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skull-fvcker · 7 months ago

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Morality

❥ Yandere! Arcane Viktor x Gender Neutral! Reader

A/N: cross-posted from my ao3. Old fanfiction from 2021, written way before season two. Thought I might as well post it here—the final episode broke me, by the way.

Summary: Years worth of obsession and fantasy obfuscated his once comprehensible brain. But it felt as if this was a crucial transition. Viktor is convinced he is a good man, but his actions are speaking otherwise against his morality.

Warnings: 7204 words, MDNI, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, viktor is delusional, yandere viktor by the way, dubious consent(he coerces you), unhealthy and one-sided relationship, gender-neutral pronouns used for reader, no usage of y/n, gentle sex, set in season 1

In all honesty, Viktor did not know how it started or when it got out of hand. It started as a simple fascination and he had treated it as such. Nothing was wrong with that, he was a man of science after all. It was in his nature to feel drawn to things that he did not quite understand. Many years have passed since that day. Before his strange obsession came into his life. Honestly, now that he was alone to think about it, had it ever come into his life at all? Or, by some force of nature, he had forced it into his own life? The ever-changing flow of time halted the very moment Viktor had initially realised that he had more than a problem on his hands.

Viktor thought of himself as a man with morals. He was not the best person, yes, there are plenty of others that shone brighter than he did, but he found his value in his work and ethics. That being said, nothing about him was right. His work had been clogged for year's now; the chaotic office space merely setting as a permanent indication that he had slipped too far this time. Above all else, he had guaranteed himself that his work came foremost, give or take a few instances in which it did not. This case was different, however. A disturbing accomplishment that, when asked initially, he wrote off his findings as evidence, or even lack thereof. Whether or not he was believed, was foreign to even him.

Directly adjacent to his cluttered working place—being neat had long passed his troubled brain, hadn't it?— lie his crutch, sat in such a way that it may fall at any minute. Viktor paid it no mind, at least not at first, but looking over his notes and the observations that he had written down, an idea popped up within what was left of a comprehensive state of mind. Of course, how could he have been so oblivious to forget such a thing, it was written clear as day in these scattered notes. His nimble, cold fingers grasped at the end of his crutch and he tugged it over and dug it into the floor while it enabled him to stand.

Viktor's book laid sloppily in his hand, page open in clear view. "Yes," he breathed, "I suppose this will do." He closed the withered book and shoved it between his left arm and clothed side. Periodically, an opportunity was difficult to come by. He had to do the best with what he had been given, though an itch in his brain told him that: why settle for fine, when you can go beyond?

The aforementioned person that he mentioned, the obsession - the two had never even met before, Hell, Viktor was certain it never even knew of his existence. It was ostensibly a normal upper city citizen with no strange qualities, nothing special about its behaviours nor its personality. It was normal. But it made him feel bizarre inside. He could effortlessly correlate it to that of an over-easy egg slowly cooking within a skillet until the yoke bursts for seemingly no reason and tarnishes the taste of the egg entirely. Just like that, it was ruining him. Granted, neither of them seemed to be eggs, but he believed the metaphor to fit rather well. Humanity always seemed to be so fickle, so easily swayed and broken. Just like an egg.

No matter the weakened disposition he had, nor the lingering scent of death he had become accustomed to, nothing prepared Viktor for the way his certain obsession made him feel. He was intelligent enough to not let these be known, oh, how he would hate the way that Jayce would assume the worst of his sentiments. Would he? Jayce had changed rather strikingly since the first day the two had met. Nevertheless, Viktor never seemed to be the man for love, much less protection of those around him.

Moreover, he was sure that with such dehumanising language and behaviour, nobody would hear his side of the matter. After all, calling the object of your affection an "it," and "thing," definitely does not look good for your compassion. Still, it gave him a reason to humanise his behaviour—if his obsession is not seen as equal, then what's the issue, exactly? To be blunt, it served no purpose other than to make him feel better since not a soul knew of this but him.

Sure, it did not occur to him that he would have strayed this far, but sometimes you have to do what you can to keep someone safe. He was in no state to protect someone on his own, he knew this far too well, he could never protect anyone with this sickly, frail body of his. That is why kidnapping was an absolute must. Reminiscing of the past did no good but to open up older wounds that set themselves up for failure, but the first day they had formally met was an exhilarating experience.

When they had seen him, there was a quizzical expression plastered on their face, and they even confused him for a council member of all things—never attentive, he presumed—but upon realising who he was, Viktor found himself met with immediate scepticism. Viktor could not fault them, it was something he knew all too well, though, maybe he should have saved his anguish for another day. The way their warmer hand held onto his own when he reached out to shake it. Their hand was soft, softer than his at least, and much less calloused. Smaller. Yet, their fingers did not hold the appearance of his own; on the contrary, they looked healthy. Healthier than him.

Of course, with someone who seemed to not have any imperfection, how was Viktor not supposed to fall for them, much less become intrigued with their very existence at that point? Humans were so fickle, he knew very well with how his body had grown to become sicker, but they seemed so robust, so self-sufficient. It was just like any other person, nothing too special but it stood out to him and that was what mattered.

It hurt him, really it did, to see them gawk at him with betrayal, to seem so frightened of someone who wasn't even strong, to begin with, but love came with sacrifice and even if he couldn't help everyone, then he would try to help them the best that he could.

Viktor revolted and fought against his rationality, he really did, he tried his absolute best to make sense of both his actions and what he had done. Within the months, he had thoroughly convinced himself that it was for the greater good, for the safety of his obsession; to keep them isolated from others. It was not the healthiest choice, he would acknowledge at the time, but now he may argue that it was the only thing he could have done upon meeting them formally. He just could not let them go.

Months had passed since that day, but it was fun to reminisce sometimes. Besides, it was even better that, when he had the time, they were someone in which he could spoil with every day. Yes, Viktor took things slow and always was sure to leave them be, yet give them company, but watching them stare at him with a look that he could hardly even decipher anymore, left him breathless. And he didn't even know why.

That very thing forced him into the very dilemma that he is in now. Standing in front of a locked door with a flawlessly crafted key lying in his tremoring hand. It was from excitement, he knew it was. It was like this was his own secret sanctuary where he hid his most precious desire and treasure, his perfect obsession that wept behind locked doors. It was the same every day, no matter how long he would stare.

The door opened with a slight rasp, the only other noise being a stifled sob and the sound of scuffing against the floor, then the buoyancy of bedsprings. His stiff body staggered against the sturdy cane, his hunched over body barely allowing the light to pool in around the walls of the door frame. Every day seemed no closer to his objective. He didn't even know how he had done this. Years worth of obsession and fantasy obfuscated his once comprehensible brain. But it felt as if this was a crucial transition.

Viktor is convinced he is a good man, but his actions are speaking otherwise against his morality.

"Good morning, dear. Have you slept well?" The sounds of chains screamed in his ears when he spoke. All these years and his lover still has not gotten used to their living state. "Ehh... I have already assured you. Good behaviour is rewarded, please understand that this is an absolute must to keep you safe." They were terrified. Of him. Isolation was a punishment and he could never help but feel dreadful about them being punished for things out of their control.

"When can I go home?" was the concern they always pleaded with whenever they saw him. Viktor tried to not let it get under his skin, really he did, but the knowledge that they did not want to be with him weighed heavy on his mind. He loved them, they had to recognize. Their eyes were so passive; it reminded him of when he had first seen the mutation, Rio, when he was a young boy. Curiosity, distress; panic. They just did not understand this yet.

Perhaps all the days that he merely sat there and stared at them with a desolate expression thoroughly destroyed the way they would perceive him, or how he would blatantly ignore their tantrums and screaming, tapping his fingers along the edge of his crutch like a patient father waiting for their child to calm down. Of course, Viktor never mistreated them. The most he did was further isolate them, which explained the absolutely pitiful state that they were in right now.

Reluctance to accept the changing future will result in the fear of what's to come. He understands it's different from what they were used to. But one must adapt to their surroundings and become accustomed. Viktor has already sacrificed so much for them; when was it their turn to return the favour? The ever-changing future is something he will never know for certain.

Viktor sighed, watching them press their body against the nook of the room where their bed had been so delicately placed. The bedsheets had been sent into a state of disrepair, and certain pillows seemed more shapely than the rest. From clutching them too tightly, he inferred. It was adorable.

"This is your home," It was no wonder that they attempted to squeeze themselves farther against the wall when he staggered closer. "I don't have any food this time, I'm afraid," he stood right at the side of their mattress, directly in front of trembling form, his eyes fixated on the plate that sat adjacent to the bed, at least a few days old now. "Though, I'm glad that you, ehm, were able to finish your last meal. Good job." A sigh escaped him after the carefully placed praise fell from his lips and, upon staring hastily at them, he recalled the fear blending within their wide eyes. "However," he found himself fumbling over his words, "I know that you've been a little, eh... downcast, as of late so I have decided that I am going to offer you something that I'm sure you would love," he paused, almost reluctant to reach forward and stroke the hair behind their ear. Hesitant to touch them lovingly.

This situation was a troublesome one, of course, it would be, but he was not a fool in the matter. He read up on numerous articles simply so he can keep things safe for them — falling for one's captor, he had thought about it, yet the turmoil often sets in when he realises that they hadn't developed such a thing just yet. Had he not been too kind? Perhaps, it was the chains around their body? Particular disorders of the mind were so hard to force into existence; was that such a terrible thing to wish for? They looked as if they served more as a pet than anything else, honestly. But that's love, this is just his love. Viktor was well aware that a plethora of things regarding both he and his health weren't precisely right, particularly in concerns to other people. Honestly, staring at them in such a miserable state made him feel almost remorseful.

They must feel so trapped, not to mention secluded, after all, he was never able to spend as much time with them as he would have preferred. He wondered, did they feel imprisoned in their own body, too? Probably not in the way that he did, but it was a suspicion that lingered in his mind. He set his hand on the side of their face unexpectedly, and they jolted back. Granted, he was certain that his hand was freezing. But, Hell, it appeared as if they had almost whimpered at his touch. Still, he had never done anything to harm them, he's only keeping them safe. The images of the mutation Rio sitting in a tank of fluids that he knew all too well now, the thought of it being kept alive despite its pleas not to. Such lengths are just an experiment to preserve life. He understood, now. Not in the way that he should have, but he did.

Maybe that was how they felt. Like a trapped animal, frightened and alone. But they have him, they may not want him, but he is there.

Viktor's knees buckled as they pressed against the edge of the mattress, gently hoisting one after the other to get closer to the horrified individual hiding from his affection, which was already something which he never exhibited frequently.

"I want you to understand," he ran his thumb along their cheek with feathery soft touches, "I know you still don't understand why I'm doing this, or why you're here but rest assured that it's all out of genuine love." When you're going to change the world, don't ask for permission. "Alone. You're lonely and you're scared. I know how you feel. But you're special," their eyes met Viktor's for but an instant and it sent shock waves down his spine. Don't ask permission. "You're special to me, and that is what truly matters at this moment." They were about to cry. Correction, they were sobbing. And it was all his fault. Emotional turmoil mixed with the trauma enforced within them made this happen - because of Viktor.

And despite it all, Viktor could not help but feel proud of his accomplishments.

"Please," their name rolled off of his tongue like a loose screw in his brain, though more akin to a prayer. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, please." Their disobedience irritated him and sent his nostrils flaring, but he didn't allow that to show outwardly. They were already so skittish, why would he threaten them further? "Mm, I will reiterate it as many times as you desire: good behaviour is rewarded. If... If you're good—for me—then, and only then, will I allow you to go outside." His words set off a fire in their brain, he could tell how their breathing unexpectedly halted and they went completely tight-lipped. Was that all it took for them to settle down? An effortlessly broken promise?

Right, they were at their wit's end, weren't they? Their emotions override their rationality. The sunlight would be good for their health, after all. Quite frankly, the thought was unsettling, Viktor didn't want them out of his sight, but if it would make them satisfied then he could make configurations for such a thing. Though, he would have to be cautious to not allow anyone to see them. What if they tried to... escape, in a sense? It was dangerous, he would have to think about it thoroughly.

"Do you mean it?" They said, suddenly. Their head was raised aloft and their wide eyes stared directly at him. "If I'm good... I'll be able to go outside? It's—" A sharp inhale. "It's been months," they were optimistic. Why was it so unbearable to see them so miserable?

For all but a juncture, Viktor felt himself at a loss for words. There was no telling whether or not he would be able to keep that promise, but he could try. They just need to learn to embrace change and adapt, maybe they will forget about it in due time. "I mean it," he said without thought, "you have my word." Did they, truly? You should not make promises that you are incapable of keeping, but just this once, the way their expression lit up and how the tears fell from their eyes, made Viktor feel as if he had done something right this entire time. Without a single word, his hand slowly lowered from their warm cheek, his gangly fingers running alongside the edges of the collar that adorned their flawless neck.

In pursuit of great, we failed to do good.

How would Viktor feel if someone had done this to him? It was a rhetorical question; nobody cared for him enough to go to such drastic lengths to proclaim their love. Therefore, this couldn't have been an unfair thing for him to do. "We must adapt to change," he spoke softly as his fingers danced around their trembling jaw. "You must adapt to change." His voice dropped an octave, gaze falling back onto their face. He had adapted to this change flawlessly fine, it was them that had to figure out how to. They were ultimate perfection in his eyes—there was just one, little issue...

"What are you doing?" Their voice quivered. Viktor's hand slipped down to their collarbones, pinching against the soft fleshy prison.

"Ahm, eh, I am... feeling you, merely. Nothing more," their breath hitched at his actions. "Unless you want me to do more?" An unexpected whimper came from them, in which he did not know if it was good or not, but knowing them, it emanated from apprehension. "I love you, you know that. I would never force you to do something. Think of it as a friendly suggestion," Viktor's blunt fingernails found themselves becoming caught on the neckline of their shirt. "So, will you let me?" There was a pause between them. Most importantly, the air seemed to grow still. Tension so thick that you could slice it in half with a knife.

They shifted but didn't give Viktor a clear yes or no. In all honesty, they seemed to be dismissing him altogether. He could feel their body heat begin to amplify, a telltale indication of both their embarrassment and if he dares say desire. A relatively foolish notion, he was well aware, however, that did not mean anything in his mind, not in the current time. The future could come later, and his life may pass him by. But the future does not exist, does it? Not until you make it so. If he didn't take satisfaction in the opportunity that he had right now, then it may never come up again.

Nevertheless, he took the chance and leaned forward, inch by inch until his face had pressed into what was seen within the crook of their neck. Their skin was soft, warm; pulsating. "I am obsessed with you," both of his hands set themselves upon their shoulders, thumbs clutching against the blade of their clavicles. "I am, truly. My devotion, my love, my obsession for you—that will be the only thing that will never change no matter the year to come. You may push me away all that you desire, but I will come back to you. I love you." His chapped lips pressed in between their jawline and neck, a chaste kiss that he allowed to linger on their skin. They didn't even bother pushing him away. They had the strength to, yet abstained.

We failed to do good.

"Understand my efforts," his voice was barely above a whisper, "you must have seen them. Make sense of my love for you." His grip on their shoulders tightened, but he knew it would never be enough to harm them. It wasn't as if he wanted to injure them in the first place, either. However, it was short-lived, and Viktor's hands fell from their shoulders to their bound wrists, and straight down to their tremoring hands. "I have always wanted to do more with you—to be what most would consider a "couple" yet you keep pushing me away." During his rambling, Viktor heard them mumble something under their breath. "Could you repeat that?"

"I said I'm sorry," they whispered. For the first time, it seemed that they were apologising to him so sincerely, maybe with actual suspicions that something may transpire if they were to not apologise. It was startling, but a chance to hear their voice was satisfactory for Viktor. There was a lingering breath that he could feel tickle the back of his neck, coupled together with their heaving chest. They were scared.

We have to make it right.

Viktor felt his heart hammer against his rib cage, a knot forming in his throat bitterly. This clammy feeling in his chest was unneeded. "Well," he spoke with a sharp exhale, "do you know what would make me forgive you?" As if he hadn't already forgiven them, to begin with. Upon feeling them nod slowly, Viktor pulled away from them and hurried his hands from their own, to their neck. His touches were faint, but loving. Held a certain edge to them, hinted at with a distinct emotion. "I'm very sure you're aware of what I'm getting at," his breathing picked up, just as theirs did, and for a few instants, it seemed that theirs was in sync with his own. To his surprise, they shifted and nodded in agreement, but did not vocalise it.

Anxiously, Viktor proceeded to slowly creep his body forward, even closer to them than he was before. He felt his heart thumping against his rib cage, the wind being knocked from his lungs as he shakily exhaled. Viktor was not the type of man for sex, he never had the time to do it; but when it came to his little obsession, why not indulge? Their consent was dubious at best, but at this point, any hint of acceptance was promising enough for him. He struggled to rationalise his thinking but instead was only met with a cluttered mess within his brain. Viktor couldn't concentrate on anything other than them at this moment. It was just the two of them, and that was all that truly carried weight to him.

His kisses against their skin were light, virtually non-existent, but the genuine love that he harboured for them persisted despite their shuddering breathing; despite their apprehension. Viktor's lips pressed against their tender jawline until he finally met the edges of their lips. His hands were twitching, cupping the sides of their face with his thumbs caressing the skin underneath their eyes. This would be their first kiss together. Would they reciprocate it? He sure hopes that they would in some way, they don't seem to have any reasoning as to why they wouldn't. He pulled back momentarily to stare at them, only to notice that they weren't looking at him at all. That would be okay.

"You're mine," he breathed as he pressed his lips against their own once again. Viktor felt as if his chapped, thin lips were being engulfed by theirs—though, theirs were equally as chapped as he were. He made a mental note to up their water intake. The kiss did not quite feel the way that he visualized it to feel—he thought it would have felt more romantic in a sense. Moreover, he would have believed that they wouldn't be chained to the wall in such an intimate instant. But, good behaviour is rewarded. This was temporary, they knew that, as did he. Just as the kiss was about to end, he felt them lean into it and press their lips into his own. That, above everything else, made him feel like the blessedest man in all of Piltover. Of Zaun, anywhere.

"I love you more than anything," confessed Viktor as he pulled away from their lips. "I'm glad that you're mine." And he meant it.

Their breath hitched just as it constantly did when he touched them. Maybe it was the fact that his hands were gradually examining their body, tilting across every crevice, from where their midsection concave whenever they'd instinctively suck it in out of humiliation, to the quiver of the skin around their navel when his fingers ran along the sensitive region. Viktor's hands were underneath their shirt, his wiry fingers eagerly squeezing the skin. They squeaked at first, his hands were frigid after all but eventually unwound though not peeking at him. Viktor wished that they would look at him like a person rather than an oddity.

The hem of their trousers huddled against their hips, hiding away the most intimate part of their body that only Viktor was allowed to see. For a moment, he looked into their eyes for the right to go ahead, but upon being avoided, Viktor merely yanked them down with enthusiasm pulsing through his veins. His thumbs pressed between their navel and hipbones, in an almost comforting gesture. But it wasn't as if they cared in the long run, however, he could hear their hitching breath. Through dirty-minded thoughts, Viktor's right hand loomed above their sex while his other clasped against their hipbone for support. He was actually doing this—something that he had just as much as dreamed of for years.

"Please," their whiny voice startled his thoughts. "Just... be gentle with me," they didn't seem to be in the mood to fight him at all. That's good. Viktor was sure he had neither the strength nor the energy to deal with it.

His thumb pressed against the sensitive nub below, threatening a gasp from them. "I'll never hurt you," he rubbed their hip in synchronisation with his sensual touches against their sex. "I promise, I will do what I can to make you feel pleasured." His breathing picked up as arousal trickled down his spine like that of the emotions that he loathed. "I want... to see the inside of you. All of you," he spoke aloud, a hint of longing in his tone which he had shoved back this entire time. He wanted them to comprehend his love to its full potential.

Viktor's face pressed against the crook of their neck once again, shifting his hips as he closed his eyes. They were making noises, now, their chained wrists clicking against the harsh metals as they lifted their hands to dig into his back. Secretly, he had hoped that they would call his name. He knew that they knew it. They've spoken it countless times before. Granted, it was always in a fit of rage or hysteria which followed, "I hate you," and, "You ruined my life." But they knew his name at the very least.

Moreover, they were unravelling at the seams. They liked this just as much as Viktor did. They loved him, they had to. Lust and love were on a thin line, so closely drawn together yet had such distinct differences. Could the same be said about obsession? Maybe so, but that did not mean much by this point.

"I love you," he breathed into their neck, his warm breath no doubt sending shivers down his spine or so he hoped. "You feel so soft, so pretty..." His fingers toyed with their sex, jerking in sporadic movements which caused their hips to buck against him, further spurring him on. "Do you like it when I touch you like this? Like I—" his breath hitched when their hands clenched the fabric of his vest, "Like I own you?" For once, they actually agreed with him.

"Y-yes," they let out a pitiful, rueful whine more akin to someone who was used to this sort of thing. But that was inane. They belonged to him. "It feels—It feels really good, I..." Their hips were rolling now, eagerly trying to accept his love rather than pushing it away like they always had been. They were accepting change. They were adapting. "Jus—just like that, please, Viktor—"

And at that moment, time seemed to halt.

They said his name, not out of pure spite or anger, not from him doing something they did not like, but in pleasure. The pleasure that he was inflicting on them. "You're doing such a good job, So good for me," it came out as more of a wheeze than praise, though there was a hint of worship hidden within it. "Are you going to come soon? I want you to come undone because of me. I love you," his lips returned their place at their neck, his crooked teeth nibbling onto their soft skin, further forcing out a reaction from them. Just from their responses and noises alone, Viktor felt as if he was going to come any second now instead, and he hadn't even touched himself. All he could feel was his dick beginning to strain against his dress pants.

It was getting so hot and stuffy, surely he should take off his vest and dress shirt soon. The things that they did to him were things that he didn't even expect. The love he harboured, the desire he held—they were his weak spot. This precious creature. Viktor felt his breathing pick up as he pulled his teeth away from their neck, their delicate skin caught between his incisors.

Once more, slowly, his fingers gently danced around their sex, forcing himself to concentrate and try to block out the absolutely lovely noises that they were emitting. The noises, be as they may, were provided to him involuntarily, he attempting to reject the wail of pleasure that came from them. The squelchy sound of their fluid pooling around his fingers met his ears, giving a sick taste of satisfaction. His left hand clenched their skin a little too tightly for even his standards, the wiry fingers of his right hand working against him, deliberately circulating apart and snapping concurrently, a shudder running down his spine at the howl they made along with the response their body offered. Devoiding much of a thought, Viktor pulled his left hand away from their hipbone, dragging the appendage straight to the front of his dress pants, fumbling with both the zipper and hem in an attempt to pull it away from his groin.

"Oh," he heaved as he pulled away, ignoring the whimper that came from his lover in front of him. They wanted this. They needed this. Needed him. "Would you mind if I tried..." The words died in his mouth as soon as they came out, his left hand hovering above his concealed groin. Surely, they would say yes? They seemed a bit dazed, though perhaps it was his fault for not allowing them the relief that they were so close to acquiring. "I want to... feel you. I may not last very long," he fished his dick out of his boxers, feeling his face heat up to the point where he was sure it was red. "Do you want to?"

They made eye contact with him this time. The humanity, the want, the greed and the fear shone in their eyes brightly, but nothing could cover the telltale signs of love and lust. Viktor already knew the answer, they didn't even have to answer him, he already knew what it was going to be by their reaction alone. This was the key to their heart.

Now, at first, Viktor would not lie when he said that it made him feel a bit shy, or nervous—the thought of them seeing such an intimate part of his body, one of which he knows can be heavily judged based on size, was nervewracking to him. But the lack of disgust in their eyes—or maybe it was hidden between a thick cloud of lust—made him believe otherwise. They liked what they saw, and hopefully, nothing would change the way that they saw him. Their approval is what he strives for. However, that does not exactly matter with how far things have gotten. How many times has he repeated that phrase in his head?

The silence was deafening, but it was enough for Viktor to shuffle forward and shift his weight onto his somewhat good leg, swallowing the rising lump in his throat as he used his free hand to pull down their trousers. After this, he would be sure to give things a thorough wash. "Can you come closer?" He asked as he pulled his hand away. Please come closer.

He hadn't expected them to listen to him, nor to actually push themselves off the wall just to get closer to him, but, at the same time, he was not complaining. "Good job," he praised, his hands returning to place on their hips. Their skin felt so warm, but Viktor could still feel the reluctance radiating off of their perfect form. Now, this was just a question of whether or not he should go through with It. If he should finish claiming them.

The rattling chains served as a constant reminder for them to not fall out of line, and Viktor was sure that they did not want to do such a thing, especially not so close to salvation at this point. Steadily, Viktor felt their thighs wrap around his hips, and though the pressure and their weight being shifted onto him were agonising, he tried to force his way through it. The way that he could feel the tip of his dick press against them—that was like pure ecstasy. He never thought the day would come when they would grind into his lap so sensually, and act as if they had never tormented him for years to come.

"God," there was a slight plea laced within his velvet tone, "I need to be inside of you. Please," as much as Viktor loved them, he could never trust them to be the one providing. Not with how their behaviour had exhibited... less than desirable traits. "Will you allow me? We could finally become one in a sense. I just want to feel your insides around me, I want to feel your body heat against me." Whether or not they found pleasure in Viktor's begging, they offered him a response anyway:

"Shut up," was what they said. "Go ahead."

And with that, Viktor found himself slowly pushing their body down into the mattress, further ruining the bedspread and sheets that weren't even properly fixed in the first place. They still seemed reluctant, as their tone even harboured a certain edge to it, but hell, Viktor could not fault them. He feels nervous, too, of course, he does. Pulling down their trousers fully to their calves, he felt a knot grow within his throat. The thought of someone else doing this to them caused bile and jealousy to rise within his empty stomach, curling and screaming in the back of his mind, yet he pushed it aside in favour of much kinder thoughts.

A part of him wished to be able to twist and manipulate this circumstance, but he knew he didn't want to do such a thing - Viktor wanted nothing more than for them to just become wholly his and only his until death would take hold of them both. And even then, that would not split them apart nor dwindle his love for them. "I'm going to..." There was a brief pause, embarrassment etched across his face, "Er, make love to you," he spoke aloud, though it was more as if he was convincing himself that he was going to, rather than informing them.

There was little to no resistance when Viktor pressed himself inside, but it was such a foreign feeling that he could not help but whimper at the sensation. They were warm on the inside, and not the mention that their body would occasionally clench around his dick. His golden eyes gaped at their face, eyeing the expressions that they would make, all the way until the hilt of his dick finally pressed against their pelvic area. This was embarrassing.

Shamelessly, Viktor pulled back his hips, only to snap them forward with a moan. He tried his best to keep quiet, however, with the way that they started breathing heavily with their knees pressed up against the sides of his thighs, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. They were perfect, they felt perfect - on the inside, the outside, no matter. He hunched his body over their own, using the strength in his arms—what was left of it, anyway—to keep himself up. Viktor had no clue how long he would last, nor how his body would allow him to continue. But with how it felt, he hoped it would be long enough.

"You—you're... You're big," they suddenly confessed, a slight whimper escaping with the moan that left them. Fuck, they sounded so adorable like that. "Don't... Stop, please—"

A shiver ran down Viktor's spine at the blatant praise that fell from their lips shamelessly, it seemed so heinous, almost as if they were trying to get him going. "Ah..." Keep talking. "You, ah—you think so?" He panted as his hips snapped forward once, then twice. Was he drooling? Shit, he was drooling. "You feel so good on the in—the inside. So warm, so inviting. I would never... want to stop," a particularly loud moan escaped him, which seemed to be a hybrid of both a moan and wheeze. His lover didn't seem to notice nor care, however.

Why would they ever want to leave when they have such luxury in their life? Here they were, underneath Viktor with their eyes clenched tightly, hands balled up in fists as strings of moans escaped their bitten lips. They looked gorgeous like that. It even made Viktor feel powerful to know that he was able to make them feel such a way. Nearly impossible, he thought, if they weren't tied up and reluctant to accept him, they might have tried something devious and that would have ruined every single thing that Viktor had planned. Still, they're accepting his love.

His rhythm wasn't exactly straight nor following any set beat. Viktor felt as if his movements were sloppy and skewed, choppy thrusts and shuddering muscles that he was surprised had lasted this long. He could feel himself growing close, but he couldn't allow himself to unless they had, first. They mattered more than anything else.

"D... Darling," he nearly cried out, "I love you so much—" One of their hands threw itself behind Viktor's head, tangling their fingers within his messy locks of dark hair, gently tugging him forward. A shock ran down his spine at the gesture.

"I know," they breathed, "I know you do." Were they feeding into his delusion and leaving him to feel as if they felt the same, or did they genuinely love him at this moment? The way their eyes slowly peeked open was complete bliss for him, the irises that stared directly into his own with blown-out pupils—love.

He felt his sloppy movements speeding up, all while his body became sore from the extended movements, and all while this happened he felt the drool collect on the edge of his lips, dripping down his chin to their shirt, wetting the wrinkled fabrics. It didn't matter how ruined it would get, Viktor made a mental note to give them an even better shirt. Nevertheless, a knot coiled itself within his gut, curling around his navel and shooting a cramp up his spine in an almost pleasurable manner.

His bottom lip caught itself in between his incisors, muffling a forthcoming moan. "Are you—" a choked moan. "Are you clos—close? Please—" There was borderline whimpering in tone and he could not help but feel embarrassed for it, but the trembling person below made him feel a little better about his childish worries. They nodded without speaking, staring at him through thick eyelashes. They were gorgeous.

Viktor smiled, and it met his eyes. "So am I."

It was blissful, for him, at least—everything seemed perfect and in order as Viktor's right hand clasped around the side of their waist, squeezing the soft, malleable flesh: pliant. His breathing picked up, as did theirs, but he was determined to stretch this out for as long as he allowed himself to. As he closed his eyes tightly, Viktor felt his thumb dig into the dip between their stomach and hip bone, causing a red indentation on the soft skin. Through his pleasure, he could hear the loud sound of their moans below, as well as the sound of skin slapping against the skin; the squelch of genetic fluids mixed. Viktor's eyebrows furrowed together at the sound, his head falling against their chest, forehead pressed directly above their heart. Their clavicle, he presumed. They felt so good, he didn't want to stop, but he was so close.

"Viktor—" they cried out, suddenly, "I'm g—going—" there was a loud, rueful cry, followed by a high-pitched whimper. He could feel them clench around his dick, and then they had come. This sent him over the edge. Viktor lifted his head weakly and pressed his lips against their own, his saliva smearing all over their mouth and cheeks. He moaned into their mouth, pressing his hips forward one more time as his hand clenched their skin, surely hard enough to leave a bruise. He emptied inside of them, the muscles in his thighs twitching and convulsing, his dick soon going limp thereafter.

For a moment, Viktor caught his breath, chest heaving with laboured breaths. Tears pricked his vision when he opened his eyes, and the slobber dripped from his lips. His legs felt as if they were stuck in mud, but how did they feel? As he lifted himself, Viktor stared down at the person below him, completely covered in the afterglow. I came inside, that was an accident, he thought, but they looked so cute like that.

Much like before, Viktor felt a knot form in the middle of his throat, Adam's apple bobbing with each calculated swallow and breath.

Viktor felt breathless, but he felt as if that was to be expected. He stared down below at the barely visible person he had claimed just a few moments prior; his vision betraying him. He rests his forehead against theirs, a promise of devotion. "What can I do to make you love me?"

"Let me go," they whispered in a soft croon.

"You know I cannot afford to do that. You're mine."

#arcane #arcane x reader #viktor arcane x reader #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere viktor #yandere arcane #arcane viktor #arcane viktor x reader #yandere viktor x reader

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moonsaver · 8 months ago

Text

hesperus

The evening star calls home. Ruin is your saving grace.

Tw/Cw; Suggestive/explicit scene, gender neutral reader, implications of religious themes (not great), dubious morals(?), reader is a COUGARRRR (implied), Sunday loves older authority figures (guilty), just guess at this point. Also reader is implied to be like a parental figure to Firefly. OOC because i love making canon characters my own ocs.

Pairings: Stellaron Hunter!Reader x Sunday (romantic), (hinted) Firefly x tb, (platonic) Firefly x reader.

A/n: 5.8k words, i hate this fic, enjoy whatever whatever.

——

“Will you be okay?”

The small girl looks up at you - trepidation and concern visible in her eyes.

“I should be asking you that, lovely.” You smile, gently tugging a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hair was beautiful, in your opinion. You often verbalized how beautiful it looked, mentioning it as silver under a blue moon.

Firefly still had concern in her eyes, dampened by your words, her hand clasped over the middle of her collarbone.

“I'll make it.. I think.” Her determination made way through uncertainty. You hum, smiling at her.

“You will, as shall I. If you ever need, I will be there.”

You wink, making the young girl smile a bit. The small, almost sad smile, still breaks through her worry.

“I've heard they've been on the lookout for us. I'm..”

She didn't have to continue. You already knew. Your hand comes up and pats her head, gently.

“We'll be fine. Go on, my sweet.”

You smile, softly. It seems to melt away the rest of her trepidation.

She takes a moment. Then nods. Worry and uncertainty now embers as determination fires through her eyes.

You wave her off, as she makes her way.

You are being watched. But you are aware.

–———

You hum, swirling the champagne glass in your fingers, watching the bubbles rise to the top, and stick to the edges in clusters.

“Interrupting your break, am I?”

The man beside you laughs, softly. Almost forced. He doesn't respond further.

“I'm guessing your weekends are spent tending to your white coat.”

You tilt your head, looking at him, a small smile playing on your lips. He doesn't bother acknowledging you.

“I give it to the dry cleaners, actually.”

“Ah, busy man. I suppose I should leave you be.”

“..I have an inkling you won't.”

His wings bristle slightly. His halo shines beautifully – a sort of warning that hangs over his head. Sharp edges, blinding gold. Angels crafted to deter the evil.

But you aren't phased. Perhaps it is the alcohol.

“There was a story, I remember. If you're up for it, of course. It's quite old.”

“Ah, an anecdote from your life?”

“I'm not an ancient tablet.”

“I wasn't aware.”

You chuckle, setting your glass down, the glass base clinking as you do.

You take a brief moment; simply to compose and immerse into the present moment. You look over at the man, allowing yourself to shamelessly scan him despite the unreturned glancing or staring.

“Owls and Ravens were once friends. And both had snow-like feathers. As pristine as white clouds on the expanse of a sky.”

His hair is soft, blue and hazy under the warm light of the bar, shimmering the slightest bit. He shifts in his seat, perhaps to get more comfortable.

“They decided, then, to paint each other, since nothing else was there to do. The Raven painted the Owl diligently, in patterns and dots. And the Owl sat patiently through the process.”

His eyes are piercing, golden, yet they rest, conserved and distant.

The alcohol hazed your vision, smoothing out the edges like a loving artist's strokes against the canvas of his visage.

Your fingers circle the rim of your glass, returning your gaze, watching the bubbles clear.

“But when the Raven's turn came, it never sat still. And as the Owl painted, it painted over the Raven entirely, marring it's feathers as black as obsidian.”

“What a shame.”

Your foot playfully taps the side of his, making his leg stop jittering up and down.

“Indeed.”

He hums, his gaze temporarily flitting from your foot to your hand, placed on your knee. He almost acknowledges you.

The background is a warm blur against your view of him, almost as though he's the sole performer on a podium – the light seemed to belong to him, and him only.

“You have a daughter, am I correct to assume?”

His fingers tap, rhythmically, like patters of rain.

“No, just.. a friend. But I consider her as such.”

“She left in quite a hurry.”

“She did, didn't she?”

“has the dream not been to her liking? In the case something has gone awry, The Family hopes–”

“Oh, you know, kids these days. They see someone they like and skitter like a fool.”

He doesn't seem to take your words in stride. But you smile.

“I see.”

You stretch, spinning in the small loveseat, planting your feet down as you rise,

“See someone you like?”

“Already got a view.”

Sunday finally acknowledges you - his eyes trailing your form as you walk away.

——–

“I love you!”

The voice crackles from the plush toy's broken voice box, as Sunday peers down at it. He doesn't move – idly looking at it, and yet not bothering to pick it up.

He stares, for a few more moments, noting the grime and the tears at the seams. The small stains of probably candy or something sweet sticking to its “paws”. The bear had worn down inexplicably from love. The very love it spoke at every press. And from abandonment. He found himself wondering at the fleeting childhood passing by like a reeling ribbon from a child's hands, as if the bear had been dropped unwillingly, and had not been allowed to reunite with it's owner again. A strange dilemma – not alive, yet full of the most humanly feeling. So full, infact, the cotton burst at the seams, and it's button nose was dull.

With careful movements, Sunday picks it up, by its collar behind its “neck” [if you could even say it had one]. His hand holds it at a bit of a distance.

“A fan of soft toys, Mr. Dreammaster?’

Your voice teases him. You watch his arm slightly falter, imagining a plethora of emotions on his face you'd love to pull at like strings of a tapestry falling apart.

“..I am the Head, of The Family. The Dreammaster would be–”

“It's alright. I was joking.”

“I wasn't.”

His voice is still, flat. There is no semblance of emotion.

“Feisty, today. Was your toy missing for a long time? Sour about how it looks, hm?”

Sunday breathes out; an amicable replacement for a drawn out sigh. He turns to you, still holding the bear at a distance, staying quiet.

“Now, that is no way to hold a gentleman.”

You walk forward, and gently grasp the bear in both of your hands. Sunday's eyes flicker to your gloved hands, as though in his own curiosity of your lack of concern in terms of hygiene.

“There. Better. You ought to be respectful to your elders.”

“Ah, yes. My apologies. I should have bowed when you spoke to me.”

He bows slightly in jest, his hand on his heart,

“Hm, that's right.”

Sunday smiles, looking up at you from his bowed state. You seem to pay more mind to the bear in your hands, an array of similar thoughts in your head as you process it's appearance.

“Do you want to take it with you? Who knows, you might come to like it.”

“Please, that's no way to ask someone to get rid of it.”

You eye his non-faltering, feigned innocent smile. He simply closes his eyes and continues smiling.

“Well, turns out it has a nametag. It won't hurt to stitch it up a bit and return it back.”

He hums, watching you fix the bear's little dishevelled bowtie.

And then he clears his throat, catching your attention.

You tilt your head, curiously looking at him.

“Yes?”

Sunday points to his own tie, slightly miffed. You chuckle,

“Well, now. Whoever shall fix that?”

“Perhaps an elder. They know better than I.”

You roll your eyes, setting the bear down gently onto the side, removing your gloves and fixing his tie.

———

“Cozy, cozy.”

Kafka purrs into the phone, the rasp of her voice not blurred by the digital medium, as you stare in the distance at the blue-haired halovian.

“Kafka, I'm gonna have to call you back soon.”

“Just when things were about to get interesting..”

You roll your eyes – she can't see it, but she chuckles, knowing what your silence meant.

“Alright, goodluck. Looks like you'll need it.”

You hang up before she has anything else to say, pulling out a compact mirror, and adjusting your appearance. Just as you snap it shut, a small creak of the loveseat beside you indicates his occasional arrival.

“You're late. And I hoped a man of your stature was more punctual than that.”

You tease, watching his eyes never meet yours. Only this time – you catch it. He swallows, rather thickly, watching his adam's apple bob as he does.

“I don't recall having scheduled any meetings with you.”

“Oh?”

His reply is curt, almost condescending if you weren't the type to brush it off.

“Seems my last story hasn't melted the ice yet.”

“Not an inch.”

“D'aw, alright. Wanna hear more, lovely?”

His wings – not his ears – twitch slightly at the pet name. You notice the faint rush of blood to the tip of his ears.

He doesn't answer, choosing to be chaste in silence. You huff out a chuckle,

“Alright, drink's on me then. I'll tell you something interesting.”

——

In your travels as a stellaron hunter, you've assorted many into repulsions and desires that draw you in.

To fast thrills, versus the indignancy of a dragging present. You find yourself drawn to the bright lights of a night bar, versus the blinding array of a scorching sun. To shallow connections in lieu of heavy and complex relationships. Attachment would be your downfall. Ruin is your saving grace.

However, you find yourself looking for your repulsions.

The grey haired girl stands in front of you once again, shuffling from foot to foot, her eyes low and shy as her hands fiddle with a stray lock of her own hair. You eye her for a moment, before humming, and gently coax her to face you by placing an index finger under her chin and raising it up.

“Little bug, what's on your mind?”

“Um..”

“Script not to your liking?”

You watch her mumble under her breath, her face slightly tilting down as she resists the urge to tuck it away again. As she does, you gaze from over the top of her head; a familiar blue haired man walking into the distance, followed by panicked coworkers. It seems he will be amiss once again, for today.

“I couldn't.. tell them.”

“The trailblazer?”

She hums, nodding.

You huff out a chuckle, patting her head.

“You have your chances, do you not? Rest easy, your time will come.”

She visibly relaxes, her shoulders slightly dropping, and her hands leaving the lock of hair to return to her sides. Her eyes are still low, as though scanning the pavement under your feet, as she contemplates. You watch her bite the inside of her cheek before she raises her face again and nod.

There is a fire in her eyes.

It is almost like the Sun.

You are almost afraid of it.

“I'll do it. As many times as I need to.”

You smile, leaning back onto the cold wall behind you.

“We should go shopping after your next attempt.”

You find your jaw clenching after the words slip from your mouth. Your repulsions are your weakness. Yet you still seem to subconsciously seek them out. It's a testament to your human nature.

She nods, smiling at you. She stays in her place for a moment, before she speaks again,

“I could.. ask Kafka to go with you if I don't make it.”

You turn and glance back at your usual spot at the open bar‐empty without you and the man you've been missing lately. Your smile only widens at her perception. Clever girl.

“No need. I'd like some silence anyways.”

She seems a bit unconvinced, as she continues to gaze at you for a brief moment more, scanning you for any deception. Out of worry than any ulterior motives, unlike the woman she mentioned a while ago.

Truthfully, you were lonely. This is what your ruin does to you, regardless of how it saves you. A few conversations lure you into a false sense of companionship, regardless of however brief it must have been, even encouraging you to divulge more than necessary if desperate enough. You find your eyes flitting at anything the colour of pale blue. At anything that glows gold under a light.

You chuckle and wave,

“I'll be fine, honeybee. Go, be on your way, now.”

She nods, smiling at the pet name.

You find your repulsions carry you elsewhere, the bar fading into the background as you walk the opposite direction, once all spying eyes have cleared. You find your eyes flitting to find him. However, no matter how blessed your vision may be, the absence left behind can only be described, not pointed to. Ultimately, it is your mind that hinges on the assessment of what you have lost, or gained.

But it seems this time your heart has taken the hit – a burrowing feeling between the slats and the depths of your ribs as though an animal had sprung from it, and left it behind as a husk of what it once was.

–——

Sunday tuts, his fingers taking a bold graze of your hair, sliding and gently tugging out a lock.

“You ought to take better care of your hair.”

You stay silent for a brief moment, and it's apparent to him aswell that you hadn't expected him to do something so.. casual, considering his formalities. He takes his time to address it in your period of silence.

“I simply noticed and commented on it, no need to look like a deer caught in headlights.”

His eyes flicker to yours for a moment, and avert immediately. You watch his hand fall to his side, his fingers slightly shaking. You can't tease him on it – it would be hypocritical. A slight, excited sort of feeling sparks in your stomach.

You lick your lips, and take a sip of your beverage, feeling your senses dry up a bit. The liquid instead burns at the dryness of your throat.

“You're into haircare, hm?”

You reply, ignoring the brief silence and the tension it carried.

“Often. It comes with taking care of my wings.”

“Ah, I see.”

Silence once again. Unlike the pleasant one you two usually shared, this felt different; it felt electric. Thick, a bit suffocating.

“I like your piercings.”

His hand, previously resting on the counter, subconsciously raises up to fiddle with his earring,

“Thank you.”

You stay silent again, almost inviting in the tension that causes him to graze his teeth against the inside of his cheek, a step away from chewing on the sides of it.

You break the ice first.

“Do you prefer gold or silver?”

“Silver.”

He stays silent for a moment. He's often found his mind wandering when it comes to you – wondering how various adornments would suit you.

“Really? Didn't take you as a silver type.’

“Ah, about me?”

“Who else?”

He felt silver suited you; more than your complexion, he simply felt.. drawn to it. Like the faint glimmering of a moon's reflection on a lake. You were someone who's depths were mysterious, almost alluring to him.

You stay silent, too. The question hangs in the air for a brief moment.

You watch his shaky fingers rub slightly at his nose. You've noticed a lot of things about him. The tips of his nose and ears that turns red a bit too easily. The faint fluttering of his ghostly blue lashes. The twinkle of gold – not just of his halo, but the various imprints of it on him; jewellery, and the woven golden threads of his pristine suit.

His eyes follow to your hand, on the bar's countertop, swallowing thickly again.

It seems despite everything, he's still a fool in the grasp of his shame.

He looks away,

“I prefer gold.”

——

Sentience is a curse, he thinks.

His fingers tap and circle the perimeter of the frail glass, a clink accompanying each one. Waves form on the surface of the shimmery liquid from the small force.

Morality is a cruel beast. Because it is unrecognisable. And it knows you.

It follows you, through your ages. A small, ghastly and putrid thing, akin to a shameful, big animal. Hunched over, following you like a chore. Like a lost, stubborn child. It grows with you. It becomes bolder. It becomes aware. It has your voice. Soon, the mind caves and buckles into the grasp of the dastardly beast, that grows like uncontrolled weed on a substrate. It grows and envelops. And it tells you – can you truly allow yourself to do this? And the answer is never yes. Morality is a curse. A big ugly thing, unafraid to show it's face. It fills the room when silence staves arguments in the form of chastened tension.

Yet he finds himself, almost seeking it out. Searching the cruel shackle of his morality, almost wanting it to shame him into hiding.

Your place is empty. He notes. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, fluttering lashes coming to a halt. He envisions the faint waft of your perfume, the dainty clicking of your fingers over the rim of the glass, the cheeky tap against his agitated foot. Sunday would find himself already ashamed, if he'd outright admitted he'd actually been staring at you, from his periphery. You overshadow the ugly beast, drawing out a sort of soft, beautiful serenity with a hollow voice, and an elusive persona.

Angels are, by design, made to stave evil. Somehow, however, it seems he has attracted one. A devil in the form of you. And yet, like a man yet to feel the cold relief of forgiveness on his lips, he wanders aimlessly in his mind, as though in search of you. Sin is unbeknownst, ignorance is plaguing, and yet he revels in it. Even for a moment.

He huffs out a laugh. A novel turn of events. Its his turn to wait for you, isn't it?

Yet it seems easy to do, simply imagining your form beside him once again, telling him another strange tale, either for your own amusement or to reel him in. He disregards the source. His weary face finds an ache, a pleasant one, as it pulls into a faint smile.

As sentience drives a being to deviate from instinct, his awareness has driven him to exhaustion. Yet you are a double edged sword – a balm for his exhaustion yet endlessly pushing him to caution.

——

“You've been gone too long, haven't you?”

You croon, a cheeky smile on your face, Sunday bashfully keeping his eyes locked to his drink. Despite everything, he cannot meet your eyes.

“I have.”

For the first time, the pastor is of the guilty. The devil has come to exorcise him. But exorcism does not mean erasure of sins, neither does it mean cleanly cutting off the strings that attach one to them. You may as well weave more of these strings, and craftily ground him to you.

“How will you make it up to me?’

You drawl, leaning on the palm of your hand, speech slightly slurred from the alcohol.

“..How would you like me to?”

His gaze is trained on his hand – gripping the fragile neck of the glass with a bit too much force.

You hum, twirling your own glass, watching the liquid rush and bubble at the edges.

“Tell me a secret.”

He swallows.

A secret?

“Is that.. truly what you desire?”

“Mhm.”

You take a sip of your beverage. Sunday is relieved, yet almost disappointed.

“..very well.”

He breathes in, and takes a moment to compose himself. His eyes flit to you, a small flicker of boldness somehow making him hover over a line he dares not cross. His gaze wanders to your lips, the slight crinkle beside your eyes, the squish of your cheek against your palm. He eyes your clothing.

A stellaron hunter.

It was as though he was placing himself as the bait in a trap. As though he was the one caught in the trap. What else could he complain about? Except for that of which he can't admit – his unbecoming is his fault.

His fault for unreeling like a ribbon under your daft fingers. He finds himself wanting to spill like an ink bottle, the surface tension of the liquid keeping it from just flowing over the thick, glass borders.

And he breathes in your perfume. He breathes in the expanse of the night's air. And he spills. He spills so cautiously, so quietly, as though he is afraid of staining his own lips with the tenacity of his words.

He has many secrets. Most of which were handed to him, more akin to an heirloom than an actual personal matter. More akin to a treacherous contract than whispered confessions. How he wishes this was a confession to you, than an unveiling over his disgusting innards.

But you listen, unwavering. A lazy smile still gracing your lips, stained with grapes and understanding. It is as though you were stained in so many ways, his words are unflinchingly simple to you. It becomes a confession, rather than a revelation at the altar of the cartilage shell of your ear.

And you keep it. You keep it like a lost prayer. Like a silent vow.

“..want me to whisper it to you?”

You return the sentiment, offering a request. It seems you are no guiltier than he innocent.

———

“Can't convince you, can I?”

“Not at all.” Please don't try, anyway. He lets those words die on his tongue.

You huff out a laugh, a bit forceful, as you look away from him, folding your arms.

“Shit, you don't pull any punches, huh?”

A pang of guilt hits him at the slight hurt in your forced laugh. But he can't be deterred.

Not that you were going to, considering Elio's script. It's on you, really. But you didn't expect it to actually hurt.

You watch the empty audience seats, his back turned to it.

“It's a pity. I wish I could have seen this theatre when it was filled to the brim with people.”

“..it would have been an extraordinary view. It always is.”

“You look forward to it?”

…

“Not anymore.”

You hum, your teeth nipping at the skin of your lips. The quietness of the theatre is exemplified at the rustle of your clothes, as you turn to look at his back. The light of the podium makes him look beautiful. His halo is almost blinding. He looks like the Sun. You'll be lead to your death, at this rate. Wasn't Ruin supposed to be your saving grace? Here you are – disguised as both Icarus and the blinding Sun.

Sunday stands still, a cleancut form, unable to face you. You can stare at his back all day. But the pain resounding in your chest from your heart hurting strings you back into the present. You breathe deeply, and sigh,

“Alright. Goodluck, then.”

With one step forward, you disappear as quietly as you came. It's a trick familiar to your group; as Sunday knows. But even then, he braces himself to greet the empty space you leave behind, his heart sinking further at the loss of your presence.

———

Sunday finds the shackles of punishment more liberating than death on his knees.

He learns this in isolation. He learns many things in isolation.

He learns how to miss you.

Phantoms and taunts of your words echoing the empty expanse of his empty mind, wafting through the many whispers of the stellaron that plagued his mind.

His finger twitches upwards, when his lifeless eyes imagine the faint illusion of your affection, grazing fingertips over his knuckles. You hadn't actually ever gotten so physically close to him, but he indulges himself. He imagine the soft sensations of your lips on his jaw, trailing up to ghost the shell of his.

“Miss me, Mr. Dreammaster?”

He shivers at the illusion. Your voice is close yet far; reverberating in the hollow wasteland of his mind like a single thread of gold.

A lot. He wants to say. He swallows the words, and for the second time, the fruit lodges in his throat. To admit is to acknowledge the sin.

“Make it up to me, Mr. Dreammaster?"

A knock. Your phantom, agonisingly so, vanishes like a mist casted away by a gush of wind. But the interruption is far from divine.

Jade, from the IPC.

——

Like gently settling fog, rumours stagnate over a crowd. The whispers and the hushed words are not elusive to your ears.

Your phone buzzes, but you ignore it. Firefly is accompanied by Silver wolf, you wouldn't have to worry.

As much as your thrills lure you to the lavish party to celebrate the Nameless, your repulsions seem stronger.

You sip your beverage, tipping the glass up, but your eyes stay on your phonescreen. You hadn't ever texted Sunday, and neither had he texted you. You two hadn't even called. There was no history. It would be as though you could keep your phone open for hours and no one would bat an eye. Even for the most prestigious of those in stature would have to occasionally practise patience when it came to him. Who would you be? The vague, elusive stellaron hunter who's suspected of causing trouble wherever they go? Like a stray piece of pebble that's easy to disregard and kick away, who is he to ever glance at you?

And so you stare, measuring in silence, the strange stirring of feelings in your stomach. You could blame it on your beverage, but you hadn't drank enough really, mainly because you couldn't even bother keeping it down.

Buzz

You blink, watching a notification pop up, and promptly retreat as you click on Sunday's contact again.

He messaged you?

No, it couldn't be. It must be one of The Family's members.

You push yourself off of the wall you'd been warming with your back, and take a small step forward in contemplation, your eyebrows knitted as you stared.

Why would they send you to his office's location?

——

Sunday breathes in, the cool, familiar air of his office hitting the back of his throat as he does.

There is a certain pleasure in ordinary things.

The patience of a ceramic cup that stays warm with coffee. The smooth crafting of the surface of a wooden desk. The ambience of the air conditioner accompanying the steady scribbling of a pointed tip on paper. The comfort in reclining back in a cushioned office chair. Things he may as well soon never come across again.

He swallows, his eyelids doing little to shield the overhead lighting of his office, but still keeping them closed to simply savor the feeling.

A shadow emerges, obscuring the light from his eyes, casting a shade on his face. It's soon accompanied by the faint wafting of perfume.

“Miss me, Mr. Sunday?”

This wasn't Ena's dream. But for a moment, he could have considered it.

You're leaned over from behind him, watching down at his face as he opens his eyes. He opens his mouth, but decides to stay silent.

Your hand comes up to gently cup the side of his face, your palm pressing beside his eye, fingers reaching the bottom of his chin. Your thumb lingers around the edge of his mouth. You both stare at each other, simply noticing the dilation of each other's pupils.

“It's just Sunday.”

He tells you. There is no animosity, no hostility in his voice. It's almost a whisper, as though he's unsure if you are real. His own hand reaches up, and cautiously, his fingers graze the side of your face.

Your skin is warm. Your relaxed smile widens as he does so. He shivers.

“Savouring your final moments?”

He smiles.

“I am.”

You stay that way for a moment, before slowly leaning back and standing up straight. Sunday gets up from his chair and moves to stand across you.

“Couldn't let me know where you were a little earlier?”

You tease him, but he can sense the slight irk in your voice.

“My deepest apologies. How can I make it up to you?”

You hum, spinning on your heel and walking around his office, fingers grazing the edge of his desk as you walk beside it, and to the front. You turn, leaning on it, your back facing him.

“A secret won't be enough this time, y'know?”

He watches your hand fiddle with a few trinkets on his desk, your other hand supporting you. He makes his way to you again, rounding the desk, and stands in front of you,

“What may help?”

You hum again, but he knows better. You're feigning your contemplation.

You smile, still leaned back against his desk.

“I wouldn't know. Something special before we depart?”

“Hm.. is that so?”

He steps closer, his hands placing themselves right beside your waist on the desk behind you, caging you in. His eyes never leave yours.

“Mhm.”

You smile, looking at him.

He leans in, eyes falling lower, on your lips, as he asks,

“Now, what shall I do?”

His warm breath fans over the lower half of your face, and the small exposed bits of your collarbone.

“Perhaps do as your seniors advise you.”

“Hm? Who?”

You grab him by the collar of his shirt, push off of the table and swerve him, pushing him against the desk as you lean in,

“You can listen, can't you?”

He breathes in, slightly winded at the switched positions.

“I might need guidance.”

You huff out a laugh,

“I'll guide you, so listen well.”

You lean in, your lips almost brushing his, but pull away when you sense he might lean in, his lips stay slightly parted as he watches you.

“You need to be patient, okay?”

He almost doesn't hear you, swallowing as he eyes your lips, his abdomen constricting, feeling something tighten and coil.

“I will.”

You smile. And lean in, testing his resolve,

“Do as I say, alright?”

His lips twitch, and his breath hitches. He waits, agonisingly, as your lips brush against his, but don't press. He whispers out,

“I will.”

“Good.”

You finally press your lips against his, and it's as though a river rushes through his veins, as he eagerly kisses you back. His breathing is heavy, his hands unsure as they hold onto your waist, but you're made aware of his desperation as his nails unconsciously dig into your flesh, through the thin fabric of your shirt. You suck in a breath at the feeling, and he almost moans, his wings bristling and tensing as he desperately tries to deepen the kiss, almost panting into it as your tongue brushes against his lower lip, eagerly parting them open.

Sunday can taste the alcohol mixed with your sweet saliva, causing his head to spin a bit, but instead he presses further, his tongue eagerly lapping at every inch of your mouth. You pull away for a moment, but his mouth follows close, kissing the side of your mouth and trailing them down the column of your throat. You breathe in, shivering as you close your eyes for a moment, each wet kiss electrifying and going straight down to your core.

He mumbles your name against your skin, his tongue laving at a spot before his teeth nip at it, causing you to gasp. Your hands crawl up to the base of his head, one pushing into his fluffy hair and fingers entangling within the strands.

“It's okay.”

You breathe out, but he shakes his head slightly.

His tongue presses against the base of your throat, and drags up all the way to the corner of your mouth, before his lips envelop yours again in a heated kiss. He parts, panting,

“I wanted to see you. Every second I spent there..”

His hands run up and down your sides, feverish at the contact they'd been restrained from,

“I know.” You say, looking at his dishevelled state, your hands coming to rest on his chest.

"I wanted to return to you."

You feel his hands slide down and rest on your hips, his knee nudging between yours, before he slides up further and pushes his thigh at your core, making you jolt for a moment at the contact. His hands stay firm on your hips, almost pressing you down onto his thigh. Your hands clench at the fabric of his shirt as the contact shoots up your spine, making you arch slightly into him.

He breathes in, leaning down, his lips graze the shell of your ear, hot breath coming out in puffs as he whispers,

“I'm yours, aren't I? So go ahead and prove it.”

You smile.

“Alright, then.”

–——

“[Name]!”

Firefly's voice calls out to you, and you smile, looking over her winded appearance.

But you weren't in the state to complain. You looked similar, if not even worse. Your shirt was slightly wrinkly, tie askew, your hair patted down in a rush. You hope no one noticed you wobble.

“are you okay?”

Firefly would be more worried instead of confused if not for the wide smile you've donned. She glances over her shoulder at the bustling crowd, her eyes almost searching for someone, before returning to you.

“I'm alright. Your hair.. seems exciting.”

You comment, and Firefly blushes, patting down her own hair.

“I'll tell you what happened later, but.. we should leave now.”

You nod,

“Silverwolf?”

Her hologram appears without a second's delay, her annoyed resting face almost lovingly familiar to you.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard.”

You both chuckle slightly at her.

The party ends on a positive note.

———

“Quite a pleasant surprise.”

“Greetings, to you too.”

You smile, your virtual form glitching slightly. Although Himeko doesn't disregard you as she does Kafka, she's still wary of you, as are the rest of the crew.

“Settling in well, chicken boy?”

Himeko cuts in,

“What do the Stellaron hunters need now?”

You chuckle, softly,

“Miss Himeko, it's been a while, hasn't it? Regardless, I sincerely apologise, but these questions are solely for Mr. Sunday here.”

Her face shifts, almost unnoticeable, clearly displeased by your words. She sighs, and glances back at the new recruit. The rest of the crew follow her suit.

Mr. Yang's voice flows in,

“Perhaps there remains any unfinished business with the stellaron hunters? It would be wise to address it sooner than later.”

“None of the sort, Mr. Yang.” You reassure, hands neatly folded, as you smile,

“Just a few, simple questions. Think of it as a.. survey, of sorts.”

“A survey?”

Sunday steps forward, facing your hologram directly. You would have blushed if it wasn't virtual.

“3 questions. That is all.”

“..alright.”

You sense his hesitation, slowly melding into trust as his thoughts process. Although relationships between your factors are complex and messy, it is you that's asking him.

“What is your name?”

“..I am Sunday.”

“Where are you stationed?”

“The Astral Express.”

“Are you happy?”

The question makes him hesitate, words stuck in his throat like a grape seed for only a moment.

“..yes. i am.”

You smile. Sunday faintly returns the expression. After a brief moment, you turn to Himeko,

“Kafka will speak to you shortly, Ms. Himeko.”

And you vanish. Just as mysteriously as you'd come into his life.

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bookwormjust · 10 months ago

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Archeron sisters revelation (established relationship with Azriel, twin sister of Feyre)

The River House was alive with the sound of crackling flames in the hearth and the distant murmur of the Sidra beyond the windows. The Inner Circle gathered in the grand room, its high ceilings and elegant furnishings only adding to the tension that hung in the air. Feyre sat near Rhysand, her eyes wary, while Cassian and Azriel lingered by the wall, arms crossed. Mor and Amren watched with curious expressions, though there was a hint of unease beneath their calm exteriors.

You sat quietly, your gaze fixed on the dancing flames. Being Feyre’s twin, your role in the family had always been one of quiet sacrifice. While Feyre hunted in the woods, you had taken on a different kind of burden, one that involved sneaking through the shadows of the village, accepting dubious jobs, and dealing with people whose morals were as twisted as the thorns in the forest. You had done whatever was necessary to keep your family alive, but it was not something you ever spoke of. Only Feyre knew the extent of what you’d done—the things you had to endure to keep your sisters and father fed and safe.

Nesta’s voice, sharp and filled with disdain, cut through the low chatter. “You’ve always been a liar and a thief. And now, you’re nothing but another pretty fae with nothing to offer but deceit.”

Elain, as always, stood beside Nesta, her expression a careful mask of neutrality. She rarely spoke against Nesta, preferring to stay in her elder sister's shadow. But now, she nodded slightly, her gaze cast down, as if Nesta’s words were just another truth she quietly accepted.

You bit back the sting of Nesta’s words, the old familiar anger simmering beneath your skin. It was a feeling you had grown accustomed to over the years—Nesta’s biting comments, her constant judgment, and the way she seemed to look through you as if you were less than nothing.

“I’m done with your self-righteous act,” Nesta continued, her voice rising. “You’ve always been like this, taking the easy way out. Stealing, sneaking around, getting into trouble, while Feyre—”

“Enough!” Feyre’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. She stood, her eyes blazing as she looked at Nesta. “You have no idea what she has done for us.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Oh, please. We all know Feyre was the one out there, hunting—”

“Yes, I hunted,” Feyre interrupted, her voice trembling with the weight of unsaid truths. “But do you know what she did? Do you have any idea the lengths she went to? While I was in the woods, she was in the villages, taking on jobs no one else would. Stealing, yes. Swapping. Dealing with people who would have slit our throats if they thought they could get away with it. She did whatever she had to do, while you sat by and judged us both.”

The room fell silent, the crackling fire the only sound as Feyre’s words hung heavily in the air. You looked at Feyre, surprise and gratitude mingling in your chest. You had never expected her to speak up like this, to defend you so fiercely in front of everyone. Nesta’s face paled, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to form a response.

Rhysand, who had been listening quietly, leaned forward, his gaze intent on you. His violet eyes softened, and a rare, solemn respect flickered there. “I didn’t know,” he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet reverence. “Thank you, for everything you did. I see now that it wasn’t just Feyre who sacrificed for the family. You did the same, in your own way.”

Nesta looked as if she had been slapped, her eyes narrowing as she turned her gaze back to you. But this time, there was no more fire in her voice, only a cold, hard wall of resentment. “I didn’t ask you to do any of that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Feyre shot back, her voice firm. “She did it because she loved us. Because she was willing to get her hands dirty in ways you never would. She didn’t have to be asked.”

Rhysand nodded in agreement, his expression still thoughtful. “It’s not easy to do what you did. To make those choices, to bear that weight in silence.” He paused, glancing at Feyre before continuing, “You both are more alike than I realized.”

Elain looked between Nesta and you, her eyes softening slightly, though she remained by Nesta’s side. The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of your unspoken sacrifices finally laid bare.

Azriel had been silent throughout the confrontation, his shadows whispering around him, restless and agitated. His gaze was locked onto you, the dark depths of his eyes filled with a storm of emotions—anger, pride, and something deeper, something more primal that simmered just beneath the surface. He stepped forward, his wings twitching slightly, his posture taut as if barely containing the urge to cross the room and wrap you in his embrace.

He turned his attention to Nesta, his voice cold as steel. “You have no idea what she went through. What she endured while you sat in your father’s house, warm and safe. She fought for you, risked her life for you, and all you can do is spit venom.”

Nesta glared at Azriel, but she held her tongue, seemingly recognizing the shadowsinger’s temper was not something to challenge lightly.

Azriel’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his voice gentling but still fierce. “You didn’t deserve to bear all that alone,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. “I should have known. I should have been there for you.”

You shook your head, offering him a small, weary smile. “It’s not your fault, Azriel. I didn’t want anyone to know. It was my choice.”

Azriel crossed the room in a few swift steps, his presence a wall of strength and quiet protectiveness. He reached for your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “Well, now I know. And I’m here. I won’t let you carry anything like that alone again.”

The bond between you thrummed with his emotions, the quiet fury at Nesta’s cruelty, the fierce protectiveness that made his shadows coil around you as if shielding you from the world. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You are stronger than any of us,” Azriel murmured, his voice so quiet only you could hear. “Stronger than you’ll ever give yourself credit for. And I am so damn proud of you.”

Feyre moved to stand beside you, her hand resting gently on your shoulder. “We wouldn’t have survived without you,” she said softly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’ve always been there for us, even when it meant putting yourself in danger. I’m so sorry it’s taken this long for everyone to see it.”

The room was silent, the weight of Feyre’s words settling over the gathered company. Cassian and Mor exchanged looks of quiet understanding, and even Amren nodded slightly, her sharp gaze appraising you with newfound respect.

Rhysand stood, offering you a small, sincere smile. “You are a part of this family,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of a promise. “And we are grateful for all that you have done.”

Nesta said nothing, her expression closed off as she turned away, a stubborn set to her jaw. But you no longer cared for her approval or her understanding. You had your sister’s love, the respect of those who mattered, and Azriel by your side—his hand still holding yours, his touch a constant reassurance.

As the tension in the room slowly ebbed, you felt a quiet peace settle over you. The shadows of your past, once kept hidden and buried, had finally been brought to light. And though the scars remained, you knew you were not alone in bearing them anymore.

Azriel’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, his voice a solemn vow. “And I will always be here to remind you of that.”

You leaned into him, your heart full, and let the warmth of his presence and the strength of Feyre’s support wash over you. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you could face them. Because for the first time in a long time, you didn’t have to face them alone.

#feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron #azriel x you #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #acotar x reader #acotar reader imagine #azriel acotar #Spotify

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im-trying-guys · 14 days ago

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hey does it make anyone else really sad that deltarune mettaton will probably never get to be truly happy or am i just too attached to the tumblr sexyrobot

like… i assume most people know this stuff but in case people just got into deltarune and never played undertale mettaton is a trans man. it’s kind of an allegory but it’s really not. ghosts in ut/dr are all gender neutral from the get, mad mew mew decides she wants to be a woman and possesses an anime girl figure, mettaton decides he wants to be a man so alphys builds him a humanoid male body, napstablook is interesting cause they’re nonbinary but in the context of their culture they’re cis.

in deltarune on the other hand, mettaton is a reclusive ghost whose face we never see and can only identify as the same character via his speech patterns. he’s a shut-in ghost who doesn’t even have the self-esteem to go outside and may be an insight into how he was in undertale before meeting alphys… but deltarune’s alphys isn’t a genius morally dubious royal scientist- she’s a high school science teacher, so unless she’s secretly building cool draggy superstar robots in her basement…

mettaton is kind of screwed. he’s gone from largely able to transition, prideful, high self esteem to… completely unable to look the way he wants? is there an out to this i’m not seeing or did au’ing undertale put mettaton in a situation where transition is impossible?

#deltarune #undertale #mettaton #deltarune chapter 3 #deltarune chapter 4 #deltarune spoilers #(maybe?)#trans #transgender #i hope tenna makes him happy at least…#if he doomed that’s so sad #why don’t they make t that turns you into a robot #i would take it too

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what-even-is-thiss · 1 year ago

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I love when an organization or government in a series like video games or books or tv shows can be the good guys in one story arc but the bad guys or morally dubious guys in another story arc. Because that’s kinda how things work irl. Systems, organizations, governments, can do both good and bad. An iffy side in a conflict can still be the best choice because staying neutral isn’t always an option. In fact, sometimes staying neutral is the worst option. And things can become worse or better overtime.

Also I love universes that last long enough for you to see different groups of people in different contexts. Different political struggles, different crises, different personal events. It allows you to take out a bit of personal frustration on how the real world works as well.

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yanderes-galore · 2 months ago

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Can I get a concept of yandere Koby from One Piece, please???? Thx!

Yandere! Koby Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Clingy behavior, Stalking, Manipulation, Violence, Blood, Mentioned coercion, Slight jealousy, Delusional behavior, Omg he's actually kinda healthy, Dubious relationship.

Koby is another yandere who I feel is just... really soft towards the one he loves?

He has made it a goal in his life to do the right thing as a Marine since he's seen how corrupt they can be.

Luffy, a pirate who taught him even pirates can be good and marines can be bad, helped him become who he is now.

Now Koby has made quite the name for himself in the Marines, even popular for his actions.

He's empathetic and always tries to do what's right, he's even emotional at times.

Koby can even be considered strong despite not having a Devil Fruit.

He frequently trains by punching ships to the point he bleeds... plus, he was trained by Garp of all people.

Due to all of this, I can see Koby being capable of causing issues... but he's so dedicated to doing the right thing that he's rather controlled.

Koby is mostly just... shy with you.

He used to be such a timid boy before being a Marine.

He's actually quite confident now... Until he meets you and becomes oddly shy.

He's never really encountered a crush before.

It's odd how fast he goes from a confident Marine Captain to a flustered mess when you speak to him.

He's actually tame around you.

He's soft and listens to every word you say.

Koby even seems like the type of person to remember you wanted something... then buys it for you later.

He would be VERY hesitant to do anything he fears will tarnish his image in your eyes.

Koby seems like he even feels bad to view his 'stalking' as... well, what it is.

He convinces himself that him wanting to know where you are at all times is just him being... protective.

He has always wanted to protect people as a Marine.

So... maybe he feels he needs to do the same around you because he finds himself enjoying your company?

It's... not because he hates not being around you... right?

He isn't trying to invade your personal space...

He just worries.

Koby is definitely someone who doesn't murder.

With the amount of strength he has, especially when awakening Haki...

He could kill someone.

However, his morals seem too high for him to intentionally end a life unless he wasn't well mentally.

Same thing goes for kidnapping.

Koby couldn't kidnap his love as a conscious choice.

Even just manipulating you has a bad taste in his mouth.

He's definitely someone who struggles to accept his yandere tendencies.

He knows they're wrong.

Which is why he fights against it so much.

He has thoughts in his head that tell him to keep you to himself....

Yet the thought sends chills down his spine.

Koby may even be hesitant to pursue the crush as a whole.

He worries he'll accidentally hurt you... as a Marine, he wants to care for you in a way that won't harm you.

Despite his denial, he's still a flustered mess when you speak with him.

He finds himself getting frustrated with himself more than anything when he sees you speak with someone and he gets jealous.

This jealousy... He tries venting it through training to get stronger.

He wants to use his negative feelings to work on keeping you safe... which is quite cute if you think about it.

It's already better than most OP yanderes... or yanderes in general.

He'll train until he bleeds to get rid of his darker thoughts and romantic feelings.

Yet it doesn't help when you come up to him, looking so worried when you see him covered in blood and bruises.

He claims his fine... but begins blushing again when you help tend to him.

Koby most likely can have a normal relationship with you if he allows himself.

He still vents his jealousy through training and tries his best not to scare you.

He makes sure to keep you safe by being around you, telling you he's just concerned.

Koby is surprisingly... healthy with his feelings.

He's so good-hearted he actually uses his jealousy to improve your relationship between one another through training more.

Koby would be so gentle with you despite his strength.

Your first kiss and all the ones after that are usually timid and gentle.

His hold is not usually harsh unless he's on edge.

Even then, he vents through more training.

After all, he wants to be an admiral, so he'll train until he gets there.

For the most part, you won't feel forced into a relationship with him.

He's careful to see how you're feeling and adjusts his behavior.

He'd never lock you in a room or cell... He wants you to love him mutually, not fear him.

The biggest red flag for him would be him potentially coercing you into staying with him or accepting his overprotective behavior?

Even then... He has found a healthy way to vent his fears and is more likely to talk with you instead of acting on impulsive thoughts.

He wants to be honest with you... he tries to be transparent at all times.

Even if you wanted a break for him, maybe for him being too smothering, he tries to allow it...

He's definitely crying though.

I suppose another red flag for him would be him begging to be taken back to the point of being too persistent.

Yet even then he tries to take your concerns into account and improve.

He may want you all to himself... but he also knows the best way to do that is to just treat you well.

If he just respects and protects you... he can keep you beside him for a long time.

Koby, while sometimes emotionally manipulative, is probably the healthiest yandere I've written.

No murder, no kidnapping, no over the top jealousy.

Koby knows exactly how to keep his love all for himself...

Which is through respect, communication, and ways to vent his behavior.

Safe to say, you won't encounter many problems with Koby due to how good natured he is...

Even his worst traits can be talked through.

#yandere one piece #yandere one piece x reader #yandere koby #yandere koby x reader

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sealedterror · 1 year ago

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Stellaron Hunters and Astral Express Parallels

So, I've noticed that the Stellaron Hunters are basically a darker, murdery, and morally grey parallel version of the more heroic Astral Express, with every member mirroring another from the other group. Two sides of the same coin, if you will. First thing I'd like to point out, both factions don't really follow any current aeon. They "follow" (very loose term here) the missing-in action Akivili and the "Destiny" that Elio forsees. Both factions also are deeply involved with Stellarons(we encounter a stellaron on every planet, the Stellaron Hunters hunt them. Obviously) Here's some similarities I've thought of between the members and some theories based off each other: !!SPOILERS AHEAD!!

Dan Heng and Blade:

Both from Xianzhou,

Immortal in some way(Blade's self-regenerating and Dan Heng's reincarnations)

Same gender

Dan heng's five star form enhances his basic attack, like Blade, who I BET was ALSO a four star before the mara and Jing Liu incident

Similar age? Don't really know exact timeline between them

Both feature flowers in their gameplay(lotus flowers and spider lilies)

Himeko and Kafka:

Both intelligent women

The pseudo-moms of their faction.

I might be pulling out of my ass here, but I'd like to point out that both of them use both a ranged weapon(Himeko's laser and Kafka's gun) and also a melee weapon(Kafka's katana and Himeko's grator).

Since they are each others parallel, I'd like to make the assumption that since Himeko was the first one to join the Astral Express, that Kafka was the first one to join Elio. It just fits with the known info we have and clears up any ambiguity, but you don't have to strictly adhere by it lol.

Pom Pom and Elio

"Animals" yeah right

The being who leads their group in the direction wanted(conducter, scriptwriter, best destiny, best path to blaze)

You assume they are the cute mascot at first, but then there is something...exceptional about them, that you can't quite pin down.

Both are sentient and can presumably talk(Elio might just write to communicate, how would that work though? Toe beans? Meow to text? Lmao)

Wait....with synestheia beacons that's actually very possible. Oh god

March 7th and Silver Wolf(HEAR ME OUT)

The trendy, youthful girl of the group

....Use of technology?

yeah i got nothing BUTBUTBUT

March 7th's mysterious pasttttt. Like, the similarities between Danheng and Blade weren't revealed until his five star form was revealed and I'm making the theory that when March 7th's mysterious past is revealed, the similarities between her and Silver Wolf will appear!!!!

So Silver Wolf is from Punklord, is extremely accomplished and powerful, chaotic neutral with a sense of wanderlust. I don't know much about her(don't have her character/character story) so I can't say much more, but what I do know seems pretty plausible for March's former self.

It supports my theory that March 7th's five star form will be Nihility. Imbibiter Lunae was Destruction, like Blade. The memokeeper in March's quest said her past would "only bring her pain". How nihilistic is that? Either way, I'm definitely pulling xD

Stelle/Caleus and Firefly/Sam(the best for last ;)

So this is the one that really cemented this theory into my mind. So far, you might have noticed that every member's mirror image is the same gender(with the exception of Catlio and PomPom, I'll talk about it in the comments). But Trailblazer has TWO genders/personas. You know who ALSO has two genders/personas?FIREFLY/SAMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Some theory and more similarities between them

They both are the explosive power powerhouse of their group(Stellaron and Sam's firepower)

Both pretty smart(dubious) and funny(hilarious, the both of them)

They both eat questionable things...Trailblazer's trash consumables and Firefly's woodchip Oak Cake(seriously, read the description, do they have iron stomachs or something??)

...So they might have iron stomachs.

Both were presumably artificially made. We know Firefly/Sam is(born to fight in a war) and the Trailblazer is a vessel of a Stellaron. There has to be some funky, wonky, genetic/biological makeup for that.

Welt Yang and no one lmao

Lonely ass old man, no ship?(making the no bitches face)

Anyway, I presume he doesn't have any parallel bc he's from another universe. I don't know much cause I haven't played Honkai Impact. Something about a comic and "herscherr"? Idrk but. I suppose Luocha could join the Stellaron Hunters. That would be crazy as hell and if it happens I CALLED IT, but it probably won't. Probably.

There is also the theory Sunday joined the Stellaron Hunters. It's honestly really interesting and if that's true.....Welt Yang and Sunday don't have any similarities so that's tossed out the window. So, that only leaves the possibilty that we will have a mirrored someone of Sunday joining the Astral Express in the future. That would be INSANE but fun as hell like, can you imagine?

On another, slightly less speculative note, I'd like to point out that the five stars of the Astral Express have the same paths as the Stellaron Hunters. DHIL and Blade, are both Destruction. The Trailblazer started off as Destruction and Firefly/Sam is Destruction. As I theorized above, March 7th's five star form is likely Nihility, just like Silver Wolf. Except for Himeko and Kafka. Hmmmm

It is also my theory that Kafka was supposed to be Erudition, like Himeko, but the Stellaron Disaster on her homeplanet altered her path to Nihility. We know how smart Kafka is and we've seen paths change, Dan Heng changed to Hunt after doing away his vidyadhara features, and we have switched paths multiple times now. But we know we and Dan Heng can switch between paths anytime. I think Kafka's case is different, in that she can't switch and the Stellaron permanently altered her, removing her fear and switching her Path.

So this concludes my rant, are you convinced yet ;)? It's really interesting that the two factions mirror each other so deeply. I am getting the message that, whatever our fates are, they are deeply intertwined.

Thanks a bunch for reading this far and please, let me know what you think! May the Trailblaze be with you....or something lol

Edit: AAAAAA, Firefly's pool cutscene!!! She said, and I quote "The Astral Express and the Stellaron Hunters are like light and shadow. We walk on different paths, intertwined, moving forward and growing together...Maybe the end is predestined, but, it is not today."

Idgaf, I'm taking this as confirmation!! My theories are becoming true!!!!! *high pitched squealing* Show me more, Honkai Star Rail!!!!

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ckret2 · 3 months ago

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@nebulasreblogs said: Perhaps that 10% Just Some Guy came from that elixir that Jack's father used in an attempt to destroy the Evil, which instead gave it sapience and spawned Aku

I'm forever thinking about the fact that Aku's first ever words were "You! Thank you!" If nothing else, the potion gave him manners.

But nah—jokes aside, if we're looking at Aku as "90% evil, 10% just some guy," I don't think it was the potion that gave him that 10%. I think that, at the moment he gained life, he was still 100% pure evil. (Pure evil with good manners, but I guess manners must be morally neutral.)

I think it was time and experience. He started out as pure evil—but 17 years later, after fighting Jack, now he's pure evil... plus fear of death via magic sword—which i'm pretty sure is the first trait we see him possess that isn't "evil," "enjoying being evil," or "unexpectedly polite."

A few thousand years later, he's pure evil... plus guy who acts in fast food commercials, plus guy who has learned European fairy tales and wants to tell stories to children, plus guy who hates getting mud on the rug after it's been vacuumed, plus guy who's miserable and whiny and lethargic when he gets a cold, plus guy who does stupid victory dances when his enemy loses his sword, plus guy who knows how to use the phrase "this is a safe space," plus guy who thinks he has an account in the computer but honestly sounds pretty dubious about it and would have no idea how to locate it if presented with the computer, plus guy who hides in bed when he's depressed, plus guy who's unexpectedly stoked to find out he's a girl dad, plus guy who's polite to employees on the phone.

He violates as many promises as he can, and that's evil; but when an injured minion gives him good news, he rewards the minion by repairing his body, and that's not evil. Scaramouche insists Aku will pay off his bills like he's sure it's true, and if he's Aku's #1 assassin, he must have been working for him for long enough to see whether or not Aku actually pays off his debts and rewards his underlings—and so, he must be paying debts and rewarding underlings.

When he takes hostages, people do what he says for the hostages' safety, which means he must not have a reputation for killing all hostages so don't even bother giving him what he wants—which means, sometimes, he must let the hostages go.

He makes choices to be less evil out of self-interest, and I think he probably learned to do that with time. Because if he killed every hostage and never rewarded his assassins, eventually nobody would work for him.

Just within the fifty year span of the show, we see him go from guy who doesn't understand the purpose of stretching and how it works to guy who starts his mornings by stretching. We see him change over time.

The potion gave him life and personhood, and with personhood he gained the potential to be Just Some Guy. But the potion didn't give him guy-ness. He gained guy-ness with experience. He does Evil but now, after several thousand years of interacting with the world, he also just does Stuff. The purity of his evil has been diluted by the mundanity of existing in the world.

(You could also make the argument—as I've seen some people do—that Aku was never inherently evil; rather, he was just an unthinking thing that devoured with no moral alignment—is quicksand "evil"? is a tar pit "evil"?—and thus when he gained thought he could have been anything he wanted. But because he was told from birth that he's evil, that's what he became. The emperor told the poison-tree-monster that he meant to destroy him before the poison-tree-monster announced his name is "Evil."

Personally, I think there's room to textually support the argument, but "normal person comes to believe they're evil because they're told they were" doesn't compel me narratively the way "no this person actually was legitimately born evil" does. The first one is too realistic, it happens, there are people like that walking around right now. There's nobody who's born literally evil, and that fantastical element is what intrigues me. He's literally pure evil... and therefore, what are the limitations on his actions that humans don't have? He's literally pure evil... and therefore, how does he live a full successful life when he has to deal with the consequences of his own actions? How can he be pure evil and not destroy the things he wants to keep? How does he strike that balance, if, unlike humans, he doesn't have the free will to do good? He's literally pure evil... and therefore, is it possible for him to be anything else? How? Would he ever want to be? Why?)

#(moving onto a new post so that the aku meta isn't trapped below a bunch of goofy comics)#nebula gaster #aku #samurai jack #meta

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whipped-for-kpop-fics · 11 months ago

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Heatin' Up - X.MH

♨Who: Xu Minghao (Seventeen) x gender-neutral reader ♨What: Suggestive(18+), superpowers au, friends to lovers ♨Wordcount: 2.3k ♨Warnings: Minghao is morally not great I guess you could say. Dubious consent at first but it is all good really. His cock is mentioned a handful of times but there’s no smut at all. They don’t even touch. Mental foreplay in a literal sense. Please do let me know if you think I need to tag anything else.

Summary: You don't know that Minghao has the gift of mental manipulation, and then you discover that fact in the most interesting way.

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging/commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in the bio.

-2024 Masterlist-

A/N- Thanks for prompting this, Rie! I finally expanded more on it ayy, hope you like it, sweetheart 💗

Edited: 22/12/24

You've known Minghao for some time now; you've participated in his tea ceremonies many times throughout that time too, so you know how things are supposed to go. Except today, for some reason, Minghao decides he wants to play.

It starts like any other time.

You place the beautiful, small, circular low table in the usual place by the window, with your usual pillows either side in the perfect places to have wonderful views out of the window. Minghao gathers everything needed to brew and make the tea you both favour at the moment.

And you both sit and talk as calm and content as you always do while the tea brews.

Minghao pours the tea like always and hands your cup over in the same manner as he always does.

Or, at least, you don't immediately register the difference.

As Minghao offers your cup your eyes lock, which in itself isn't unusual but there's a dangerous little tint in his gaze this time that you truly fail to notice as you don't keep the eye contact up. You're more focused on carefully accepting the cup from him to minimise the chance of spillage, or the cup itself slipping from your fingers and smashing on the table.

It's not the first time your fingers have brushed either, so you think nothing of it and lean back to sit comfortably on your cushion again.

A warm starts to slither up your back. Like heated fingers working over your bare skin under your t-shirt and edging up, and up, until they simply melt away before they meet the side of your ribs.

You shuffle a little, eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the strange sensation but you ignore it, figuring it was some kind of hot flush from being in the direct sunlight entering through the window compared to the shade you were in before on the couch.

The left side of Minghao's mouth twitches up ever so slightly in pleased amusement as he watches you adjust your position out of the sun's direct rays to try and counteract your growing internal temperature.

“Everything okay?” He asks while lifting his cup up towards his face in time with you looking across the table to him.

Subconsciously, you copy the action to breathe in the soothing, familiar scent of the tea.

Your breath catches a little at the sudden increase of warmth in your body. It's gathering in your lower stomach and suddenly, you realise it's not a normal warmth, but the gently pulsing heat of arousal filling your veins.

The realisation makes you pause in genuine bewilderment, and a little horror at the fact you're getting horny out of the blue while drinking tea with Minghao.

Being around Minghao in general can lead to sudden bouts of arousal; he's a very attractive man, after all. You're certainly not blind to his appeal in any way, shape or form.

But in the midst of a tea ceremony?

That feels wrong. It's supposed to be a calm time of self-reflection and appreciation of all you have and the person with you.

Minghao had told you that one day when you asked why he wanted you to join him; he said he wanted to show you that he appreciates you and your presence in his life by sharing the moment of calm with you.

You're pretty sure that he never imagined arousal to be part of your appreciation towards him.

Though, admittedly, there's a part of you that doesn't try to shut out the growing heat. A part of you that likes that you feel this way right now. A part of you that enjoys the thought of feeling something so highly inappropriate for the moment and dragging Minghao into it with you.

Not that you plan to act on that deviant part of your mind. That's not the kind of relationship you have with Minghao. Your relationship is purely platonic.

Even if you'd like that to change. And sometimes you think he may too, but you can't tell if you're deluding yourself with wishful thinking or if the playful banter and flirting is real.

Regardless, getting horny over tea really isn't how this is supposed to go.

Minghao can see your mind whirling; can see each thought as it runs through your mind. You're not aware of that though; he hasn't yet told you that he's gifted in such a way.

Mind gifts are often frowned upon and tend to cause fear and anger in others so Minghao prefers to keep his gift a secret until he trusts someone.

It's been some time since Minghao started to trust you, yet he hasn't been brave enough to tell you in fear of your reaction, but today, something about you today had his own mind racing and his inhibitions lowering enough to make him get a little brave.

Or reckless, because he truly does not know how you'll react when you learn the truth; that he is directly controlling your mind, only a little but enough that your natural reactions kick in. A little nudge in the desired direction is all he's doing.

A press of an invisible palm against your inner thigh makes you look at the tea questioningly and wonder if this is some kind of special aphrodisiac blend.

You know that nobody is touching you, yet it feels so real; it feels just like you imagine Minghao's hand would. His long fingers curling over your flesh and testing the give under their pressure, his thumb stretching up and reaching the apex of your inner thigh almost, to bathe in the gathering heat made worse by this ghost touch.

“Is-is this a differ-” You stop to take a shaky inhale as another hand presses against your other thigh and you can't help but spread them fractionally wider in your cross legged position.

“Hm?” Minghao hums, tilting his head as if he isn't tricking your mind into thinking he's pressing against your thighs and basking in the fact that you willingly open up a little in a natural response to his phantom touch.

He doesn't show it, of course, but Minghao can feel his body heating up in reaction to you. To the knowledge that although you are confused and trying to piece together why you're getting aroused with no obvious reason, you're still imagining his hands and subconsciously encouraging it, liking it.

“Is this-is this a different blend?” You manage to get out your query this time, even if it’s with some stammering. Your tongue feels weirdly heavy in your mouth, like something is pressing on it.

As you register that, you realise it truly feels like something is against your tongue; thick, and long, and heavy and you have to bite back the whimper that suddenly wants to rise in your throat at the thought of it being Minghao’s cock on your tongue and making it hard for you to talk around the length of it.

“Mm, no, the same as the past few weeks, why?”

You can’t even respond, too afraid to open your mouth in case a needy whine tumbles from your tongue and into the air between you.

The smug little smirk curving Minghao’s lips grows at your obvious expanding struggle. Your cheeks are getting visibly darker with the flush spreading over your skin.

You keep squirming every few seconds and only stop when the fingers on your thighs squeeze a little; a silent demand to still. A demand you manage to understand on a subconscious level and follow obediently.

Minghao bites his lip at the sight; the understanding that you would submit to him, you would still and move at a touch of his hand, at a word exhaled against your skin almost silently.

He can’t keep this up much longer; he’s getting so restless himself, cock starting to strain against his loose shorts and he’s just glad for the table between you two, and your own arousal distracting you enough that you don’t notice.

But perhaps if you had, if you were aware of his arousal as he was your own, neither of you would have to suffer so.

As it is though, you are both suffering from the heat under your skin eating you up from the inside out and no way to soothe it without speaking the truth aloud.

Minghao adjusts his cup a little and blows at the steaming liquid lightly.

Even though you know that he is too far away for the soft exhale to reach you, the moment you see the steam adjust under his guidance, you feel the breath against your neck. A gentle caress over your heated skin that sends a shiver of delight down your body as your eyes flutter ever so slightly.

“Cold?” He asks with a teasing edge to his voice that he fails to hide. You catch it and look at him with a slight raise of your eyebrows. Minghao just raises his eyebrows back at you to silently question your own silent question.

For a couple of seconds, the two of you just stare at one another; silent and still with only the steam rising between you. Then Minghao purses his lips and blows against his tea once more, sending another shiver through your body as a slow puff dances over your throat and edges under your collar to the top of your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Do you need warming up?” No sooner than the words are out of his mouth, your body is enveloped in sudden heat. It feels like he’s wrapped himself around you entirely, bare skin to bare skin.

You quickly put down the cup as your breath catches on a shaky inhale, lips parted and hands trembling with the sudden surge of warm arousal filling your body.

It’s too much for Minghao. He had watched your eyes practically roll back and your back arch slightly, and now he truly cannot keep this little game up anymore.

As quickly as he can without it being jarring, Minghao releases his hold on your mind, letting his phantom touch and influence melt away until you’re left feeling cold in comparison, even with the residual warmth he caused and the arousal still aflame in your veins.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly; worried he has overstepped especially as you shiver, not once but twice at the sudden lack of his projected warmth around you.

“I-I think there’s something wrong with me,” you admit while flattening your hands against the tabletop as you blink rapidly to try and bat the fuzz in your mind away.

“No, there isn’t.” He puts down his cup and starts to reach out for you yet decides that he shouldn’t, he can’t. He’s already perhaps overstepped far too much.

Minghao knows that you’re interested in him; even when he doesn’t delve into your mind, he’s aware of it and always has been. But that doesn’t mean that you are okay with mental manipulation. Minghao knows he can get in a lot of trouble for what he just did; that there’s a moral line of consent and he has severely blurred that line, perhaps bulldozed right over it.

Still, his cock is thick against his thigh just remembering how you had reacted to him; how beautiful you looked with pink cheeks and eyes glossing over.

He’s not sure he will truly regret it even if his actions have ruined the trust between you because at least now, he has that image in his memories to look back on with a hand around his cock and your name spilling from his tongue when he’s overcome with the urge to ruin you yet cannot.

“It was me,” the confession sits heavy in the air between you as you look at him confusedly. “I…I was…in your head.”

“In my head?”

“Yes.”

“Like…mental manipulation?” Minghao nods in confirmation. “Oh, so that’s your gift.”

“What?” He looks puzzled now while you hum in understanding. “You knew?”

“Yeah, my gift is sensing Gifted people. I can spot a Gifted, if someone is going to come into a gift, if they’re lost their gift or it’s blocked. I’ve always known you’re Gifted, Hao, I just never knew what that gift is.”

“Oh, why didn’t you ask?”

“I figured you didn’t want me to know. I can see why; your type of gift is perhaps one of the most looked down on.”

“Yeah… with good reason.” He motions to you vaguely. “As you know, it’s very easy to manipulate someone’s mind.”

“Ah, so the tea isn’t an aphrodisiac.”

“No.” He gives an awkward little smile but you don’t look upset in any way so he doesn’t feel that bad about it now. Just a little bit. “Just me.”

“You’re the aphrodisiac?” You joke, making him huff out a laugh. “Well, I guess if you’ve been in my head, you already know how you affect me so that’s not entirely inaccurate to say.”

“I…no, I guess not.”

You’re taking this all so easily, so smoothly, and carrying on like everything is normal that it makes Minghao’s cock twitch. Maybe, just maybe, this is going to be the turning point in your relationship that he’s been waiting for.

“Just to be clear, you’re not mad at me for doing that to you?” He questions, adjusting his position slightly while turning towards you a fraction more.

“No. I’ve never done that before, it’s…interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“Hot.”

“You liked it?”

“You know I did.” You scoff, rolling your eyes, and reach for your cup but a sudden surge of heat in your core makes you almost double over with a gasp, hands gripping onto the table for stability. “Hao,” you exhale, need laced heavily in your words.

“Tell me to stop at any point,” he murmurs, moving closer and sitting on his knees on your left yet far enough away that you’re not even close to touching; even if his control on your mind is making you feel his hands smoothing over your thighs, his lips and tongue tracing heated lines up both sides of your neck at once.

You just about manage to force your heavy eyes to find him and lips to curve up in a challenge as you say the word one he needs to lose all grip he has on his self-control and ruin you like he’s always wanted to. “Never.”

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie @variety-is-the-joy-of-life

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