary. 

 You sob with need as he plunges into you and reaches a higher spot than before, his tip grazing your cervix. He pounds into you, and you thrust your hips up to fuck back into him, calling out his name as if he were your god.

 It´s a good thing the rooms are soundproof.

 You feel your second climax comes when he paves way through your tight walls and batters your uterus. It doesn´t hurt so much as feel intense, and your choked moans become panting gasps when he brings a hand down to swirl his thumb over your aching clit.

 ¨You´re not going to meet with that prick from your work again, yeah? Say it. Say it if you want me to let you cum.¨ He could have been speaking an alien language for all you knew. Your poor addled brain didn't pick up anything except for the word ¨cum¨, and you were a goner.

 ¨Yes, yes, anything you say, anything you want, just please let me-¨

And oh he does.

 It comes over you like a tidal wave, your mind going blank, your eyes seeing white as your legs shake from your earth-shattering orgasm. You feel like you´re going down a rollercoaster, and you never want to stop dropping.

 Distantly, you hear him groan and say your name. You can feel pulsing in your filled walls, with what you assume is his ropes of cum. It feels like when you came, it practically squeezed all his cum out with your clenching.

 He lets out a shaky breath and falls forward, his nose inches from yours, his breath puffing in your face.

 Your eyes are glazed over, but you´ve never seen anything more clearly before.

 Maybe Damon Albarn really was worth it.

#blur #damon x reader #damon albarn #damon albarn smut #britpop #90s damon #90s #smut #fluff #britpop smut #damon fluff #Damon Albarn #damon albarn x reader #Damon albarn smut #Damon albarn fanfic #Damon albarn fanfiction #blur fanfic #blur fanfiction

[os-hyoideum]

Fake - Hawks/Takami Keigo x fem!Reader

Summary: Keigo wants to be there for his struggling love.

Word count: 3232

Content/Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst(ish), depressed feelings, mention of suicidal thoughts, self-indulgent, third-person perspective

a/n: I started writing it in March 🤡 but I felt like I couldn't abandon it, so here it is, finally! ngl kinda exposing myself here oop- idk if it's a comfort fic, but I hope you enjoy :)

During the late hours of the evening, the city below looked particularly beautiful. Colorful neon lights, emanating from dozens of advertisements and signs, illuminated the people who, without care, carried on with their evening tasks, be it a trip to a bar or the travel home from work.

Hawks stood on the roof of the building, looking down and just taking in the scenery. It was not a particularly special day, but the rain that poured earlier has left the ground wet and glistening. The lights, bouncing off the pavement and people, created a picture truly from under a hand of a masterful abstractionist. The pinks, the blues, the yellows, all the colors created the effect of a spilled paint from his point of view.

While admiring the city, Hawks’ phone vibrated in his pocket. Taking his eyes away, he took out the device and, when the screen lit up, was met with the face of his love.

It was his favorite picture in the whole world and he knew, deep down, that any professional photographer couldn’t capture anything better. Truthfully, it wasn’t really a masterpiece, just a simple selfie, but the memory connected to the photograph made it exceptional. He remembered the quiet moment (so little of them in his life) when he could take his partner away and just enjoy an ordinary day with her. A walk, a picnic, anything that made him forget about his everyday life. The smile he saw in the picture truly made him feel like the surroundings brightened a bit.

The message on his phone was simple, a request for him to come back to the office, probably to take care of the stack of papers that adorned his desk.

He put the device back into his pocket, took a last look at the city down below, and, after putting his goggles on, spread his scarlet wings to take off.

If he were being honest, he would say that, given the option, he would stay in the air, in the sky, far above the ground, forever. The wind, howling loudly in his ears, silenced the worries of his everyday life. The air flowing around his body, through every feather of his wings gave him a sense of freedom. In the sky, he was able to see the horizon and just let himself be carried.

There was just one thing missing among the clouds.

On his way back to real life, where he would need to take care of mundane work-related tasks, he took a little detour.

Maneuvering expertly over and around the buildings, he found himself in front of an ordinary apartment complex. The grey modern building had a few floors and, quickly locating the right window, Hawks flew over to where his partner’s apartment was. Some people looked at him, from the street or through their own windows, but they were used to his random visits and paid him no mind, for which he was grateful.

He stopped in place seeing the inside of his lover’s bedroom and peeked inside, as the blinds were open. Some crumpled clothes lying on the bed, along with a few books. Through the open door, he could see the light coming from the TV.

Normally, he would just knock on the glass for her to open the window, but suddenly he got a hunch that something was not right. Maybe it was the fact that her texts became drier as the day went by (just like the last few days) until they halted completely, or maybe the open blinds, usually closed soon after it got dark. Whatever the source of his uneasiness was, it made him fly down and go inside the building through the door. He climbed a few flights of stairs to get to the floor she lived on. The only sounds, keeping him company during his walk through the corridor, were faint voices from behind some of the doors and his own footsteps.

He reached his goal. The alertness in his mind only became stronger as he knocked and waited patiently for the door to open.

A few dreadful seconds later he heard the sound of the turning mechanism inside of the lock. Only for a split second was he able to see the cold numbness on the face of his love before she noticed who had visited her. Her expression changed immediately and she smiled, oh so brightly.

Moving and pulling the muscles in her face, she was always able to make Keigo’s days better. And she could do it in an instant too, and so well that others never noticed the difference between the fake and the real. But he had sharp eyes, trained from a young age to catch any irregularities around him. He noticed, every time, how she faked and he hated it, especially knowing that when he did the same, she always pushed just enough for him to give in and let her in, more and more every time. He would push a bit too, at least to let her know that, if she wanted to, she could tell him anything.

“Keigo!” she exclaimed, voice high in pitch to sound happier, “What are you doing here, baby?”

“I was on my way to the office and thought I could drop by for a moment… Can I get in?” He asked pointing to the inside of the apartment.

“Oh! Of course.” She opened the door wider. “I got back from work not long ago, so… I guess, it’s not that clean.” She added with a small laugh.

Keigo knew it was a lie. He knew when his partner worked; she finished three hours ago.

He entered her space and when he kneeled down to take off his boots, he caught the glimpse of her cheerful expression falling. Still in her work clothes, she looked like she would get crushed any second. He knew her mind could get heavy at times.

“Come here.” He outstretched his hand towards her and lightly pulled her into himself.

At first, she was slightly rigid in his arms, but relaxed a bit, feeling Keigo’s soft strokes along her back. She hid her face into the high collar of his jacket and he noticed how tightly she gripped the material with her fists.

“You should get changed… wear something comfortable.” He whispered to not disturb her too much.

“I’m so tired.” She mumbled, her face still hidden. He just held her for a little while longer, allowing her to let go of him first. When she finally straightened her back and looked at him, this time without a fake smile, he felt like his heart broke, for her. He lifted his hand and gently stroked her cheek.

Her face was virtually emotionless, but he noticed the tensed jaw. The eyes, that hypnotized him every time he gazed into them, were looking more into space than actually at him. Her spaced-out expression made it seem like she was sculpted in marble.

Keigo squeezed her arms lightly to ground her a bit into reality.

“Do you want me to help you?” He asked softly, giving her a way to back out, if she truly wanted to.

“I don’t need…” She looked down with hesitation. Being vulnerable was never easy, even with some of the closest people. Admitting the need or want for other’s presence was quite a feat. She sighed. “Yes.”

“Do you want to take a shower too? Or just change?” She saw not even a slight sliver of judgment in his eyes.

“I’ll take a shower.” She said quietly and took her arms away from Keigo’s. She turned around to go to the bathroom but stopped when he made a move behind her. “Alone, but… stay… please.”

He just nodded with understanding and watched her drag her feet to the other room. At first, nothing came out of there, but a few minutes later he could hear the water from the shower. Going into his partner’s bedroom, he looked briefly at the messy clothing laying on the bed, pushed them aside, and took the clothes he knew she used as pajamas and always put under the duvet.

After the water stopped running, he waited ten minutes before knocking on the door. After getting quiet permission to enter, he went in and saw her sitting on the toilet, wrapped in a towel, with her unseeing gaze focused on some point before her.

“Come on.” Keigo softly broke the silence in the bathroom and reached out to her with one, which she took. He pulled gently and, without saying anything more, gave her the clothes he was holding.

With no request for him to get out, he just stood in the doorway while she put on her sweatpants and T-shirt. It was strange for him to see her vulnerable because she always closed herself off in those moments. He knew it was important that she just let him be there.

“Do you feel… better?” He asked when she stood in front of the mirror slightly squinting at herself.

“Hmm…” she hummed, “Perhaps. Not any lighter, though.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He felt like he was going through a field full of land mines. His training made him an expert at obtaining information, but he did not want to use his, masterfully crafted by the Commission, manipulation skills on her. He hoped that he was enough to bring her any semblance of comfort.

She shrugged and, after pushing him slightly out of the door, moved out of the bedroom and sat down on the couch, empty staring at the TV playing some meaningless show. Keigo took a place next to her, his wings hanging behind the backrest.

For a second, he cursed his lack of experience with human emotions. Of course, he was trained to observe and he knew when something was not right, but since he was never allowed to get close to anyone, his skills turned to nothing in the face of his love slowly getting pulled into the darkness of her own mind, all while maintaining the smile he adored so much.

After a minute of silence between them, the girl took a pilot and turned the TV off. She looked at him, the quietness becoming almost unbearable, but quickly, she broke it with a question:

“Do you really want me to… talk?”

And he just nodded.

Unable to look into his worried, gold eyes, she lowered her gaze. Leaning slightly on her elbows, she stared at her hands, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Well… I haven’t been feeling… um, really good, lately. Mentally, I mean.”

“Yeah… I’ve noticed. Should’ve said something sooner.”

She turned to him and put one hand on his knee, which he gently covered with his own and started to stroke with his thumb.

“No.” She opposed, “I’m actually grateful that you took more of a, hmm, silent-observer approach. I had space… but still knew you were there, somewhere, for me.”

“Good thing then that I’m not completely useless here.” He tried to joke with a small smile that fell quickly.

“No, but I am.” Before he could protest she took his hand, the one he’s been stroking her with, into both of hers. “Kei, Keigo… I can tell you what’s going on up here-” she pointed at her head “-but it’s just, so hard. And you have so much of your own shit going on… I don’t want to worry and burden you with my... stupid mind.”

He sighed, brought his free hand to the back of her head, and put his forehead against hers.

“You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, “I think I do…”

She closed her eyes, letting her sense of touch be the center of her attention. She focused on the weight his head put against her own, the way his messy hair brushed her face and his slow warm breath felt against her lips. It grounded her mind, silencing (if even for just a moment) the annoying white noise constantly present in there.

“I don’t want to look at you,” she started, “when I’m talking. It’s just… I don’t want to be seen, only heard.”

Keigo shifted his head and gave her a soft kiss on the forehead.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

She turned away from him, putting her legs on the couch to sit cross-legged. It took a few moments before she started talking. Organizing the thoughts and feelings plaguing her was not easy.

“I… I just feel so bad. And I don’t even have a good reason for these stupid feelings,” she said, sounding slightly annoyed, “Why the fuck do I feel like this? I have a home, I have friends, I have… you. I have everything I could hope for and yet… I feel so bad, so… so numb. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Keigo looked at her hunched back and saw that she put her face into her hands. He wished he could just take all her troubles away, be the hero that he was supposed to be, but of course, he couldn’t, and that - he hated.

“I’m so fucking tired. I have no energy for almost anything. Yesterday, before bed, I sat in front of my computer for hours. Doing absolutely nothing… Why am I even telling you this? It’s so stupid. You do so much for everyone and I’m just dumping my shit on you… saying how tired I am, while you’re so much more tired than me.” She straightened her back with a dry chuckle.

He leaned slightly towards her and put his arm on her shoulder. She turned her head to the side and looked at him from the corner of the eye.

“Don’t invalidate yourself. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. Call it my… bird senses-” he smiled a little “-but I felt like you might need someone. And nothing you do or say is stupid. Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

“You… remember?” She asked with raised eyebrows, after turning her body sideways to him.

“Of course. I remember a lot of things about you,” he said with such tenderness in his eyes that, while looking into them, she felt like she could suffocate. But it was good, it wasn’t nothing. “The quote you like, how you make your coffee, what is the song you listen to on repeat… everything I see and know about you, I remember.”

Pushing away the shame and the nagging voice, saying that Keigo didn’t really care, she faced him completely and moved close enough for her knees to touch his thighs. He could see now how shiny her eyes became.

“You can cry, if you want to.”

“I wish I could… no matter how teary my eyes get, it’s just… nothing comes out of them. But on the inside, on the inside, I’m weeping.”

She talked mostly with a flat voice, little change in her tone, but he sensed the grief deep inside her. Grief for herself, grief for her crumbling mind.

“That’s okay. It will come when the time is right.” He really hoped he was doing it right. That he was able to give any comfort.

With slight hesitation, she touched his leg with her fingertips before resting her palms to play with the fabric of his pants.

“I don’t get it. Why you are so… here. You could just leave and I would be okay… in time.”

“I told you that I love you, right?”

“You did, but still…” Her eyes became unseeing again. She looked through space with a spaced-out expression. “If I wasn’t here you wouldn’t have to bother, you wouldn’t have to worry.”

“Are you saying that you’ve thought about…” He did not want to end that sentence, too scared to actually hear it.

“Death?” So she ended it for him. “Yeah, I do… from time to time. But I don’t think I’d do it. Even if I think it would be better without me taking up space, I’m too selfish to just let go of everything…”

Keigo was a bit shocked with how calm she was. Death was something that he himself contemplated in the past, but hearing it said by someone he loved was on a whole another level. Fright and relief washed over him.

He took both of her hands into his and brought them to his mouth. He put his lips on her skin, not kissing, just feeling, making sure that she was indeed there with him.

“I… am so glad. So glad that you trust me enough to let me into your mind.” He made sure to look her straight in the eyes. His (just barely) trembling fingers squeezing hers. “You are my Sun. The most important star in my galaxy, in my whole universe, even. And I will do anything in my power to prevent you from burning out. I… I just need you like flowers need the Sun.”

She did not expect such a statement from him, it wasn’t really in his nature to make proclamations of that stature. But she knew it was on purpose, another thing he remembered: her love for the stars. If he loved her like she loved the unknown universe… It was almost overwhelming. She also understood the implication of his power - he would try to help her and if she needed more, he would get anyone more suited for this particular job.

He sighed and put their hands down (never letting go).

“It sounds selfish, doesn’t it? You need me and I say that I need you.”

She gently pulled her hands away from his and changed her position to sit on her feet. Leaning forward, she cupped his face softly, fingers getting tangled in his messy blond hair.

“Do you know what is it about us, Keigo? Why do we even work?” She asked quietly.

“Hmm?”

“We’re fake. Both of us.” He knew what she meant. “We’re fake to the world. But we know the truth and need each other to tell it.”

He said nothing, instead just embracing her, the words still echoing in his mind.

The position they were in was uncomfortable. His arms around her torso, hers around his neck with her head on his shoulder, both leaning into one another a bit awkwardly. Still, they both savored the warmth the other provided.

“I will stand by you all the way, as long as you want me,” he whispered right in her ear.

“You’re betting on a losing dog…”

“A losing dog...? Then I’m losing by your side.” He felt her slight smile on the crook of his neck. “I’ll wait for the day when you sing along to songs again…”

She lifted her head to look at him from the corner of her eye.

“You know, that’s a bit cheesy.”

“Maybe,” he said with a sigh, “but when you do it, you always seem happy or content. When you stop singing, the silence is almost deafening…”

She hummed in agreement, he was right, after all.

“Hide me away, Keigo,” she whispered gripping the fabric on his back, “Just for a moment, please.”

His wings spread to the sides before enveloping tightly the two of them.

They sat in their own crimson bubble, a safe haven, while his phone lit up in his pocket with a reminder of forgotten reality.

#my fic #hawks x reader #hawks x you #hawks x female reader #hawks x y/n #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo x you #takami keigo x y/n #hawks #bnha hawks #mha hawks #takami keigo #bnha takami keigo #mha takami keigo #keigo takami x y/n #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami x you #hawks fanfic #boku no hero academia #bnha #my hero academia #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #tw: sucidal thoughts #tw: depressive thoughts

[amethystpath-writes]

P2 A Prisoner of Balconies

You guys and @gingerly-writing liked the soldier (from this) who was barely mentioned, right? Pretty sure you did, and you might still. 👀

******

The great hall shouldn’t have been so festive, shouldn’t have been adorned with newly designed banners and recently commissioned paintings. It made Arsyisa’s stomach twist, her throat close, palms sweat, hair fall out. Everything that could go wrong with her body simply was- all because of...well, it couldn’t be summed up so easily, could it be?

There was the fact that Arsy was sat- rather, placed, deliberately next to the general, Hytin. She was stuffed in a dress of his designated colour. Crowded in by dozens of betrayers. Warm in her dress, and overheated by the steam rising off her meal.

On top of that heaping mess, Arsy’s family was dead. Her mother, father, and two younger brothers. They were gone. Nothing could ever change that fact- and actually, the fact could only become worse as Hytin was replacing every tie to the royal family with himself. Well, every tie except for Arsy herself.

Why didn’t he kill her? Why didn’t he-

(Keep reading)

Oh, it didn’t matter. Not when Arsy’s...not when the soldier across from her was still alive. If Hytin ever decided he did want to kill Arsyisa- for whatever demented reason he came up with- the princess couldn’t keep her- the- soldier safe anymore. Was it possible the soldier was the only one who knew about the siege?

That only brought a hot bout of anger in Arsy’s body- her ears, hands, cheeks. Had the soldier known about General Hytin’s plan to kill the royal family? Was that why he’d been so persistent about beginning training?

The thought made Arsy sick. Because if he did know, he should have told her, should have warned her, prepared her- and not in the physical sense that he seemed fond of.

He must have understood the idea of mental stress, or else he wouldn’t have found a way to protect Arsyisa at all. He would have let her die even though he disagreed with Hytin’s pursuit of command. But, Arsy meant something to the soldier, and he knew he couldn’t handle the grief should the general decide to take her life.

So, why did he expect Arsy to be able to handle her entire family’s deaths?

This was torturous. Everything. Everything was falling apart, crumpling onto a teetering floor, which made keeping one’s thoughts together nearly impossible.

A fire landed on the princess’ thigh and she gave a light gasp before sending an apologetic look towards everyone near her at the table. It had only been General Hytin’s hand.

Only. As if it couldn’t be worse. She couldn’t get used to this...this life- not with the general of all people.

“You were asked a question, my dear.” Looking to Hytin now, Arsyisa noticed him glancing at the rest of the table, a wicked smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. This was a game to him, to the rest of the table. They were all playing with her, expecting responses only because it meant torturing her further. “I would answer for you, but I feel it is not my place to do so.”

I am a respectable man, she could almost hear him saying.

Arsy whispered, looking across the table at...at the soldier. “I apologize,” she said, and glanced at the others- at the betrayers, the misleaders. “I- I was distracted.” But they already knew that. Why were they making her say it?

Hand still warm on Arsy’s thigh, Hytin reiterated for whoever decided to worsen the princess’ misery, “How are you going to feel about moving into the..." The general's eyebrows jumped. "...former king and queen's chambers?"

"I have decided," Arsyisa nearly seethed, "to stay in my own and original quarters."

Fingers pushed into Arsy's leg. "Did you, now?" His voice didn't need to change to one of innocence. This whole table knew Hytin. They knew the general was manipulating her answers.

It wasn't the voice which worked, but again, the person across from Arsy. The soldier. “Change is difficult now, as you can imagine. I do not feel ready to move on quite yet,” She added, knowing what the general’s response would be if she didn’t, “but I will.”

Looking at the table, at all the new faces which she’d either never seen before, or only did briefly in days of her childhood, Arsyisa stood, chair scooting back with a loud screech. “I think- think I need a moment. Just outside the doors. I won’t stray far,” Arsy said. “I only need a...” She searched for a word which wouldn’t upset Hytin, wouldn’t make him retaliate in some way. “A break.” Not a reprieve.

Arsy couldn’t treat her interactions with Hytin like a punishment or else he would truly deliver them. He would take it out on the soldier, the soldier whose name Arsy was too frightened to speak, or even think, because doing either would further the attachment she had to him instead of to the general.

“I can follow,” the soldier across from the princess said, “as guard.” He began to stand, but Arsy shook her head.

“No, I can take someone else. You are here as a guest”- she glanced at Hytin briefly enough that she couldn’t even read his face- “so eat.” In truth, she would have preferred she take him, but...well, it couldn’t work like that. The general would never allow for the only non-conspirator in the room to-

“He may go. I cannot think of a better skilled man to defend the future queen should something happen.”

A flurry of emotions swirled in Arsy’s gut at Hytin’s words. Words like threat, mercy, control flitted at the back of her mind. Aloud, she almost asked the general, ‘Why?’ Because it didn’t make sense, not at all. Why would Hytin allow her time with someone- with someone she loved? And alone, at that.

But how could she argue? If that was how the general wished for it to be, then there was nothing to be said. Of course, she was the next queen of the kingdom, but...but that didn’t mean anything against an entire table’s worth of conspiracy and betrayal and murder.

And anyways, it couldn’t have been so terrible. This might have been the only moment Arsy would ever be given with the soldier. Maybe it truly was mercy that Hytin was offering- not some ploy to play with Arsyisa’s heart, thus tormenting her more than she was being already.

“Very well. I suppose I should make it quick or else your food will go cold.”

“I suppose we should.”

We. Arsy drew in a breath- one of both anticipation of a moment with him, and also in fear of the meaning of that word. Because Arsyisa couldn’t be ‘we’ with the soldier. That word was reserved for General Hytin.

Either way, Arsy began making her way towards the double doors which would lead her to the hall. As she made her way, and the soldier did on his end of the table, the princess watched Hytin, who only held up his glass and gave a mock smile. “Fresh breezes, my love.”

Her lip lifted discreetly as she turned back to the doors, steps meeting the soldier’s just in time. They linked elbows.

“I feel a little offended,” the soldier whispered, lips curled up- not in spite, but in tease, “that you tried to desert me back there.”

The muscles in Arsyisa’s arm tightened as the two approached the doors.

“Oh, how regrettably shameful I feel,” she returned, voice a touch lighter than it had been when she was sat at the table. Arsy didn’t notice the difference in her voice, but anyone else would have seen the girlish fascination in it now.

What the princess did notice...was the levitation she felt at being able to be so near her soldier again. That’s right. Her soldier. In this moment, this present moment, when her arm was wrapped around his, they could embrace one another. Not in a hug, not in a physical sense, but in theory. They belonged with one another in theory.

As the doors opened, the princess stole just one last glance at Hytin. Maybe, she thought, this can be the last time I ever see him. The likelihood of it was small, and she knew that if the general ever caught her trying to escape, then...then her soldier would be...would be hurt, at the very least. Arsy didn’t try thinking about the details of what could happen.

“I would have made you my king,” Arsyisa told as the doors shut behind them.

She listened to her soldier take a deep breath before pushing it out. It sounded like a heavy weight, and yet, there still seemed to be more. “You look beautiful.”

Arsyisa squinted. “You only say that when you have nothing else to say. I thought there would have been-” Arsy shook her head. “There is plenty more to say after...after all that has happened.”

‘You look beautiful.’ How dare he? How dare he volunteer to walk out with Arsy if he had nothing to say; no condolences, or- or apologies. Apologies.

“Did you know?”

Their steps paused as the soldier faced her. “Did I know what?”

Arsy’s voice turned stone-cold. She rose a brow as she pulled away from her soldier. “Medaris.”

His jaw ticked. Medaris swallowed. “I knew, and I”- he licked his lips- “your family was aware of it, as well. I told them...about...about the revolution.”

“You- what do you mean they-”

Medaris reached for her hands, trying to comfort her, trying to be there for her, but Arsy couldn’t handle the nearness right now. She shook her head, stepping back and away from her soldier- her soldier who knew about the attack. “You could have stopped it- could have gotten us out of here. What were you- why didn’t you help!”

Maybe she knew that Medaris couldn’t have stopped the entire attack, but if he knew it was happening, if he knew soldier upon soldier was going to barge into the palace, he could have told Arsy, could have- “You told my family? My mother and father?”

It didn’t matter that they were just outside the dining room’s doors, that there was a high possibility they were heard. Arsy needed to know.

“As soon as I heard about it, I brought it to their attentions. Came back with evidence as I found it.”

“But then why...they let themselves be killed, Daris. They let”- she blinked- “they let my brothers be killed. Why? Why couldn’t we have just run?”

Taking a step towards her again, Medaris told the princess, hands held out to her, “I don’t have an answer from them, but I can give you a reasonable assumption.”

For some reason, Arsy found herself accepting her soldier’s offered hands. Perhaps even she knew she needed someone to be there for her. Hytin certainly would never be, not in this way, not seriously, and certainly not in such the caring way which Arsyisa required.

“You know the general.”

Arsy nodded.

“And you know he’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants.”

She nodded again.

“Your family was doomed from the moment Hytin realized he could gain greedy support.” Medaris squeezed his love’s hands gently, drawing a line over the back of her knuckles. “Hytin was intelligent enough to bring several men to the king’s quarters, and seeing as your mother was never trained, well...”

Medaris’ own trained voice wasn’t helping very much. Him holding Arsyisa’s hands was, sure, but the way he spoke so...so strategically only made Arsy’s perception of her own life teeter. It was as if she were reading a book of her own life.

“And my brothers were too young, too- too weak, even with training.” She swallowed and her head shook. “They asked you to train me, didn’t they? My parents?”

With a nod of the head, Medaris stopped his stroking thumb.

Too bad it wasn’t enough. Arsy recalled the moment General Hytin swatted the dagger right out of her hand after coming to her room and balcony just days ago.

“I wanted to train you to begin with; all in fun and game, but...” Medaris shrugged. “It seemed like I would be overstepping my boundaries as a measly soldier. I am no nobleman.”

“My mother likes you,” Arsy said, before realizing the error in her statement. “Liked you,” she corrected quietly. Her hands fell from Medaris’ as the reality set in even further. “We should go back. Before Hytin has me dragged back, you know?”

He nodded again, but still made no move towards the door. “Why do you- um- why do you think he wants to...to keep you?”

As the soldier between the two of them, Medaris should have known the answer himself, should have been able to dive deep into a fellow soldier’s mind and pick it apart. Maybe it was because he knew Arsyisa, and because he knew her, it was impossible to see her from another perspective.

See, Medaris never saw Arsy as a princess. To him, she was just a girl.

A pretty girl with her head held high. One excited to talk to the soldiers about where they came from and if training had been easy or hard for the day. One who wasn’t necessarily ‘one of the boys,’ but was willingly friends with them, making sure they were okay, and rough housing with them as best she could. Arsy was dainty by noble demand, but she broke away from it as much as she could.

“You cannot be a king without a queen,” Arsy explained. Truthfully, she didn’t have an answer to this question until Medaris asked, and it clicked. “Sure, he could command any girl to marry him, but it would have no impact, and it would hardly be believable. I am the princess, thankfully saved, and by the local general. With me, he has the excuse to be evil. With me, he can-”

With her, Hytin could manipulate the situation through her. He already made her announce to the nearby villages that...Arsy swallowed thinking about it.

True, Arsy could reject the orders Hytin gave her, but then...

Hytin forced her to have random citizens executed, only to cover up his own crimes. Executed, not just imprisoned. He had her announce their treatment- their torture.

If anyone would be the bad guy, it would be Arsyisa, but the public would accept it, because it was revenge, and because they believed the royal family deserved vengeance.

Without another word, Arsyisa wrapped her arms above Medaris’ waist, holding him close. “Promise me you will not do anything to get yourself harmed.”

Medaris squinted above the princess’ head. Was that why she’d been so cautious around everyone recently, sending him small glances, and apologizing to him when spacing out instead of the rest of the table? Had Hytin threatened to hurt him if Arsy didn’t do as he demanded?

“Why?”

“What do you mean ‘Why?’” Arsyisa scoffed against her soldier lover. “I just want to know that you will be safe, that I will not have to worry about losing someone else that I love.”

“Okay,” Medaris promised. “I won’t allow stupidity to take over my senses.” She began to pull away, but he kept her close. “I want you to promise the same.” Medaris knew his princess wasn’t one for such brutality which she was displaying to the villages. As heartbroken as she was, she wasn’t a killer- even if it were for punishment and revenge.

“We need to go. Hytin will suspect something.”

“Promise me, Arsyisa. Do not allow yourself this change.”

She shook her head. “Medaris,” she whispered brokenly, “I am doing what I must; that is all.”

“You are allowing for your image to change.”

“So what if I am!”

When she pulled away this time, Medaris let her step back. He still wanted her promise, but- well, it seemed as though it was going to be more complicated than saying, ‘I promise.’

“I am doing whatever I need in order to maintain safety.”

“For who?” Medaris questioned. “Because it is certainly not for the villages. That much is evident.” He watched her, her facial features and how they shifted to reveal panic and worry. He wanted to hold her again, make her feel at ease with herself.

“For you,” she admitted, a little coldly. “I am doing this for you, and you are going to let me- because if you do not, I will hate you.” It was the worse threat she could think of. “I will hate you for as long as I live and you do not. He will kill you, Daris. He will if I fail him.”

“Let him try.”

Something glinted on Arsy’s cheek. A tear. “You promised,” she quaked after a silent moment. “You already promised me.”

“Then hate me, Arsyisa- because I will not allow you to live by this fear. I will kill the bastard if it is the only way you, or any of us, will be free of him, you hear me? I will shred him to pieces.”

******

@tears-and-lilies @moose-teeth @sableflynn @all-whumped-out  @watercolorfreckles (tagging you guys out of your interest in the first part. I do plan on continuing this as a series so if anyone would like to be added or removed from the tag list, don’t hesitate to let me know! :) )

#NOT A PROMPT #A Prisoner of Balconies #medieval #medieval writing #medieval snippet #medieval whump #royal writing #royal whump #villain whumper #hero whumpee #protagonist whumpee #we're shifting the tumblr game because things that should get just as much popularity don't and I'm a wee bit sick of it at this point. #lady whump #noncon touching #<- nonsexual #royal whumpee #general whumper #all that good stuff #this one is long oopses #I considered making it two posts but eh #If I would have split it then I'd have had to split it before the soldier scene and there's not much to offer there.

[otomegema]

title: Convergence Theory, ch. 2 pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader summary: You are a lesser family member of the Gojo clan, so far removed you don’t even carry the name, but you carry the Limitless ability and thus the potential to be a bride to the future head of the clan— a fact you patently reject at fifteen. Twelve years later you are a second grade sorcerer struggling to obtain first grade status when the object of your deepest objections offers you a deal. rating: mature tropes: fake dating/engagement, rivals to lovers, slow romance Link: Archive of Our Own

It had been a logical move to allow Gojo to take down your number, entering it into his contacts with an obscene amount of heart and wishing star emojis by the brief glance you caught over his shoulder. It looked like he was already banking on your acceptance of the deal, but when you parted, your to-go sushi in a small plastic bag, you hadn’t expected to hear from him until tomorrow evening at the latest.

Or maybe even never.

But now, back in the hotel you were being comped for while in Tokyo, you wished silently that you’d never given that man your cell phone number.

Honey

Baby

Future-pretend-love-of-my-life

Have you made a decision?

He wasn’t human. It was barely 6am, did he wake up this early for lessons every day? You groaned, nearly swatting the phone off the nightstand in the dark.

You shot back a fast reply.

-oh I’m sorry

-I’m still recovering from getting electrocuted the other day

-Some asshat led a curse to me

You rolled over, managing to get at least another decent half hour of sleep in before the phone chimed again, lighting up the darkened hotel room.

\(★ω★)/

YOUR asshat

Should you choose to accept this mission

You threw off your covers, forcing yourself up to sit against the stack of pillows behind you as you tapped out a reply.

-My pretend asshat

-Mother will be so proud

The dots of his reply began immediately.

So is that a yes?

You sighed, rolling your eyes to yourself.

-Day isn’t over -Hasn’t even started tyvm

The dots began. Stopped. Began and stopped again, this time not reappearing. You tossed your phone onto the bed and teetered up and over to the coffee maker. The pot was finishing brewing by the time your phone chimed again.

You’re so slow.

The addition of punctuation and the sudden lack of emoji seemed almost like a warning flare that Gojo’s patience was waning. But you hardly knew the man and really, what did you care? A favor for a favor was what he offered. You didn’t owe him anything.

I have other options too.

His text continued and for a moment you frowned, wondering if his intention was to have that sound like a threat. You felt heat rising in your throat— he didn’t want to play that game.

So no pressure. Genuinely.

Oh. Good. That was better. You felt the tension uncoil as fast as it had grown.

Tho I AM your only hope for advancement <3

You could have thrown the phone right through the wall. Your thumbs worked rapidly, shooting out your reply in no time.

-Ah yes, your finest quality

A quick appearance of dots.

My special grade ranking? (･ω<)☆

You smirked.

-Humility

You’re no fun.

Text me when you are done being boring.

This was probably the most you had ever spoken to Gojo, despite having seen him on and off from a distance for the better half of your life. He was hard to miss. Every event at the main house would have him and his immediate family at the forefront. No one ever stopped talking about Gojo Satoru and his accomplishments and his strength and his skill as a sorcerer.

It was nauseating, having to pretend to nod and smile like it was all some great blessing just to orbit near him. It was bad enough he read like a sun to your abilities, as if he needed to be made to think he was anymore of the center of the universe.

Your palm itched. The desire to tap back a response now, a firm denial, very strong. But not stronger than your excitement at the possibility of being a first grade sorcerer. It was everything you had wanted. Prestige, recognition, tougher missions and the pay and rewards that came with them.

You were no weakling. Sure the telemetry technique took you out of commission, but it was hardly your greatest feat. You had finally been able to manifest the cursed technique lapse, blue. Granted, it was a one off and exhausted you so fully afterwards that you nearly fainted on the spot… but your tolerance was getting better. The precision of your manipulation of your cursed energy would never be on par with Gojo, but you could, some day, maybe even manage to shoot the technique off twice.

Reversal Red was next to impossible. And Hollow Technique? Truly impossible. The Six Eyes was needed to even attempt it. Most of your practice had been devoted to perfecting your long distance teleportation skills, fine tuning your telemetry technique and working on establishing your domain. That one was easier. The Unlimited Void crushed your opponent beneath an overload of sensory information, information you could easily channel and tap into with your own unique skills as a Limitless user.

But like all things, you were only second best. And barely. It was a joke. Comparing yourself to Gojo. He was on a level you could never achieve— unless.

You grabbed your phone, hastily dialing the new number and wincing at the loud, cheerful greeting from the other line.

“Good morning, moon of my soul, tenderest heart, darling—!“

“I haven’t even said yes yet, you monster.”

“Ah! A name of my very own? Be still my trembling heart!”

“I wish to make an amendment to the agreement.”

There was a lengthy pause. You could practically hear the slow spread of that sly smile. Content as the cat who caught the canary.

He knew he was about to win.

“Let’s hear it.”

“If you are putting my name forward for first grade, that means you have someone else in mind to be the second backer and someone in mind for me to shadow on missions and train with, yeah?

“I do.” Gojo said, his tone surprisingly serious.

“Have them put my name forward instead. I want to shadow you.”

Gojo laughed, a short mirthless thing, “What makes you think I have the time?”

“You have enough time to play pretend, I’d think any fiancé would leap at the chance to be with his lovely wife-to-be and keep her safe.”

Gojo hummed.

“Why me?”

This was an oddly familiar conversation.

“Purely selfish reasons. You are the best Limitless user. I am a Limitless user. I want you to teach me.”

“You aren’t on my level.” He said, no malice in his words, just simple facts.

“Then teach me what I can handle.”

There was another pause.

“I’m not gonna go easy on you just because you’re my girl.”

The bare utterance of the endearment sent a shiver up your arms and not an entirely pleasant one either. His girl. God, how would you even begin to explain this fake engagement to your parents? Who knew the depth of your jealousy and bitterness over Gojo since you were— what? Five? Younger?

“Since I am just your ‘pretend’ girl, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Your funeral, babe.” Gojo said, “But I’m glad we resolved this early! Because we are having dinner. Reservations are made, I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something pretty!”

Your words caught in your throat, stuttering across your tongue and unable to force out before the line cut off and he was gone.

You pressed the edge of your phone to your temple, already feeling a headache coming on. Something pretty? Shit.

-Something pretty? -Too vague. I have no idea what I’m supposed to wear.

A dress! Something for the evening. A Line.

V Neck def

Show off what puberty gave ya (＾〃＾)

Chiffon with ruffle lace

And grey-blue

-Why?

To match my eyes <3

-Where in the world do you expect me to find that specific dress in the next few hours

Downstairs with hotel staff I had it dropped off <3 <3 <3

-That’s creepy

(つω`｡) </3 </3

-Enough with the hearts -How much? I’ll pay you back

It is a gift <3

-How’d you even know my size

A gentleman never reveals his secrets

┐(‘～` )┌

You sighed and set aside your phone to call down to the front desk. Sure enough, a few minutes later someone brought up a large white box, tied with a grey-blue ribbon. You set the package on the small counter in your room’s kitchen and opened the lid, brushing aside soft tissue paper.

The dress was ridiculously soft, made of fine, nearly translucent layers of chiffon. It was a lovely color, the sight making you suddenly think of the feeling in the air before a thunderstorm, the smell of rain. The ribbon matched.

You looked for a price tag and found none, but folded away at the bottom of the box was a hand written receipt. You paled at the figure displayed on it.

-Gojo, I can’t possibly accept this.

Don’t be stupid. No one would believe I was serious about a woman unless I was positively spoiling her rotten. s’not like it broke the bank!

-Forget the first-grade rec

-Pay my bills

Too late! Negotiations are closed :)

-So what the hell am I doing at this dinner?

Eating Duh and being seen with yours truly easy peasy right?

You sipped your coffee, keeping the mug well away from the dress. It was certainly nicer than anything you had ever owned in— well. Ever. It was hard to argue that there were clearly going to be some additional perks to this arrangement you hadn’t previously thought of.

Plus we gotta go over some ground rules

-Thought you said negotiations were closed

-This mean we can revisit my bills?

g2g

Students need me!

Ttyl babe

The ease in which that man showered you so soon with endearments was nauseating. Had he ever even had a girlfriend before? Or just those usual moon-eyed women who fawned and petted him?

And now everyone was gonna think you were one of those girls. You drank your coffee faster, relishing in the way it burned down your throat and overpowered the bad taste in your mouth.

“First-grade… first-grade. Remember the first-grade.”

And training. You’d squeeze every possible benefit from this arrangement out that you could. Sorcerers worked in teams, but at the end of the day, it was every man and woman for themselves.

Let them think what they want when you were seen tonight. You would come out on top.

***

The day passed quickly and you found yourself standing in front of the hotel mirror, twisting back and forth to get a feel for the movement of the dress— and half practicing staying upright in the heels that had arrived not even a moment later.

They were high enough to be appealing, but low enough to keep you from falling over on your face. Gojo had texted an explanation that he figured you were out of practice in wearing anything other than sneakers and combat boots and to consider them training wheels.

You’d wanted, once again, to punch him in the face.

The kind of girl he liked was a stilettos kinda girl, you guessed, huffing to yourself as you sat down and twirled one of your ankles, stretching the muscle. Even the low heels were not entirely comfortable, but you’d manage.

Checking your makeup one last time, you picked up your own worn purse and slung it over your shoulder. Women who wore these kind of dresses and came in on the arm’s of other men and women like Gojo never had anything more than the smallest clutch— but you weren’t those women.

You made your way down to the lobby and were surprised to find a chauffeur waiting outside with a very very sleek European car of some kind. You weren’t great about those kinds of things, only noting the seats were made with soft black leather and there was even a divider built in like in a limo to give the passengers privacy.

The chauffeur ushered you into the empty car and you sat back with a sigh as silently he delivered you to the next destination. You had, in some small place, hoped Gojo would already be present.

Why he felt the need for such spectacle was beyond you, but maybe this was what was expected of a clan family son when he courted a young woman. It felt— weird. Nice, but weird. The drive was not overly long, the car coming to stop.

You knew this restaurant. Some fancy French-Japanese fusion place that charged a hundred dollars for a single plate with a broiled pear covered in wasabi or some weird shit. Already you felt your stomach churning with anxiety and encroaching regret.

This was gonna suck.

This was gonna suck so bad.

The chauffeur opened the door and you barely managed not to wobble on the pavement. Feeling stilted and exposed as other guests and couples regarded you with open curiosity and veiled judgment.

Clearly they were used to seeing the same people come and go from this restaurant and you were not one of them.

You clutched your bag tighter to your arm, hand reaching inside instinctively to find your phone and text Gojo you were out. This was over. Find someone else— when your surname was shouted from the door.

All eyes turned as if in sync to Gojo, wearing simple trousers and a white shirt tucked in. He didn’t even have a tie or a jacket, his dark glasses obscuring his eyes even as he looked right at you.

A few people tsked their disapproval, but they may as well have been ghosts for all the attention Gojo paid them. When you didn’t immediately make your way over to him, Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets and strode over to meet you.

He grinned, the lowering of his chin and the slow rise back up an obvious indicator he was sizing you up and didn’t care if you knew.

He whistled.

“Ow, ow!”

“Shut it— you know this dress could cover my rent for half a year?! And these shoes! I could buy a used car with this ensemble.”

“You even drive?”

“Not the point.”

He laughed again, loud and careless.

“Figured since you were dawdling you might need an arm to lean on.” Gojo said, offering your his elbow without removing his hands from his pockets, “Or perhaps…”

He feigned a gasp, “Are you feeling shy?”

“I’m leaving.” you deadpanned, managing half a turn before his hand was on your waist, turning you back. He took your hand, the feeling of his palm on your side still burned into your skin as he hooked your arm in his own.

You allowed it, leaning on him only a little. He looked pleased, smugly so, as he led you inside and to a table that was already set for two.

There was a wine glass sitting by your own plate. The one by Gojo’s was turned upside down and set to the side… a can of soda sitting, bright and out of place, in its spot.

“… where did you even get that.”

“Vending machine.” Gojo said simply and even kicked your chair out a little for you to take a seat. How flattering.

“Wine is for you, if you want it. Figured it might help take the edge off.”

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to wait for the server to return and simply tipping the bottle of red into your own glass.

“What about you?”

“I don’t drink.” He said, cracking the tab on his soda with a loud pop. Several eyes filtered your way, whispers behind hands and napkins as Gojo all but drained the can in one gulp.

“So— ground rules?” you said, unfolding a cloth napkin and settling it in a half folded triangle across your lap the way you saw other women doing.

“Straight in, huh? Alright. Terms.” Gojo lifted one finger, “As already discussed, you and I will be ‘courting’— dating. Whatever the fuck. I’ll take care of arranging the dates, you show up, act sufficiently smitten and in about a year give or take, we break up.”

Gojo lifted a second finger, “Two. In exchange, I have two first grade sorcerers who will back your promotion. And, as requested—“ Gojo’s voice dropped a fraction, almost grumpily, “—you’ll come with me on my missions for your first semi-grade probation.”

“Now ground rules. At any point either of us wants out, it’s done. No questions asked. But don’t think that means you get to ditch and just keep that first grade appointment. I’ll make sure you end up right back at a grade two.”

You sipped your wine, giving your mouth something to do than form some very choice words at that moment. Gojo noticed, his smile almost a snarl, but the expression quickly vanished. You had a funny feeling trying to hoodwink or swindle him would end very poorly for anyone.

“And when you develop feelings for me—“

“If.” You amended quickly, but Gojo ignored you.

“—when you develop feelings for me. You have to tell me and again, the engagement is over. You can keep your rank. No harm no foul. I can hardly blame you for falling for me.” Gojo said with a wistful sigh. You were grateful for the arrival of the first course, forcing you both to fall silent for a moment until they departed.

You had no idea what was on the plate. Some kind of salad? It was hardly a mouthful. Gojo didn’t even touch his silverware and feeling less than impressed with the cuisine, you didn’t either.

You drank your wine.

“Barring sickness or injury you are required to appear for every date I set. Including the ones where you have to meet other members of the main family.”

You frowned, but didn’t object.

“Wait— what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Is the engagement off when you develop feelings for me?” You said lightly, trying to play off your smile as wistful.

Gojo scoffed, his reaction almost enough to hurt your feelings… just a little bit.

“Non-issue. I don’t do feelings.”

“God, you sound like a fuck boy.” The words came out before you could stop yourself, the last syllable off your tongue right at the moment the server had returned to reclaim your plates. An eyebrow was raised and you hid your face down with a flustered cough.

By the time you looked back up, you got the joy of seeing Gojo staring at you from over his glasses, a broad and deeply amused grin on his face.

“Not non-issue. If I get the feelings rule you get the feelings rule. End discussion.”

Gojo shrugged, again not touching the newest course which was, to your extreme annoyance, some kind of grilled pear.

“You should slow down.” He warned in a sing song voice as you poured another glass.

“I’m not a baby— okay. So we got terms, we got ground rules. Anything else?”

“You can’t refuse my gifts.”

Your eyes narrowed sharply and he simply smiled and hummed with a shrug.

“It’s for appearances! Oh. Speaking of appearances—“ Gojo sat up, fishing something from his back pocket and sitting it on the table. You stared at the simple black box, fearing a vein might burst in your forehead at any moment.

“What is that.” You stated more than asked.

“Open it.” Gojo said, his voice light and encouraging as he nudged the box closer, “Come on, open it. Open it. You know you wanna, sweetie, light of my life, fire of my lo—“

You snatched the box up if only to stop him from finishing that sentence.

You swallowed hard, the sounds of the room fading out as you flipped open the box and found, sitting upon a small satin pillow— a… key?

You lifted it from the box, noting it even had a little custom keychain made to look like a white cat with a tiny blindfold.

“It’s to my apartment!” Gojo announced with a giddy laugh, clasping his hands together in a way that was entirely un-adult like.

“… I have my own place. Thank you.”

“In Kyoto. This is here, in Tokyo. Where you will need to stay for this all to work, remember?”

“Where will you stay?” You asked dryly, vaguely hoping his answer would be something other than what it was no doubt going to be.

“Very funny. You’ll have your own room—if you want it.”

“Why—“ your voice nearly broke and you had to take a moment to clear it, “Why uh— why wouldn’t I be wanting my own room?”

“Feelings are off limits, naturally. But if you want to take me up again on that offer from back in the day…”

The surge of cursed energy that rippled off of you was so strong Gojo nearly toppled backwards, his laugh gaining a somewhat nervous lift to it if only for just a moment.

“I’ll have my own room. My own locked room.” You bit out, feeling your face flushing hot and hating every second Gojo seemed to be enjoying your utter mortification, “Unless that is a problem.”

“Nope. Not at all. Probably for the best ultimately, I’ve been told I have a bad habit of dickmatizing folks.”

“… I’m sorry, you what.”

“Dickmatizing! Ya know. Like hypnotizing but with—“

“I got it!” You groaned, pressing your face into your hand. When did it get so damn hot in here? You snatched up your wine glass and finished off the contents, feeling even hotter.

“Is that all?”

“Unless anything comes to your mind, then yep.” Gojo finished, ignoring yet another course. You were almost tempted. The dish was some kind of meat, but the sauce drenched over it smelt sharply of something bitter and sour at the same time. You stomach recoiled at the thought and yet rumbled in protest to its growing hunger.

“So what do you think?”

“You’re disgusting?” you said flatly.

“I meant about the deal.”

You glowered openly at him. It was going to take a lot of practice to turn that deprecating expression you felt naturally pull unto your face at his sight into something loving and tender… but for first-grade ranking? For lessons on your Limitless? Fuck. Fuck you’d do it.

You poured the remainder of the bottle into your glass and polished it off in one shot.

“I accept.”

Gojo clapped his hands together, “Excellent! Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Huh?” You barely managed to get the questioning sound out before Gojo was up and out of his chair. You scrambled up, head rushing with the wine and the weirdness of this entire conversation. By the time you managed to catch up with him, he snaked out his arm and wrapped it around your waist, pulling you flush and warm against his side.

You about threw him across the room, but your attempts at a grapple were thwarted by the sudden thrumming of the familiar Neutral Limitless ability, stalling your moments to such a small speed you felt suddenly frozen.

The impulse to toss him passed and instead you let him escort you outside where the car was still waiting.

“Take us to the place, ya know the one.” Gojo said to the driver and in a surprising show of gallantry, actually held the door open for you to get in first.

“And open the back window. If she throws up, I’d rather it be on the pavement.”

You elbowed him in the chest— accidentally of course.

***

The car drive was a bit longer, taking you away from the glitz and glamor of this side of Tokyo and to what looked arguably as one of the most hole-in-the-wall noodle joints you had ever seen. The street kitchen was small, the counter open outside with a few bar stools. The smells of teriyaki and spices and cooking oils were heavy in the air and made your mouth water.

Gojo perched on one of the stools and you came to sit alongside him, watching as he ripped open a set of chopsticks and rubbed the splinters off.

He ordered quickly—yakisoba and yakitori. Along with several packages of mochi they kept behind the counter in the same kinda plastic bags you’d find at a convenience store.

Gojo had been right— you should have slowed down. The world had a light haze to it… a slight tilting. His hand on your back felt massive and overly warm as he guided you back to sitting straight.

“Eat, ya lush.” He ordered, piling noodles and chicken unto a smaller empty plate for you from his own, “C’mon.”

Gojo popped one of the mochi bags and dumped the sticky sweet confection right on top of your yakisoba. You grimaced, picking the sweet off and trying to wipe some of the sauce from it before you took a generous bite.

The food was greasy and delicious and abundant and cheap and your mouth was in heaven. Even having not used your Limitless since yesterday, every taste still felt heightened. Maybe it was the way your cursed powers tried to compensate from the wine, but everything somehow was more delicious.

You attempted to snag another piece of yakitori from Gojo’s plate, only to have your chopsticks blocked with a clack.

“Ah ah ah— hands off.”

“What’s yours is mine, right?” You chided, only to be dodged again in a movement faster than your eyes could perceive. Did he just use his Limitless to counter you? Feeling emboldened, you activated your own, the faint pulse of the energy so close together giving you the sort of deflecting feeling one experiences when holding two sides of the same magnet near together.

Repelling, shifting. Trying to shove the energy into a way that the two forces would collide rather than deflect.

You were concentrating fully. The minuscule movements invisible to even your eyes, but the feeling was there. A sort of blindsight where you didn’t need the Six Eyes to tell you what was happening— but it would have definitely helped. You flicked a glance up and lost your control, your chopsticks shooting away and nearly cracking one in two.

Gojo chuckled. It was the expression on his face that had distracted you. His eyelids were half dropped, his smile soft as he readied himself to deflect you again. Your energy was no match for his… but it matched. It was made of the same stuff. Controlled the same way. He could see, with the sharp clarity of his Six Eyes, every tiny precise movement you made with your cursed energy. A mirror of his own abilities in miniature.

He was playing with you. And all the sudden you felt as if a small knot in your chest had shaken free, the coil coming undone.

Was there anyone else on this Earth you could do such a thing with?

Feeling strange and suddenly shy, you drew your energy back in and refocused on eating from your own plate, grumbling at your loss.

A second later, Gojo’s chopsticks moved over your plate, dropping another helping of noodles in.

A small concession. A victory in it's own right, even if it had not won the yakitori.

“Sober up, will ya? But don’t eat too fast. I’m not cleaning up vomit, no way, no how.”

“You’re always so vulgar.” you murmured, speaking around a mouthful of noodles and mochi. Gojo turned and stuck his tongue out at you. A confirmation or a reprisal, you couldn’t be sure.

But regardless, it did something to you he had never managed to do before.

It made you laugh.

#gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x oc #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujustu kaisen #help ive fallen into gojo brain rot and cant get up

[xiu21chen99]

hxh headcanon/imagine.

again... still about hisoillu but about their engagement instead of illu's influenced fashion choice.

also this is more of... idk it gave reason why they chose to marry instead of uh other ways i guess??

i've seen so many fanarts where illu would break the news to the zoldycks or how killu would react to having hisoka as his brother in law- like srsly it's meme worthy at this point- and lotsa ones that showed how hisoka proposed as a joke or smtg but... I've been overthinking abt it these past few days sO i present to you how i think "the big question aka the proposal" happened... (manga spoilers??)

it's after hisoka resurrected himself obviously, and def after he killed kortopi and shalnark (so he knew there was gonna be empty slots in the spiders' lineup)

i imagine illu went back to the zoldyck estate after the whole fiasco and only heard of hisoka's "death" from rumors while he was on a mission

and then when he was idk maybe contemplating on whether or not he should visit the body(?) to pay respects or something, he gets a text message from the devil himself

their text went like this probably:

hisoka: hey~ where are you right now?♠️ (and no u can't tell me hisoka doesn't text w card suits u just can't-)

illumi: who are you and how did you get the phone you are currently using?

hisoka: ooh~ illu~ i feel betrayed, did you delete my number?♣️

illumi: hisoka is dead

hisoka: *image attached*

illumi: oh

illumi: hello hisoka, how are you still alive?

hisoka: you sound disappointed~♦️

illumi: i kind of am...

hisoka: rude, just tell me where you are♥️

...and that's how they met up?? ngl i think illu has a know-it-all syndrome where he just has to,,, k n o w everything

he's curious so he agrees to the meetup ofc

he's also surprised when he sees hisoka is in good shape when they meet (idk at a bar in an unknown city?)

they drink whiskey on the rocks because... you know...

hisoka explains how he survived and his next plan of action (which is terminate the spiders)

illumi makes a mental note of nen after death bc he's heard and seen it all before but... not to this extent,

this is gonna be,,, bland but i think this is the logic behind why hisoka chose to get married/engaged instead of just paying up front (reference to the ten dons' commission to get chrollo killed and chrollo's commission to get the ten dons killed)--

anyways here's how their conversation goes:

i: "why did you want to talk in person?"

h: "oh y'know, for old times sake."

i: "...right"

hisoka laughs, "okay so maybe i want to ask you for a favor..?"

confused, illumi asks, "why could you not have just texted if you wanted me to kill someone for you?"

h: "no, no- wait, actually, you're not too far off."

i: ~mOrE cOnfUsiOn~ "huh?"

h: "how do contracts for assassination work in your... family business?"

i: "half the promised pay before, the remaining half afterwards. should the target be eliminated by a third party, the assigned zoldyck still gets the pay and should the employer die, then the contract is terminated and the zoldyck will report back immediately."

h: "and has anyone made a contract to have themselves terminated?"

i: "i beg your pardon?"

h: "what complications will arise should your employer's target be... themselves?"

i: "i believe... i have never encountered such circumstance before. the people who hire us are those who have enough money and resource to have their enemies killed quickly. no one's tried to test the zoldyck assassination prowess."

h: "so... how will that work?"

i: "are you implying this is the reason why you have contacted me today?"

h: "yes~ ♥️" (how he said a heart emoji out loud is up to you, reader)

i: "it will be a pointless paradox. logically, the zoldyck will only get the employment bill. and i, myself, do not find pleasure in going for the kill like you lest i get my reward, so you will not get a contract out of me, hisoka."

h: "is there no leeway?"

i: "a zoldyck stands up to their word. so no."

h: "even for a friend?~ ♦️"

i: "we are not friends, hisoka-"

hisoka raises his glass of whiskey along with his eyebrow.

i: "oh..."

h: "didn't you tell dear killua that a zoldyck didn't need friends?"

i: "you... are an associate, someone reliable in the killing world. it's different."

h: "hypocrite"

i: "i ask you for favors and you make me return them. it is not like we spend our time together leisurely like killu with that island boy..."

hisoka clinks their matching glasses of whiskey even though his is already empty, a shit-eating grin on his lips.

i: "you suggested we meet here."

h: "this isn't the first time we went out to drink, right illu?"

i: "regardless!! i will not kill you just for half the money. i do not like wasting efforts on fruitless missions."

h: "as i said, is there no exception, to make sure you get my money if you were to succeed in killing me?"

i: "are you doubting my skill, hisoka?"

h: "that's not the point right now~ ♠️"

i: "wait, why do you want me to get all of your money?"

h: "haven't we just gotten over this subject? because you're my friend, of course."

i: "i... we are not friends, hisoka."

hisoka claps, "that's it! illumi!! ♣️"

i: "eh?"

h: "marry me! that way in our prenup I'll make sure you get all of my money, and even without a prenup you'll still get it since you'll be my only relative! that solves it!"

i: "hisoka, are you sure death did not took a toll on your brain? you did say you used Bungee Gum only on your heart and lungs..."

h: "i'm being serious, illumi!! and doesn't this solve your earlier conflict? we don't have to be friends, we'll be husbands!"

i: "do not use that tactic with me, you manipulative bastard. stop joking."

h: "this is purely beneficial for you, honestly i don't get why you just won't accept it."

i: "then humor me this first, why now?"

h: "dear illu, i've been to literal hell and back. i think it's time to leave my mark in case i fail to escape death again."

i: "was it that bad?"

h: "you'll love it there, illu~ ♥️"

h: "on a more serious note, though, i do plan to marry you. out of everyone i've encountered, you're the most eligible candidate. you're powerful, fully capable and extremely pretty to boot! you're the ideal husband!"

(blushing obviously, illumi downs the remaining whiskey in his glass) i: "death has changed you, hisoka."

h: "so?"

i: "fine."

h: "excellent!"

and in one fell swoop, illumi has a pin against the curve of hisoka's jugular, wrist held tightly by hisoka- a card matching against his own neck.

"not yet, dear husband." hisoka whispered into his ear, "we have to manage the papers first. and i've a request before you do."

they let each other go at the same time, not even breathing an unnecessary breath in the other's personal space (well, they're nearly pressed thigh to thigh anyways, what's the point of personal space anymore-)

"a condition rather than a request, really."

"what?" hisoka orders them refills, and downs his when it arrives.

"join the ryodan first."

glass already pressed on thin lips, illumi's confused hum resonates softly into the concave utensil. "why?"

"so things can get more interesting. i assume you know of the dark continent expedition that's soon to take place?"

"father has advised i take part on it, since kalluto told me the ryodan plans to rob some cliches who'll join the expedition- to look after him. you want me to join them?"

"yes, and i plan to board as well, don't fret."

illumi's eyes turn to slits, "how should i know you would be there? i can't take your word when you might just disappear when we've all boarded."

hisoka grins, wide then wider, "you should know by now illu, i plan to avenge my wounded pride. that damned chrollo didn't even fight me properly."

tilting his head, illumi stared at the man beside him, "is that not contradictory? i thought you did not mind your opponent using whatever means necessary to win?"

"magicians use tricks and misdirection to awe the audience," hisoka says almost thoughtlessly, "chrollo's a narcissistic hypnotist who used the audience as a damned shield because he knew he couldn't handle me face-to-face."

he groans, tinged in regret. "i shouldn't have picked heaven's arena, if i'd chosen a more discreet location then maybe the damage won't be this bad."

"damage?" illumi rests his chin on his palm, facing his husband.

hisoka swipes a hand over his face, and the glamour comes off. the picture he sent illumi now present in front of him. he was missing a nose, his left hand didn't have any finger left and dried blood chipped on his white skin. "oh."

with another swipe, everything's made correct again. hisoka was grinning again. he downs the remaining alcohol and leaves jenny bills under the emptied glass.

"come, lovely husband. we're to elope and legalize our union!"

illumi follows suit after downing his own glass, "i think there might be another loop hole, if you were to join the family. zoldycks do not kill family."

"so if i were to wed you, here and now, you'd think me more of a family than alluka?"

"alluka is not family."

"are those your words, illumi? or silva's?"

"i..."

"wow, you're really just as fucked up as i am."

"where do you plan to take me? i've just said i cannot kill family."

hisoka chuckles, "then you're the one to take my name, of course."

"preposterous!"

"who the hell still uses that word?"

"i am and will always be a zoldyck-"

"exactly. it's just legal papers, if you kill me then you'll just be a widow and even get your name back! see how everything'll work out in the end?"

"hisoka-"

"are you doubting your skill of assassination, my dearest husband?"

"... i better get the most expensive ring in this damned city."

"that's the spirit! now let's go get married!"

"wait, hisoka. what is your last name?"

later that night, when they leave a chapel, something gold glimmers on hisoka's bungee gum/texture surprise ring finger. a matching one around illumi's finger.

unlike hisoka, though, illumi had an extra red glimmer right under that gold, in the dead center of a silver band of intricately designed pattern. hisoka had foregone the traditional diamond in favor of a 16 carat ruby engagement ring, such a curious choice but illumi accepted it all the same...

(much later on, hisoka took both rings as collateral and reminded illumi that he would get them back even if he died bc it was in their damn prenup- and bc it was technically bought under illumis name and that's how hisoka assured illu that he'd be on that black whale,,, bc he had the rings and planned to give them back to him there)

"I thought a red gemstone was better suited for the rather bloody and murderous ending that our relationship will inevitably come to, wouldn't you agree?"

-Hisoka Morow whenever someone mentions his preference of proposal ring...

"I disagree with most of his ideals, our relationship has always had a fragile foundation, and I knew from the start that we'd eventually end up killing each other."

-Illumi Morow, nee Zoldyck when asked about his thoughts on his husband...

#prenup #engagement ring #hunter x hunter #hxh #headcanon #imagine #hunter x hunter 2011 #hisoillu #hisoka #hisoka morrow #hisoka morow #illumi #illumi zoldyck #hisoka x illumi #chat?? #conversation #marriage proposal #incorrect texts #hisoka wanted illumi to kill him to make things more interesting #how i think the conversation went #hisoka and illumis engagement #married hisoillu #my own plot twist #illumi just wants the money #or so he says #hisoka is actually rich tho #how do u think he keeps having a full deck of cards #their engagement ring is a ruby #change my mind #you can't

[thenovelartist]

Burned Beginnings, Chapter 3

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7. Homemade Gifts

Marinette prided herself in not caring about the looks of others. After all, beauty meant nothing if their heart was trash. They’d always just be a pig in lipstick.

Unfortunately, if they did have a good heart, Marinette discovered that she did care for their looks a little more than she would have cared to admit. Particularly when it came to a former model turned baker.

Which was why, much to her chagrin, she’d ended up losing the bet.

It was just a pair of glasses. A simple, functional accessory. However, with the frame he had, ones that held a dark green hue that accented his eyes and were square in form—somehow, a perfect match for his angular face—she couldn’t help but to have stared a bit.

By the time she caught herself, Adrien was already grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

She hoped beyond all hope her cheeks hadn’t colored, or at the very least, Adrien hadn’t caught it.

And now, she was having to bite the bullet and watch an anime of his choosing. Honestly, it wasn’t a bad loss.

Hopefully.

Depending on what he chose…

Oh, please don’t be anything stupid.

Marinette finished her work, then clocked out, hurrying to go shower quickly before Adrien came over. Not that Adrien hadn’t seen her covered in flour and looking like a hot mess already, but she’d rather be clean and comfy if she was going to have to suffer through her punishment for losing the bet. They had planned to meet at her house for the viewing. Adrien would bring over his computer and cables to hook it up to their tv so that he could easily access his anime accounts. He said it would be a piece of cake.

She threw on a comfy t-shirt and lounge pants, then she dried her hair. Once that was done, she went downstairs to begin preparing the dinner she’d prepped earlier that day.

Halfway through, a knock sounded on the door, signaling Adrien’s arrival. She answered, only for her gaze to fall to the box in his hands. “What’s that?”

One of his hands reached up to rub the back of his neck. “I wanted to bring some homemade food since I knew you’d be working all day. And I need to practice my cooking skills, anyway.”

She smiled, taking the offered gift. “Thanks, but I actually started making something thinking that it was the least I could do since you were bringing everything over.”

Adrien looked surprised for a moment before he chuckled. “We should have planned that better.”

“Oh well. Left overs for days, right?” she said with a shrug, stepping aside to let him in.

“That’s one way to look at it.”

 8. Commissions

“Can I ask a question?”

“I don’t know? Can you?”

Adrien looked up from his computer screen to shoot a grinning Marinette a flat look. This was the fourth time he’d come over so they could continue the anime he’d chosen. He had known from Mr. Dupain that he and his daughter both loved video games, and henceforth, he’d chosen accordingly in hopes to get Marinette hooked.

He knew he’d succeeded when they binged the first four episodes the first day. He’d then hung it over her head that “why would he come back again? He’d won the bet, and she’d paid her price, so for what reason did he have to come over again?”

He had had fun teasing her, because her huffy, unamused expression was too darn endearing.

“Look,” she’d said. “I just need to know what happens to Princess Bitch.”

He’d snorted, trying and failing to withhold his laugh. “You don’t get to call her that yet.”

“Why not? You don’t get to pull that level of manipulative bullshit, ruining the other person’s life like that, and not be dubbed with the title ‘Princess Bitch’.”

“So…” he drawled out, teasingly. “Are you saying you care about this anime?”

She’d fallen silent, and he couldn’t help but to laugh once more.

In the end, after more teasing on his part, he’d caved and said he’d come over again so they could finish it out.

Hence why he was here now.

“Haha, funny,” Adrien deadpanned, turning back to his screen.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be nice,” she said a little too sweetly, placing two plates of food on the coffee table before plopping down on the couch. “What’s on your mind?”

He took a second to log into his account before turning back to her. “I don’t know if this is overstepping, but… are you happy working at your parents’ bakery?”

Marinette froze, and for a moment, Adrien grew worried.

Thankfully, she seemed to take it well, although it was clear she was confused. “What brought that on?”

Adrien shrugged, looking at his screen again to select their anime of choice. “I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I feel like we’re close enough to be friends. Right?”

Marinette didn’t hesitate to nod. “Yeah, I would consider you one.”

Adrien pushed aside the very happy feeling that blossomed in his chest. “I guess I’m just… curious… about you… as a friend, of course.”

“No, I get it,” she assured. “Now that you mention it, I guess I could say the same for you.”

Adrien felt extra warm now. “So, do I get an answer to my question?”

Marinette paused, her expression falling as she bit her lip. “Only if you promise to keep it secret from my parents.”

“Yeah, totally,” he promised, smile falling from his face. “Cat’s honor.”

Marinette sighed. “I… I am happy,” she said. “Really. It’s not an issue of me being happy here. But running my parents’ bakery wasn’t my dream, you know?”

With the episode loading, Adrien decided to take a seat next to Marinette. “What was your dream?”

“I wanted to be a fashion designer.”

That came as a surprise to Adrien. “Really? What stopped you?”

“Chloe.”

Somehow… that answer shouldn’t have surprised him. “Chloe?”

“She got her mom to block me from going to any fashion or design school.”

“She what?!”

“Shhh!” Marinette shushed, finger over his lips. “Not so loud.”

Adrien felt his face heat at her touch. “Er…sorry.”

She then took her finger away, and Adrien tried not to think about why he was disappointed. “Chloe did that?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper. “How? And how’d you know?”

“Um…” She suddenly turned sheepish, and that spitfire edge he’d come to love diminished a bit. It made her look younger and sweeter. He didn’t mind that change. “Well, due to the methods used to acquire such information, I must refrain from answering that. Just know I trust my source and the information that was found.”

Adrien sighed. Honestly, even if he wanted to come to Chloe’s defense, he couldn’t. She ran in a pretty elite crowd and had some powerful connections. If she wanted to block someone from entering a fashion school, she could. And since Adrien knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t be above such tricks, Adrien accepted Marinette’s word as truth.

Besides, he knew Marinette well enough by now to know she hated liars. He doubted she’d lie about this.

“So, have you thought about applying outside the country?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “I just… didn’t. It felt too overwhelming.”

“So, what about skipping the education entirely? Find a niche and start your own business taking commissions or what not?”

Marinette paused, her eyes glazing over a moment as she thought. “I… it’s an idea that’s come up before.”

“So, what’s stopping you?” Adrien asked. “Even if you got an education later, you’d at least have a reputation you’re building up now.”

Again, Marinette was silent. “You know…” she began, her tone softer and more earnest than he’d ever heard before. It felt raw. Open. And that did something to his heart.

Protect her. The words popped up in his head, and his heart clenched onto them before he could even realize it. But all he could do at the moment was listen. So he would.

“I decided I’d step back and do a lot of thinking.”

“About?”

She sighed. “It’s easy to say ‘I love fashion so I want to be a designer’. It’s easy to have those dreams. It’s easy to think that your hobby can become your profession. But the easy stuff isn’t all the fashion world consists of. It’s a competitive world filled with both nice people and people like Audrey Bourgeois. It’s filled with more than fashion, and when faced with the reality that I’d been barred from fashion college because one person in the industry had that much power, I had to do some reflecting. If I accept fashion as my career, I get to set foot into that world. And I had to face the question of ‘am I ready and willing to accept that?’”

When Marinette came to a pause, Adrien stopped to think of his response. “Honestly, as someone who comes from that world, I completely understand your feelings. I’ve seen the good, and I’ve seen the bad. I’ve watched people succeed and climb the ladder, and I’ve watched people crash and burn. And I think there’s such a fine line between the two.”

“See, that just feels validating,” Marinette said, small smile on her face. “I understand that that is basically every job field. I understand some are better than others. But with what I’ve seen from the fashion world… I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m as adamant about it as I was when I was in high school.”

Adrien sighed. “I don’t understand what it’s like to have a passion,” he admitted. “I’ve never had one, so this might not mean anything coming from me, but I think… it would be better to keep your passion a hobby… if the profession will burn you out. Because then you’re not just loosing your profession, but the hobby meant to bring you joy.”

Marinette was silent for a minute, and Adrien thought he’d said something wrong. But that tension in his chest eased hen a small smile crept up on her lips. “That’s good advice,” she finally said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Adrien reached out to pat her shoulder, surprising her a moment. When she turned to him, eyes wide and clear once again, he gave her a smile. “I’ll be rooting for you. And if there’s anything I can help you with, I’d be happy to assist.”

Slowly, her small smile grew. “Thanks,” she said, her voice surprisingly sweet. But she soon turned away, and Adrien pulled his hand back. “So, um… fair’s fair,” she started up again. “Are you happy working here?”

Adrien didn’t hesitate to nod. “Honestly, it’s hard work, but it’s something that I chose, for once. This is something I myself am doing. I don’t want to say the novelty of doing this hasn’t worn off yet, but it feels… worthwhile.”

Marinette nodded. “Have you considered other paths or what you want to do for the future? Or do you see this being long term?”

Adrien shrugged. “I don’t know, yet,” he said. “Honestly, this whole ‘I’m my own person and on my own’ thing still hasn’t fully caught up to me yet. I feel like I’m still playing pretend. It’s… weird.” He turned back to her, forcing a smile. “Hazard of growing up super sheltered, I guess.”

Marinette hummed. “Well, I think you know Papa will love having you around as long as you plan to stay.”

He smiled, a genuine grin this time. “Yeah, I know. And you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you mind having Asshole Agreste around?”

Her expression changed from shock to irritation. “Are you really gonna dredge up that old nickname? No, wait!” Her brow furrowed in a mix of anger and confusion. “Where did you even hear that? I never called you that here!”

He grinned a little wider than he’d thought he would. “Chloe.”

Marinette growled.

He couldn’t help but laugh.

“You know I don’t think of you like that anymore, right?”

He couldn’t help teasing her a bit more. “I don’t know. Do I?”

Marinette glowered at him, and he burst into laughter again.

With a growl, she turned away, crossing her arms with a huff. “Just turn on the anime again. I need to see Princess Bitch get her comeuppance.”

Adrien laughed. “We’re only on episode fourteen. You still don’t get to call her that yet.”

“Why?” she cried. “What’s gonna happen in the next few episodes that changes? Does she get worse? And if so, how? She’s already about as low as she can go. Like, almost past Chloe-level.”

He shook his head. “Nevermind. Just wait and see.”

 9. Baking Lessons

Marinette felt like she was up to her ears in information.

After her talk with Adrien, she decided that she should do her research on the fashion industry as much as she could. But she also knew to take everything with a grain of salt. Only once she felt prepared enough would she make a decision on her future.

On one hand, it was satisfying to pick up her dreams again, dust them off, and put plans to them. On the other, it was overwhelming, and more did once did Adrien’s warning of “don’t burn out your passion” cross her mind.

It was well into the afternoon that she realized a break might be in order and food would be beneficial.

She headed down into kitchen, only to startle at the unfamiliar face there.

“Um… what are you doing in my house?”

Adrien glanced over his shoulder to look at her, then shot her a smile. “Your parents asked me to. They each had their break and said you hadn’t been down all day. So now it’s my turn for a break, and they asked if I’d take a minute to make sure you ate.”

Marinette looked at the sandwich on the plate he extended towards her. After staring at it a moment, she realized she should take it. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Busy?”

“Yeah. I… kinda forgot the last time I was so engrossed in something that I forgot to eat like this.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Um… I decided to dig into researching the fashion industry.”

Adrien turned back around, glancing at her with surprise. “Oh? How’s it going?”

Marinette’s lips pursed in thought. “Up and down. Every other article seems to pull me the opposite direction.”

“Fair,” he said with a nod. “Which way are you leaning now?”

“The ‘This is bullshit. Why do I want to be in this hellish industry?’ direction.”

A lopsided grin flashed across Adrien’s face. “I feel that on a personal level.”

“I’m sure you do,” she muttered, walking over to the table to have a seat. “But enough of me griping. You? Have you thought of your future at all since our talk?”

He grabbed a paper bag on the counter, pulling out a tupperware container with a sandwich of his own inside. “Not really.”

“Not really?” she probed, pointing at the seat directly across from her.

He took the hint and took a seat. “I haven’t given much thought to anything beyond the baking lessons your father has been giving me. I mean, maybe one day I’ll go to school for something, but I’ve really decided to give myself a full year of this before committing to anything. Let me learn how to be an adult on my own first before I move forward, you know? It’s easier to start running when your feet are solidly under you.”

“Understandable,” Marinette said. “But just so you know, I’m going to hold you to that, now.”

“Oh?”

“Yup. I’d like you to know you have six months, three weeks, and five days remaining before you have to make a decision.”

Adrien froze, sandwich halfway to his mouth.

Marinette couldn’t help but giggle.

“Is that a legit number or one you just threw out.”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I think that when it comes to you, I don’t always know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

She giggled, feeling a little too giddy for her liking. She played it off with a wink. “Got to keep you on your toes somehow.”

Adrien scoffed. “Don’t worry about that,” he dismissed with a charming smile that she hated to admit could knock her off her feet if she were standing. “You already do.”

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #adrienette #AdrinetteApril2021 #teasing #fluff #and a heart to heart talk #Bonus points to whoever guesses the anime XD

[tooinlovewithfictionalpeople]

She’s my Wife - Five Hargreeves

Plot: Ruby comes to her husband’s rescue much to the surprise of the siblings

Five Hargreeves was scared.

He’d never admit it to the other, but he was.

The commission had managed to capture them when they were inches away from stopping the Apocalypse and now wanted them to spill how they were going to do so. However if the siblings told the commission their last hope of stopping the end of the world would be lost.

All of the siblings were shackled to a very cold slimy wall, restricting their movements to the point where they had to stay incredibly still. All were covered in some sort of blood, be it theirs or somebody else’s and all of them were exhausted and powerless.

For the first time, Five felt utterly weak.

He was the worst off out of all of them, with half of his face covered in blood that came from a large wound in his hairline, and a spilt lip that was still bleeding slightly.

“I am never listening to you ever again. From now on I am number one.” grumbled Diego. 

“Hey, if you hadn’t pissed him off, I wouldn’t have had to take charge,” Luther argued.

“And by taking charge you mean pissing him off even more?” Five butted in, also in a bad mood.

“Oh yeah, you can talk, they’re your ex co workers!” Allison scoffed.

“Hey guys, maybe we should just stay calm? And focus on getting a plan together?”

“That’s rich coming from the person who blew up the moon,”

“Just because you have an obsession with the moon-”

“Shut Up!” Five shouted “Two minuets from now the next commission member is going to walk in, torture one of us to death for information until we give up. Arguing is getting us nowhere.”

Klaus raised his hand “I would like to point out that I said nothing.”

“Shut up Klaus.” Luther said

“Hey, don’t speak to him like that-”

“Oh so now you're on his side!”

“I didn’t say that,”

Five put his head in his hands.

Suddenly the door opened and two men dressed in black suit holding a disturbing amount of weapons walked in, dragging a chair with them,

The chair was terrifying itself, it was made of wood with metal cuffs and restraints attached to it.

Man number one grinned “I think we should start with the supposedly deadliest assassin,”

Man number two nodded “Up you get Hargreeves, Fight back we kill your sister,” he pointed the gun at Vanya.

“Don’t do that, she’ll blow up the moon,”

“KLAUS.”

Five got to his feet shakily, ignoring his sibling’s pleas of not to hurt their eldest brother fell on deaf ears.

“You going to Kill me David?” he said looking at Man number two.

David looked slightly sorrowful. “Sorry Mr Hargreeves, I’m just following orders.”

Man number one grinned, showing yellow teeth.

“I’m here to have fun,” he laughed, pushing Five into the chair.

Suddenly a scream sounded from outside the door.

“What was that?” David looked around nervously. The first man shrugged.

“Who cares? There’s no-one we can’t kill,”

Klaus leaned forward to Diego “That man’s a psycho,” he whispered.

Another scream sounded but this time but this time it said something “She’s here -” before it was cut off with a bang.

“She’s here? What does that mean?” Diego asked “Who is she?”

Five started to laugh, which was a gruesome sight when you considered the amount of blood that was coming out of the poor guy.

“You guys are so screwed now,” he laughed.

At his words, more men poured through the door, all holding a gun, protecting the others in the room.

“Five what’s going on?” shouted Vanya

Five just continued smiling through the pain “She’s here.” was all he said.

From outside in the hallway a strong female voice was heard. “Where the HELL is my HUSBAND,”

Followed by a poor strangled scream and a large bang.

The assassins inside the room trembled slightly. “Do we have to do this?” one whined pitifully “She’s ruthless when angry.”

However they stood their ground, facing the closed door in anticipation.

Not that the steel door was much help, it was blown back with an unbeatable force.

The assasins stood their ground as the smoke cleared revealing the figure they were all waiting for.

She was beautiful, dressed quite formally in a white checked skirt and fitted black top she looked no older than her mid or late teens - and seemingly innocent with her hair pulled back in a messy braid. However her eyes held a world of anger - or perhaps it was the fact they were glowing red.

“Hello Boys.” her dark eyes swept the room “Seen my husband?”

They all shook their heads, praying that she would simply leave and not notice Five behind them.

But she did.

She saw his bloody, bruised face. She saw his shaking hands and tears he had hastily rubbed away in case anyone saw.

Any chance the guards had with reasoning with her was gone.

With an angry cry the girl waved her hand and all the guards disintegrated, leaving only a pile of grey dust where they were once stood.

“What just happened?” Allison was the first to respond, and immediatly regretted it as the girl turned her red eyes onto the other female.

“Who are you?” 

“It’s okay Rosalie, that’s my sister.”

Rosalie's eyes died down, returning back to their normal colour. She rushed to Five’s aid, carefully melting the cuffs away until they were nothing but ash.

“Free them first.” he whispered as she attempted to heal him.

“I can manipulate Particles.” Rosalie's explained to the group as she helped them break free. “When the Handler found me, she made me an assassin - which is how I met Five. We were - are- partners.”

“No offence because I’m sure you're lovely, but isn’t Five a little old for you?” asked Klaus.

Rosalie laughed “Benefit of manipulating particles is I can de-age them. It’s like mini personal time travel,”

After freeing the siblings she ran to where Five was sat, clearly exhausted.

Rosalie brushed his hair out of his eyes whilst she worked on the wound on his head. Five stared up at her, before feeling his eyelids get heavy.

“Close your eyes and I won’t make you coffee for a month.”

He opened his eyes with a frown.

“I've just been tortured and you are threatening me even more?” he huffed a laugh as the blood began to trace back to the wound.

Rosalie smiled “Damn straight. I have a reputation.”

“So do you need help finding your husband?” Asked Luther as he approached the two.

Rosalie frowned in confusion, her mouth opening and closing unable to form a response. 

Five groaned. “Luther you idiot I am her husband!”

“You got married???? Who would want to marry you?” was Diego’s response.

Rosalie grinned. “I know right, he’s a right weirdo,”

“Hey!” Five protested

She sat down on his lap, resting her head on his chest as she wrapped her arms around him.

“But he’s my weirdo,” she laughed as he reciprocated her actions.

“That was sickening.” Diego commented.

“nonono it was cute!” Gushed the two sisters and Klaus.

“Us Hargreeves aren’t incapable at love after all!” Klaus did a little happy dance which Rosalie laughed at even more.

“I can see why you wanted to save them Five,” she said softly as she stared at the laughing family.

“Do you? Because I dont,” he said sarcastically, although there was love in his voice.

Rosalie kissed his cheek, stroking his hair softly. He sighed in content, resting his head on hers.

“Thanks for saving us,” he whispered.

“That’s what I’m for,” she replied.

Five smiled cheekily “And making me coffee,”

“Anymore of that Mister you can save yourself.”

#five x reader #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves fluff #Five x oc #five #The Umbrella Academy #number 5 #aiden gallagher