#((This brain rot hasn't left the since the day I thought about it and it's high time for me to do something about it))

[stop-talking]

So I'm stuck on this shithole island, and I can't even have a smoke? (pt. 4)

Derek Danforth x fem reader

Word count: 2.9k

Tags: 18+, Derek x fem reader, no use of y/n, angst, lots of fluff, enemies, enemies to lovers, fluff, (very) slowburn, sass, banter, misogynistic undertones, (Derek is a prick), suggestive themes, mentions of drug use, withdrawals, rehab, masturbating, caught masturbating, overall mature themes.

slight trigger warning for thoughts of death?? (except Derek isn't really suicidal he's just a drama queen)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

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It's been nearly twelve hours since you accidentally walked in on Derek doing the unspeakable, and you're still kicking yourself for it.

In an attempt to make it up to him, you'd spent the morning making a nice breakfast. Unfortunately, it's almost noon now, and he hasn't left his room.

No way in hell are you going to go knocking on his door. Not after last night. The image of him finishing into his own hand while making eye contact with you is still burned into your brain. Fuck, he ended up covered in cum. And that stupid fucking face he made...

Oh god, think of something else. ANYTHING else.

You turn your attention to the breakfast you'd prepared for the two of you. The cold breakfast. Sighing, you scrape the eggs and bacon into a container for later.

Why did you even open the damn door? Obviously he was jerking off. Horny bastard. Of course, when you'd heard the whimpers and moans coming from his room, you'd assumed he wasn't feeling well.

Which was a valid assumption to make, right?? I mean, he sounded absolutely pitiful, what were you supposed to think? You swore up and down he even called out your name once or twice, but fuck, you didn't want to think about the implications of that.

And so, after knocking and saying his name a few times, you had decided to just go for it. How were you supposed to know he was doing... that??

"It's not my fault." You grumble to yourself, blindly shoving the leftovers into the fridge and trying to shrug it off.

Then again, even if the initial situation wasn't your fault, you still owed him an apology. You'd absolutely been staring. Gawking, even. It probably took a good five seconds before you'd come to your senses and slammed the door, but five seconds was enough for him to... oh god. Stop thinking about it.

You try physically shaking your head to dismiss the perverted images plaguing your mind. It works... sort of. As you make your way up the stairs to his bedroom, your stomach knots with guilt.

Just about anything sounds more appealing than knocking on his door right now. Unfortunately, that's what you're about to do.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek's plans for the day only include one thing, really. Rotting in bed and wishing he was dead.

He figures if he locks himself in his room long enough, the three weeks will eventually pass without him having to show his face to you ever again.

Or he'd die first. With the way he felt right now, that would honestly be fine too.

He groans into a pillow, desperate to hear something than the pounding in his head. He's been trembling all morning, a sign he really needed a fix.

The guilt has been eating away at him almost as much as his stupid withdrawals. He replays the scene from last night over in his head for the millionth time, internally screaming at himself for not covering up. Or locking the damn door.

He knows there's nothing he could have done to change what happened. The timing was just too... perfect. Looking at your pretty face while he came was literally a dream come true.

The aftermath, unfortunately, was a nightmare.

There's no way you don't hate him now. Or at least feel completely disgusted. After all, you'd slammed the door and left him.

So this is his fate. Rot in bed until he wastes away. It's all he deserves, really, for being such a fucking pervert.

"Derek? You still alive?"

He nearly falls off the bed in his scramble to make himself look presentable.

"...Yeah." He eventually croaks out, trying to smooth his curls with one hand and pull the blanket over himself with the other.

"Can I come in?"

Derek begrudgingly agrees, sitting up against the headboard in an attempt to look less pathetic.

You slowly swing the door open, looking visibly relieved when he isn't... exposed. Like last time.

Before he can even think about what he's saying, the words roll off his tongue.

"I'm sorry." You both say at the same time.

Wait, that doesn't make sense. What do YOU have to be sorry for? He's the one that fucked up. Derek's brow furrows as you take a seat on the edge of his bed.

"I- I mean it." He stutters. "I really didn't... didn't mean for you to see that."

He avoids your gaze, turning away as you place a hand on his leg. Well, on the comforter covering his legs, but close enough.

"I know." You seem equally uncomfortable, silently looking around and examining his bedroom. And it is HIS room, decorated to suit his tastes. Unlike the other guest rooms in the house, which are all decorated in shades of pastels and beach-themed paraphernalia.

He squirms a bit, starting to get self-conscious of his own design choices. The dark wood furniture with gold accents stand out against the emerald green walls. Under usual circumstances, he'd feel proud of the expensive atmosphere. Right now... It all felt gaudy.

"I love all the animal print." You say, eyeing a pelt hanging on the wall above his dresser.

Derek winces. Yeah, okay, maybe it was a bit much.

"I picked out these decorations, like, 5 years ago. Cut me some slack." He grumbles, crossing his arms and giving you a pouty look.

"It looks nice." You smile, scooting a little closer to him on the bed, your hand trailing further up his covered legs.

"Don't lie."

"..."

"Okay, It looks like you gave a redneck with no prior knowledge of interior design an unlimited budget and a kilo of cocaine, then set him loose and told him to go crazy."

Damn. He'd be pissed at that if you didn't look so... warm. Even with the harsh words, he could tell you were only teasing.

"To be fair, I probably was on cocaine when I picked all this shit out." Derek snorts, gesturing around to the clashing animal prints, gold-rimmed mirrors and paintings, and wood accent pieces.

That little comment seems to make you waver. Shit. Bad joke?

"Not anymore." He tries to assure you, putting his hand on top of yours. You still haven't moved it from his thigh. "I haven't had anything like that since I got here, and it sucks. I feel like shit."

He slumps slightly against the headboard, letting his put-together act fall. Not like it was a very good act, anyways.

"I believe you, just... I feel bad. I'm sorry for last night."

Derek winces as the topic gets turned back to last night's activities. You didn't even have anything to apologize for, as far as he was concerned. He'd let you watch him cum any day. Make a show of it, if that's what you wanted.

Fuck. Stop thinking about it.

Derek struggles to listen as you ramble, instead staring into your pretty eyes and overthinking the way his hand is still on top of yours. You're saying something about how he shouldn't stay in bed all day, how he needs to keep a routine or he'll end up in a slump.

"...so can we just forget about what happened and move on? I don't think I can stand 17 more days of awkwardness." You finish, giving him a pleading look.

Forget about what happened? Derek's heart sinks into his stomach. He doesn't want to forget. Even though he hates himself for it, he loves what happened last night. He'd re-live it over and over again if he could, minus the part where you freak out and slam the door.

"Derek?" You ask again, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Oh. Yeah. Forget about it, please." His face heats up and he finally takes his hand back from yours, nervously running it through his hair instead. He might not what to forget about what happened, but he sure as hell wanted you to forget about it.

"Done." You give him a relieved smile and hop off his bed. "Alright, I'm gonna wait for you downstairs. Come meet me soon or I'll drag you down myself."

Derek does as asked, going through the motions of his normal morning routine. That didn't go as bad as it could have, all things considered.

At least you don't hate him.

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When Derek eventually trudges downstairs, you already have lunch heated up for him. Or... breakfast? It doesn't really matter.

He refuses to eat at first. Stubborn man. He says he feels nauseous, but how does he expect to get better with no food in his stomach?

After practically forcing him to eat, you settle down on the couch with him and try to decide on a movie.

"We are not watching another stupid action movie." You grumble, snuggling up in one corner of the couch while Derek takes a seat on the other end.

"Well I'm not watching some cheesy chick flick."

"Then what do you want to watch?"

Derek shrugs.

"Oh my god, Danforth. Just pick. Comedy or Horror?"

"Comedy."

"Okay, Adam Sandler or Jim Carrey?"

He pauses for a bit, furrowing his brow in a way that you might find adorable if he wasn't being so damn difficult.

"Sandler."

"Okay then, we're watching Billy Madison." You turn your attention back to the television and smile to yourself as you search for the movie.

"I don't think I've seen that one." He starts to shift in his seat as the movie starts, looking restless. What's his problem?

"Do you want to...?" You look over at him, trailing off and patting your lap.

He nods, and immediately lies down on his side, cheek against your thigh.

"Thanks." He mumbles, looking more relaxed by the second as he makes himself comfortable on your lap.

"Mhm." You hum, turning your attention back to the movie.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take long for him to start getting restless again. You pretend not to notice the way he occasionally glances up at you, keeping your gaze fixed on the television.

His hand finds yours, slowly tugging it towards his head. You take the hint and run your fingers through his hair, chuckling at how needy he's being.

"Don't laugh." He groans, leaning his head back slightly and melting into your touch. "It feels nice. And I've been feeling like death."

"You'd better not die on me, Danforth. No one would come to pick me up for another two weeks, and I don't think your corpse would fit in the freezer."

"You could chop me up." He offers, shifting so that he's lying on his back, looking up at you with his head across your thighs.

God, that smug look on his face. Why did the bastard have to be so cute?

"Okay, this is getting morbid. Shut up and watch the movie." You do your best to scold him, but it's hard to keep up the façade while gently carding your fingers through his hair.

"Make me."

Without hesitation, you slap your free hand over his mouth. His eyes widen for a moment, the smug look replaced with... something else.

Muffled noises come from his mouth as he attempts to speak through your hand, but you just laugh and continue petting him.

That is, until you feel his tongue on your hand.

"You're lucky you look so pitiful, Danforth, or I'd push you off the couch." You grumble, wiping your hand off on his shirt as he smirks up at you.

"Pitiful?" He scoffs, shoving your hand away from his chest.

"Yeah, sad and pitiful. You're a mess." You taunt him a bit, but your words are just as soft as the gentle touches you've been giving him.

Derek straightens best he can while lying your lap. "I'm not pitiful." He grumbles. "Stop pitying me."

His little act gets another chuckle out of you.

"It'll be easier if you stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"With those puppy eyes."

Derek's brow furrows, and he frowns up at you while you tug at his curls.

"I have puppy eyes?"

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Derek spends the rest of a movie in a blissed-out state on your lap. Physically, his body is a wreck. He feels weak, shaky, and all-around ill.

But emotionally? He's giddy. The way you've been treating him lately... there's no way you don't like him.

Fuck, no, don't jump to conclusions. Just ask. Yeah. Simple.

As the credits roll, Derek finally works up the courage to speak up.

"Why do you put up with me?" He asks, shifting to look up at you while his head rests against your thigh.

You pause mid-way through stroking his hair, and Derek is scared you might be able to hear how fast his heart is beating. He can sure hear it, at least.

"What do you mean, love?" You finally respond, untangling your fingers from his curls and setting your hand aside.

That makes him groan out loud. See? Exactly that sort of thing. Always calling him love. It drives him crazy.

"You're just so damn nice to me." He sighs, tossing his head back slightly and closing his eyes.

"Oh? Should I be mean?"

"Maybe." He lets out an amused huff, but there's a twinge of bitterness in his voice. It isn't really a joke. You're just too nice. He doesn't deserve it.

You seem to pick up on his shift in attitude, because you start running your fingers through his hair again.

"It's my job to take care of you, you know. At least for the next... 17 days or so."

Right. Your job. Derek can't help but sigh. He finally finds someone who seems to be interested in him for reasons that aren't monetary... but only because his mother is literally paying them.

"Oh, don't be like that." You scold him, and start to nudge him off your lap.

Derek takes the hint, sitting up. Before he can stew over your words further, he feels you pulling him into an embrace.

The angle is slightly awkward, with his back against your chest and his head resting on your shoulder, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

"Stop... you're gonna make me soft." He grumbles, but makes absolutely no effort to stop your arms from wrapping around him. He melts back into your touch, eyes fluttering closed.

From this close, he can smell your perfume. He's caught a whiff of it a few times before, usually when you get up close and personal with him in the kitchen. It's a soft, sweet, floral scent. Extremely different than the expensive, in-your-face scents of most women in his social circle. He's started associating the smell with comfort.

"Maybe that's my plan." You muse, giving him a tight squeeze before finally letting him go.

If only you knew just how well it's working.

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"Stop! You're getting sand everywhere!" You swat at Derek as he accidentally kicks sand onto the blanket you've spent nearly ten minutes arranging.

"It's a beach, sweetheart. There's gonna be sand." He scoffs, but carefully brushes off his legs before returning them to the large quilt.

After dinner, you'd realized you accidentally let him go an entire day without going outside. So, you'd dragged him out to go stargazing with nothing more than a blanket and a couple of flashlights.

"There's a difference between lying on top of it and being buried in it." You elbow him as he gets just a little bit too close. There's plenty of room for you to both stretch out, why does he have to be so clingy?

"I'm cold." He whines, grabbing at your arm.

"I told you to bring a jacket."

"I didn't think you were serious?! What kind of a beach is cold?"

You roll your eyes at him. It's not even cold, honestly. Just a bit brisk. There's a soft breeze coming from the ocean, smelling slightly of salt.

"Just cover up with the blanket."

"It's covered in sand."

"And who's fault is that?"

"..."

"Please?"

You finally turn to look at him, and you can feel yourself giving in almost immediately. God damn it. There's no way this man didn't know he had puppy eyes. Fuckin' manipulator.

"Fine. C'mere."

Derek scoots closer and you throw an arm around him, letting him rest his head on you.

You both lay like that for a while, staring up at the sky and listening to the soft crashing of the waves.

The moon is full tonight, illuminating the seemingly endless sand and water. There's a forest made of palms and ferns off to the side, and the leaves all ripple in the breeze.

"It's really pretty." Derek finally sighs, eyes still looking skyward.

"I know. You can actually see all the stars out here. In the city it's harder... light pollution or something." You shrug, making his head bob slightly as it rests on your shoulder.

Derek just hums in agreement. Poor thing. He looks exhausted, even though he slept until midday.

"Hey, don't fall asleep on me now. Not sure I could carry you back."

"I won't... promise..." He yawns and scoots a little closer, his arm reaching over and wrapping around your waist.

You should probably push him off, but damnit... he just looks so peaceful.

You rest your free arm on his, keeping him glued to you. It feels nice, all of it. His warmth, the cool breeze, the sound of the ocean, the twinkling stars... fuck. He's really growing on you.

Derek doesn't keep his promise, falling asleep in minutes.

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Author's note: This chapter took FOREVER!! There were just so many different directions I could have taken the story from the last chapter. Hope y'all enjoyed the one I ended up with!! It was mostly fluff, I know... but Derek is just so cute. I can't help it.

Thanks so much for being patient, and for all the kind comments & asks!!! Feel free to send in literally anything, I don't get many messages in my inbox.

Part 5

[diacetyldemon]

Touch from the Dark

Rating: E (18+)

Yandere!Sephiroth/Reader

Words: 3,279

Description: Nothing in your life matters besides submission, and Sephiroth wants nothing more than for you to find your true place in life and eternally submit to him. The small piece of your mind that's left won't let it happen, but it's not clear if that small piece will last.

AO3 link

this could be viewed as a sequel to my other fic, but i didn't write it with that in mind. i'll admit, i went a little crazy with this one. there's a lot of abuse, mindbreak, and non-con in this so you've been warned!

You don't have anything now, not even your thoughts.

This realization - this particular thought - isn't exactly a new one. You'd known it for so very long by this point, long after you've lost count of the days or the time or anything because nothing in your life matters anymore except submission. Nothing else matters.

It's something you've come to terms with, but for some odd reason, this time it feels especially brutal. The condemnation to a life of agony with a truly monstrous man was a bitter pill, but you swallowed it, the complete lack of agency. This time, however, the thought cuts like a wire through your brain, a shock to the system unreplicated since your initial capture.

Something deeper unsettles you - it comes to you as a vision of the future. The future feels vague, and fuzzy, almost like a far-away city. All it contains is you, and nothing. You've become nothing, no personality at all, a completely blank slate in the future, no thoughts or ideas or any original action, just an eternal cycle of yes-sir-of-course-sir, casually looping on, never changing, never stopping, never faltering. It makes you feel sick, in a way the whole situation hasn't before, like the disgust and fear and desire are rotting inside you, tainting everything else hour by hour. You try to squeeze the vision, the concept, out of your mind.

The thought came to you at the feet of Sephiroth. He was kicking you in the stomach.

-

You run your fingers over the deep bruises, flinching at the touch. It's not clear why you keep touching the wounds, but it makes you feel more real. (What is "real"? You don't know anymore.) A particularly tender spot makes a jolt of pain rush through you that’s so sharp you suspect he’s accidentally cracked a rib, and it doesn’t surprise you. It’s happened before.

There’s no point in trying to relax since you know it’s impossible. Since day one in this Godforsaken compound, you couldn’t relax, and that was likely the point. Over time, you’ve learned that if Sephiroth is anything, it’s calculating. Every square inch of the compound - the blankness of the walls, the lack of windows, the lack of clocks, the constant cold - is to help weaken you, break you down into what he wants you to be. His perfect little pet at the perfect little position - at his feet.

For a brief moment, there’s the echo of footsteps and you immediately straighten up, completely at attention. It’s funny, the little ways your brain has been trained to respond perfectly yet unconsciously. It was not an easy shift; at first, there was fight, at first there was soul, but now you’ve become insipid. Maybe that’s what you wanted this whole time. After so much pain and agony after breaking the rules, you realized you needed to wave the white flag, at least in most ways - you still had a little piece of yourself, seldom-seen, but still there.

However, over time, you can’t help like the little bit left is fading. Sometimes, entirely at random, you feel good about your situation. They’re so brief and fleeting yet intractably devastating, the idea that eternal submission is a great deal, that you love Sephiroth and everything he gave you. Yet they keep coming, and each time you get more and more concerned, wanting to punish yourself a thousand times over. You’ve lost your mind - in more ways than one.

-

Later in the day? Night? Sephiroth comes to you, again, as icy and mysterious as ever. He approaches you in your room, a small blank space with a (surprisingly comfy yet so incredibly cold) bed and not much else. There you sit, dumbly, and he doesn’t say anything; after looking at you for a few stomach-churning moments he reaches a hand up and strokes your hair, rather delicately. Initially, you attempted to avoid his gaze, but you quickly corrected yourself. Such a basic rule couldn’t be violated at this point, or he might actually make you pay the ultimate price. Then again, you’d deserve it.

He still hasn’t said anything, instead traveling his fingers down your jawline, trailing across your neck. After another moment of staring, and then he sits next to you and grabs you in a tangle of limbs to sit on his lap. Pain from your core immediately shoots through you, exceptionally sharp, and all you can do is whimper at the sensation and you notice the self-satisfied expression on his face. After the initial wave of pain, you relax, leaning against his toned chest, trying to breathe deeply enough to help cope with the stinging. He starts stroking your hair, again, and you suddenly feel very, very tired and extremely elated and satisfied. It’s hard to hide the weariness on your face, although you always looked weary so it’s not like much changed.

However, since Sephiroth seemingly knows you better than you know yourself, he seems to be able to tell the difference between actual tiredness and the general exhaustion that plagues your whole being. “Go to sleep”, he says, more a command than any sort of suggestion, but you obey; the tiredness in your body wouldn’t have allowed you to stay up anyway.

In the early phases of sleep, you feel your body being moved, clothes being methodically taken off, but you don’t even respond to it. It’s not even really on your radar anymore, so you simply plunge more deeply into dreamless sleep.

-

All you can do with your free time is wander the halls of the compound, counting steps and walls and the few pieces of furniture that you were allowed to have. You’ve read the few books here 15 separate times, it seems, so there’s not much else to do with your life. The true purpose of your life was right in front of you but you kept denying it. The cherry on top of the cruelty and sadness of your life was the simple fact that it had become nothing more than a waiting game - waiting for your master Sephiroth to arrive, whenever he did, and inflict whatever he saw fit upon you. It was a gamble, all day every day, and when he arrived this time, you wondered if you were gonna get lucky, but you knew you probably were going to lose.

He walks up behind you, slowly, and places his hands on your shoulders, and you flinch. It felt like you couldn’t compose yourself well, today. Tonight. Seemingly ignoring your mistake and leaning in closer, his voice suddenly seems thinner than usual, like a shadow of a whisper. “You’re almost there.”

“What?” Your voice is so quiet that you wondered if you even said anything.

He grabs your forearm, tightly enough to bruise. “Do not make me repeat myself,” he replies, the darkness immediately back in his tone. Your voice catches in your throat instead of being able to respond, and the punishment is swift; a sharp slap across the face, stinging brutally. In other words, you got what you deserved.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can squeak out. He lets go of you, and you stumble and fall suddenly, seemingly off balance. He begins to walk away, stopping only once to glance at you, in a sickeningly-familiar look of disgust, yet also affection - both affection out of pity, and a genuine, sick, disgusting, amazing love for you. Will you ever be able to return it?

“How pathetic.”

-

You, being the silly, sad, precious little thing you were, had to push the limits. You made a mistake. It was a serious mistake, and you knew it at the time but at the same time something had possessed you and you couldn’t stop it, it was like a forest fire, wildly out of control, completely consuming until there was nothing left - 

“Just what were you thinking?” Sephiroth’s grasp on your hair is so tight, he practically picks you up off the ground. “I do all these things out of love, and this is how you repay me?”

“I - I -”

He drags you by the hair a few feet over, causing you to cry out in pain - he’s strong enough to rip the hair out of your head. He pulls out his sword, endlessly long and sharp, and holds it against your throat, just grazing the edge on your skin. “I thought you knew better than trying to leave me.”

You hiccup with sobs, again. The words won’t even come out of your mouth despite your best efforts, only coming out as an incoherent, sloppy mess of tears. The sword is still at your throat. “Perhaps I should break your legs,” he says, casually. All you can do is whimper in response, trying to plead with your eyes, although you knew it couldn’t outdo the sheer hatred in his.

He pulls the sword away from your throat, but quickly settles for a solid slash against your arm, making you squeal in pain and blood to pour down your arm. You think it’s deep enough for stitches - all the cuts you’ve gotten make you have a solid sense for these things. Redirecting his efforts, he slices through your clothes and gives you plenty of little cuts in the process, and you’re reduced to gasps, trying to get air through your abused lungs.

Wordlessly, he picks you up - all your wounds, and you scream in protest - and slings you over his shoulder like it’s nothing (it is nothing) and you love being nothing. He carries you over to your bed and roughly throws you down on it, making you writhe in pain, blood still leaking from your arm onto your bedsheets, tears freely flowing from your eyes. No sounds are in the room besides your desperate sounds of struggle.

He approaches the head of the bed briefly, wiping away your tears. “Poor thing,” he cooed, condescension dripping from each word. “Too stupid for your own good.” You offer a wheeze in response, and he slaps you so hard you swear you can feel it in your neck. 

“I-I’m hic sorry!”

“You’re not,” he snaps back, wrapping his hand around your throat so tightly you begin to struggle for breath. “Don’t worry, darling, you will be.” You cannot wait.

He takes his jacket off, but not his pants (probably to make you feel more vulnerable in the nude), and grabs some ropes, beginning to tie you to the bedposts with ease. It’s hard not to struggle in response to the sheer pain, screaming louder than ever and the material of the rope seems to gnaw right through your skin. Blood is still leaking from your wound.

Admiring his handiwork for a moment, he brushes a strand of hair from your face, in a way that is far too delicate for the situation. “You’re perfect like this,” he murmurs, and you’re positively elated that you’re perfect for him notices the blood on your arm, trickling down all over it and soiling the sheets. He leans down and licks a bit off, making your wound stab you and making you whimper meekly. Before standing back up, he gets close to your ear and gives you a simple instruction. 

“Embrace the feeling.”

You’re thinking you might know what he means.

Of course, since this is a punishment that you deserve, he quickly begins running his hands over your body, intentionally putting pressure on your most sensitive wounds, particularly the potentially cracked rib, making you scream and making him smile smugly. “We haven’t even started yet, and you’re screaming already.” The words put the fear of God and a deep excitement in you.

He retreats from your tear-blurred vision for a moment but quickly comes back with a flogger. You’re almost sick at the sight, knowing full well what’s coming already. Sensing the fear in you, he smiles, prideful and disgusting and beautiful. “I’m teaching you your place. I think you know it already”, he adds, and something stirs inside you. It’s not clear what.

He whips you, hard. You can’t help but scream and writhe in agony as he hits you hard enough to leave welts, and it feels like he’s practically ripping your skin apart. Not too long after the beginning, you lose the will to scream and are reduced to pathetic mumbling and sobbing, feeling the pain intensify over and over and over. It’s like he’s trying to kill you with pain alone, and maybe you’re willing to die.

Bordering on unconsciousness, the something inside you that was stirred is still kicking, deep inside you, and you’re almost as worried about what it is as the situation at hand. It’s strangely sick yet soothing, and you’re almost longing for it, even though you don’t know what it is, you seem to want it but also not want it and it’s all too confusing and you just want all of it to be over. But deep down, you don’t.

Suddenly, you are awoken out of your dream-state by another harsh slap to the face. “Pay attention”, he commands, anger clear in his voice, and punctuated with another slap for good measure. There’s a seemingly endless amount of red marks on your stomach on top of your wounds, stinging and making your heart beat faster than ever before, feeling like you may actually die this time, but you don’t want to. And you’re not sure why you don’t.

Staring blankly, you watch him reach down and pull his cock out in all its glory. It’s hard not to stare at his body for a moment - the almighty Sephiroth, so much power, so much strength…

He approaches the head of the bed and grabs a solid fistful of your hair with one hand, using the other to slap his cock against your face a few times. Instinctively, you try to shy away, but the hand in your hair guarantees that won’t happen. It’s another indignity in a series of indignities, and yet, it felt different than anything that he had done before.

“Open,” he commands, and you obey. All hell breaks loose as he immediately slams his cock down your throat, making you gag and tears well up in your eyes. He keeps your head nice and steady as he fucks your throat, seemingly trying to ram himself as deep as he could get. Violently, you gag and sputter, too distracted by the relentless assault on your throat to do anything to give him any sort of satisfaction. Still blocked by the last barrier in your mouth, he growls in frustration.

Pulling his cock out of your mouth and giving you a few more good cock slaps - getting even more spittle and saliva all over your face - he makes a second attempt. “Come on,” he says, voice unusually husky as he plunges into your mouth again. “Take it.”

Relaxing your throat as best as you can, he finally pushes past, causing you to essentially choke on his cock, and he leaves it in so you can thrash about for a few moments before withdrawing. Coughing violently, you writhe in pain, not only in your throat and body but also mentally. You felt as if you could almost reach out and touch it, this invisible thing you wanted oh so badly.

In the moments after his withdrawal, where you caught your breath and fought with your both physical-and-psychic pain, he was looking you up and down, admiring the sad mess you were.

“How disgusting.”

He reaches aside and pulls out a towel, roughly rubbing it against your face, to get most of the mess off of you, but not all of it, and it doesn’t make you feel much better about anything.

“Open,” he commands again, and you immediately comply for him to spit in your mouth. “There,” he says, stroking your hair. “Since you seem to like it so much.” The action didn’t sicken you as much as your immediate compliance did. The immediate compliance didn’t sicken you as much as the brief jolt of pleasure that came with obedience. What was happening to you?

In the back of your mind, you knew Sephiroth could feel the internal battle inside of you, but he gleefully let it rage on in favor of untying your legs, stroking them a couple of times, a strangely tender action in a moment like this.

“You’re right there,” he says huskily as his hands go up and down your legs. “All you need to do is embrace it.” Without much else preamble, he rams his cock inside of you, causing your eyes to roll back at the white-hot sensation of pain, mixed with pleasure. It was so much, everything everywhere all at one moment, and it makes you disgusted, but you love it. The combination seemed so strangely intoxicating, in a way you couldn’t put your finger on but all you knew is it made you feel good.

“So wet for me already,” he chuckles, running his hands across your body, triggering quiet protests from your wounds. As soon as he starts moving, his pace is fast and ruthless, slamming into you so hard that the pain in your wounds scream out and you’re reduced to mumbling as he scrapes the edges of your cunt. The lewd, wet sounds fill the room, but everything seems so strangely out of focus…

A jolt of pleasure goes up your spine as he reaches down to rub your clit, making you feel even more overwhelmed yet deeply satisfied as if you’ve sated some deep need. There’s a sudden wave of euphoria flowing over you, and you realize Sephiroth is doing you a favor, giving you the greatest gift of all - the position at his feet.

After that single thought, you cum, clamping down on him, genuine moans of pleasure leaving your throat for the first time in forever. He doesn’t slow down, ramming into you for another solid, sweaty minute while overstimulation begins to kick in and make you squirm before cumming inside you, completely flooding your cunt.

He pulls out, watching cum ooze out of your abused hole with complete satisfaction. You lay in front of him, completely exposed, twitching and bruised and beaten but satisfied - almost perfection in his eyes. You weren’t perfect, not quite yet, but you had made major strides. It seemed it was all beginning to take, and he couldn’t have been more overjoyed.

However, much like all his internal mechanisms, Sephiroth doesn’t express anything. He stands up and dresses himself, leaving you tied to the bed overnight. Yet before he leaves, he pulls you in for a deep kiss, tongue plunging into your mouth and you replied eagerly, suddenly unable to get enough of him.

-

Once you’re untied - seemingly in your sleep, since you don’t ever recall seeing him - you’re completely at peace. It dawned on you that what you wanted, what you needed, had been there all along. Once you finally got your strength back to walk (took a couple of days, but you needed the lesson), you strode around the compound still feeling empty, but not for a lack of freedom. It was a lack of Sephiroth. In fact, you had realized you had achieved complete freedom in slavery, nothing else mattering in your world except submission.

Even through all the agony and abuse and pain, your loyalty could never falter. He loved you even when you were a bloody mess on the floor, having to pay the price for your transgressions. He loved you through all your weakness and whininess and insubordination. You weren’t perfect, not yet, but you were determined to be, all for him. You loved Sephiroth.

[dame-nervy]

"You don't have to lie to me if you want to be close to me" (Winston x Reader)

[fluffy]

A/N; when your brain's like "Focus? What's that? Never heard of it. Here's this random commercial that hasn't been on tv since you were 11." so I wrote and edited this in like an hour, hoping it would reset my brain while I drink a cup of tea... I don't think it worked.

It was rounding down to the end of Greenie day. The new boy was well and truly trashed on Gally's secret recipe and most of the boys had wonder off to their beds. Those who were left were the more "responsible" ones of the Glade, picking up those that thought the dirt was a great place to sleep or helping Frypan clean up what was left to ensure it didn't rot in the wrong place. And then there were the few others, sitting around the dying bonfire, most by themselves, some in small groups speaking softly about anything and nothing. You fell into the later with Winston, sitting closer than what was considered normal but not touching, not quite anyways. You'd been chatting about random things in hushed voices for the last hour or so, waving goodnight to the others as they passed you. You knew it wouldn't be long before Alby declared it bedtime and smothers what was left of the embers of the bonfire, but you'd take every moment you got before that happened.

You didn't spend much time with Winston, him being the Keeper of the Slicers and you not being a Slicer at all, but he was the first person you truly befriended when you arrived in the Glade. It was an instant connection that you both felt on that rather cold day in the Glade. You both assumed that you had known each other before hand, and some days you wondered to yourself just how close you had been before your memory and previous life were taken from you.

As Winston spoke softly, your eyes closed, losing yourself in the calm and security of being so close to him that you always felt when you were near, deciding to rest your head on his shoulder. He stopped speaking, flinching a bit at the sudden act before relaxing again, turning his head to look at you. "You all good there?" he asked, you gave a little shrug, knocking his arm with your shoulder "just tired." He was silent for a while before whispering "you don't have to lie to me if you want to be close to me." You smiled at this before opening your eyes, seeing he was still looking at you with those beautiful brown eyes. "I didn't know I had to have a reason." you whispered back, smile never leaving your face as he smiled too.

You both sat like that for a while, eventually you closed your eyes again and he rested his head on yours, enjoying the closeness and comfort that this night held as you could faintly hear Alby telling the others to go to bed, hoping he'd be kind enough to leave you both till last, so this moment could last just a little longer.

[fangirlies]

Stargazing- (x.t)

Pairing: Xavier thorpe x gn!reader I dont think I used any pronouns in this one.. I can’t remember

Request: Xavier Thorpe x fem reader stargazing together plsss

Warnings: literally just too much fluff to handle. soft reader. (Please let me know if I should be aware of anything else)

A.N: fangirlies 🧚🏼‍♀️ I’m sorry. this is so cheesy but that’s right up my alley. i wrote thorpe boy as a best friend but I’m sure you could just read it as boy friend.

“every now and then, the stars align. boy and girl meet by the great design . could it be that you and me are the lucky ones? everybody told me love was blind. then I saw your face and you blew my mind. finally, you and me are the lucky ones this time” these lyrics from Lana’s ‘lucky ones’ felt fitting. here I go including lana del rey in yet another writing.

You sighed as you slammed the cover of your botanical sciences textbook shut and tossed it aside. You'd been studying for an upcoming test for so long that you could feel your brain rotting.

“Hey xav?” Trying to capture the attention of your best friend. He hasn't taken his gaze away from his sketch book since he started drawing and you began studying.

You had fun hanging out in his art shed. Being surrounded by trees and hearing the wind roar while working on school assignments has a strangely soothing affect on you. Or perhaps it was the fact that you felt so safe in the presence of your best friend. He loved having you in here, and you knew it. On some days, when he's in one of his moods and struggles to express his feelings, you end up being his muse. It wasn't one of those days today. He was so absorbed in his work that he probably didn't even remember you were there.

You called his name again, but he didn't respond, so you walked over to him and gently tapped his shoulders making an effort not to startle him. He still didn’t turn to face you. Instead, as he proceeded to run his pencil across the paper, a barely audible "hmph?" came from him.

“Do you have any extra blankets?” Although you felt awful for annoying him so much, you would soon be out of his hair. Your head hurt from the overwhelming amount of information you read about plant cells, and all you wanted to do was be outside admiring the stars. No plant cells, no thoughts, just you under the million stars. When you were feeling overwhelmed, you found yourself doing this. It always made you feel that the vastness of the world was so big that you and your troubles were so insignificant.

He quickly uttered, trying not to lose the inspiration he was currently experiencing, "bottom shelf in the cabinet."

You proceeded to the place you were instructed to look, and you took one of his blankets and a throw pillow from his couch. He truly turned this old shack into his safe haven. Decorating it to his liking and even gave you a small corner for you to decorate. You contributed with the snacks seeing as you were in here just as much as he was.

You found your usual spot outside his shed where it gave you a clear view of the sky, free of any trees obstructing your view. The absence of nearby light left the sky covered in bright, beautiful stars. The sky tonight was stunning causing a slight smile to spread across your face. You spread the blanket out and positioned the cushion beneath your head as you allowed your mind to wander. Trying to trace a straight line with the patterns of the stars.

Your train of thought was cut off, and you cocked your head to the side. On the blanket next to you, Xavier was now sitting.

“Hey, did I distract you? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to” you apologized to your best friend, eyes full of worry.

He shook his head and said, "No no, I just felt lonely when I didn’t feel your presence. Besides, I think I needed to clear my mind too. Didn't realize how badly my fingers ached" Xavier twisted his fingers trying to get them to crack and suddenly found himself lying down next to you with his hands clasped together and on top of his tummy. You smiled gently at him.

“Are you going to share the pillow with me or will you leave me with a stiff neck too?” As you giggled, he gently pulled the pillow out from under your head. Causing you to slightly lift your head.

The two of you gazed silently at the twinkling of each star for a while. When it came to Xavier, you enjoyed that you didn't feel the need to keep the conversation going at all times. The mere thought of having each other by your side was enough.

“Isn’t it crazy how we both managed exist at the same time, same place?” You broke the silence.

“Please don’t make me go into an existential crisis right now. . . you always do this when we’re stargazing”

You chuckled. It's true. Your thoughts would frequently go straight to the strangest concepts.

“Xavier, do you think the moon landings were real? Be honest.”

“But xavier, think about it, we can’t be the only living species in our galaxy.. aliens are real and you can’t convince me otherwise.”

“xavi, isn’t it strange they haven’t explored the entire ocean yet? They must be hiding something from us”

“I’m serious xavi, I’m glad we found each other in this lifetime.” Tears are about to escape your eyes as you say, "You mean a lot to me.” When Xavier realized how emotional you were getting, he sneaked his hand under your head and drew you into his body. The hand under you encircled your body as you flipped to your side and laid your head on his chest.

“Hey hey, no crying when the stars are looking right at you.” You giggled at what he said. You were constantly reminded of the one time you told him those exact words when tears of frustration fell from his eyes. It now became something you told each other often as a way to comfort one another.

“You mean a lot to me too, y/n. Without you, I honestly don't know where I would be right now”. Letting out a sigh as he expressed his thoughts, Xavier was drawing tiny figures on your shoulders. Under the stars was a vulnerable place to be.

“With all your bottled frustration, you'd likely be in prison for murder, not to mention lonely.”

“That was strangely specific, but okay.”

He always managed to make you laugh.

“But seriously, y/n, I'm glad I found you in this life, and I hope I find you in the next," your best friend said, a tear streaming down your cheek at the lovely moment you two had shared.

You shifted your attention back to the flickering stars that illuminated the night sky. He was so special to you, you thought. You were sure that without him, you would not have survived some of your most difficult days at Nevermore. On your first day of school, your awkward fencing partner was someone you never imagined would mean so much to you. Being under the stars brought you nothing but peace. Or maybe it was the fact that you felt so safe around your best friend.

A.N: feed back always welcomed friends! It makes my heart explode.

if you sent in a request, I see you! waiting to get home to start working on them so I can give it my full attention.

for the bestie that sent in this request- ty. i didn’t know I needed this. i hope it was more or less what you were hoping for. thank you for requesting 🤍🦋🪴🧚🏼‍♀️

if you enjoyed this one- you might like ‘mission accomplished’ if you haven’t read it yet!

As always— requests are always open! Share your thoughts! Talk to me! Get something off your mind! ✨

[starry-blue-echoes]

so fresh off DMQ and my brain is already rotating with The Rot so let's talk about the Act 4 AU shall we :)

since DMQ doesn't give an exact date for when Kira starts doing his whole Ghost Hitman Thing, I'm just going to say this takes place a bit over a year after DiU and a few weeks/months before Part 5

so Kira's vibing right? Going around Morioh, doing his Hitman things, and vaguely aware of the presence of Stand Users. He knows they exist and he thinks their powers are kinda cool, but they can't see him so there's really no point in paying them much attention when he could use that time looking for a place to stay

so one day, he ends up passing by Koichi who was simply floating around by himself and at first he doesn't think much of it. He'd seen the little Stand around more than a few times, enough that he was used to his presence, but never tried approaching him because...... well, why would he? As far as he knew, "Echoes" wasn't that much different from any other Stand. Sure it was little weird he never saw the Stand's User, but eh Stands were weird in general

but then Koichi's gaze flickers to him as he hovers by and it hits Kira with all the subtly of a lightning strike that he can see him

unfortunately for Kira, Koichi also recognises him and he

flips

out

he uses every ability, every attack, every single offensive thing he'd learned how to use and does so immediately because Oh God Oh No Kira That's Kira How Is Kira Here He's Dead And Gone And I Saw It I Saw Him Die-

and he actually ends up forcing Kira to retreat. As trained as the guy is, he's used to his targets being more or less completely helpless against him. He's never had anyone fight back before, not to mention he's completely unequipped to go against a Stand. While Koichi isn't able to do anything permanent or "life treating" to him, Kira can't do anything back and could be left at the mercy of something that can kill him later on

so he runs and Koichi chases

at this point Kira's managed to put together that this "Echoes" seems to know who he is, or at the very least who he was. The fact he keeps shouting things like "I won't let you get away again!" and "you think you can run from what you've done?!?" and seems to be on the verge of an emotional breakdown really just adds more to that line of thought

unfortunately for him, Koichi knows Morioh better than he does and manages to catch up thanks to the fact he doesn't have to worry about bumping into people or going around obstacles. They fight again, and this time Kira actually gets a bit fucked up. A couple of his limbs are detached and he's barely standing, his Ghost Gun is out of bullets and he's debating the merits of using it as a bludgeoning weapon-

and suddenly Koichi just stops. Him running on this many emotions already wasn't going to be good, but because of how long it was going on for? Yeah it was completely overwhelming. Koichi's terror finally wins out over the rage and it finally hits him that Kira hasn't sustained any permanent damage. How he simply reattached all the limbs he lost, how there hasn't been so much as a single drop of blood, how Kira's pose and gaze right now is so similarly That Day

In that moment Koichi doesn't see Kira as a helpless opponent on the ropes. He sees a terrifying monster biding his next move to kill him all over again

so he runs. He flies as fast and far as he's willing to dare to get away from Kira

this ends up starting a sort of back and forth between the two for a few weeks. Koichi and Kira will spot each other in public, one will pursue the other, but just before anything gets done one of them will flee in a way the other can't follow until their next encounter. Koichi does end up telling the others, of course he does, but because of the whole Ghost thing only Koichi's able to actually see him

and as time goes by, with every fight both sides slowly put more pieces together. Koichi learns Kira is in fact dead. Kira learns Echoes's User was murdered. Koichi learns Kira doesn't remember him. Kira learns Echoes is his own User. Back and forth, fight after fight they slowly get a better look at the picture they're looking at

On Koichi's side of things it's....... it's going. Learning Kira didn't remember him pissed him off beyond belief and added more emotional conflict with the angry vs terrified thing going on in his head. Ironically though, fighting Kira so regularly ends up serving as a weird kind of Exposure Therapy. The fact he actually wins most of their fights does loads for his confidence, however it is slightly undercut by the fact Kira keeps escaping

and on Kira's side, he's Not Having The Best Time. With every piece of his past identity he slowly gleams from Echoes, the more he starts to fear who he used to be. Kira knows he's no saint, he literally kills people with little remorse as his job, but...... but he still has some morals. He kills people a monk tells him to, so my vibe about his victims was he was a killer of other killers and has some kind of ethical decency he lacked when alive. And Echoes..... based on what he's learned about the Stand from some eavesdropping on friends and some spying, the Stand seems like genuinely a good guy. During said eavesdropping he even ends up hearing his own name dropped a few times, and with the anger poison disgust hate they say his name with..... Kira gathers he must've done something awful to him

they only manage to get any proper headway when one of Koichi's friends ends up accidentally popping in during the middle of one of their fights and calls Koichi by his human name. The fight ends the same as it always does, but this time Kira actually has something to work with now. He ends up trying to learn whatever he can about any "Koichi's" of note in the last few years. And eventually, after a lot of different dead ends, he ends up investigating one Koichi Hirose who reportedly died in a gas explosion a few years back

this then leads to the pair's final fight. Kira goes to the graveyard to Koichi's tomb and finds him sitting there

the fight wasn't even that physical this time. Aside from a thrown attack or two from Koichi (which were very carefully aimed as to not hit any of the other headstones), it was mostly the pair shouting back and forth as Koichi hovered protectively in front of his tomb and Kira tried getting answers

And eventually Koichi gives him the final piece

"What, it wasn't enough to kill me?" he spits. "You have to disrespect my resting place too?!?"

and Kira stops

at this point he knew Echoes, Koichi, was young. Far younger than he was, and after learning his name and seeing the date on the tomb he realises Koichi would've been a teenager

and suddenly Koichi's loathing and terror and offence at being forgotten makes so much sense

He'd killed him. When he was alive, he'd killed a teenager, and by the looks of things, it had been an innocent one at that. Every word Koichi had spoken, every action he'd taken, how he'd been so desperate to kill Kira but so hesitant to get close suddenly made a painful amount of sense

it's at this point he finally explains he doesn't remember anything about his life. Aside from his name, every memory he has was created only after he woke up as a ghost

and this....... makes things a bit awkward. Neither know what to say or do in the face of all the new information that's suddenly been brought to the table or how to feel about it

maybe Koichi tells Kira what he'd done in life. Maybe he ends up having one of his friends do it

they don't become friends after everything is said and done. With all their history that would be impossible so soon after both their deaths. But they say hi when they pass each other in the road. Koichi shows him the Bad Alley for whenever he'd like to sleep in a house without being bothered. Kira teaches him a bunch of tricks he picked up for how to experience a world not made for people like them. They share information when Kira has a job

they stay distant, but slowly they become more comfortable with the other's presence. And who knows. Maybe a few decades in the future they could get closer

not now though. not yet

[glupblorbo]

logging onto tumblr to show y'all my new brainrot aka the "luz-and-hunter-go-on-a-road-trip-summer-after-their-senior-year-and-also-there's-mormon!belos" modern au and i say new as if this hasn't been rotting in my brain since the second i watched toh a fuckin year ago and was like "hey i relate to that nerd hunter a lil too much"

i'm finally only writing this now bc i got "college/academia" and "road trip" for 2/3 of my AU Roulette prompts and a couple things clicked into place after talking to a friend and BOOM. hunter gets more trauma :)

anyway. this fic has me by the throat and im unpacking a lot of shit so heed the tags on it lmfao but. im having SO much fun writing it too who knew therapy could be fun?

Summary is as follows:

Hunter Wittebane is well-versed in navigating the choppy waters of his uncle’s unsustainable emotions after 13 years—and now, he just has a few weeks left before he’ll be across the country at college and will only ever have to see his uncle twice a year. Except somehow, the thought of college is almost as terrifying as the thought of staying in the Deep South the rest of his life, closeted and giving much more than ten percent of himself each week. Thankfully, Luz suggests a few days on the road to help.

and yes it'll be part of a series bc i have SO MUCH LORE for this au lmfao

Snippet from the next third chapter below the cut (and a warning for mentioned abuse):

Luz shakes her head in frustration, cursing under her breath again, and he laughs. Half of this is all just a show for him; he’s well aware Luz can tell he’s still on edge about the trip in general and is doing her best to mitigate further stress for him. It’s the first time he’s been away from Uncle for so long—well, the first time he’s been away period, really—that wasn’t related to a church thing, and while church things make him freak out even more, he at least knows what to expect with them, and knows Uncle will be kinder in the aftermath, even if only for a day or so.

He has no clue how his uncle will react upon their return from this trip. And Hunter is all too familiar with what can happen—what will happen—if his uncle finds out the truth.

“Hey, you good?”

Luz is looking at him the way she always does when he shows up at Amity’s parking spot with a ziploc full of makeup and begs the both of them to help him figure out how he’s supposed to hide an hour-fresh bruise on his jaw when there’s five minutes until the bell. He’s never much liked that look.

“I’m fine,” he manages, rolling his shoulders back and trying to look relaxed.

[teruwasright]

Also, like notice how For someone who wants to be around his brother 24/7, Tsukasa isn’t that clingy to him very much. He doesn’t seek Amane out or anything, unless Amane is directly in front of him.

Like 100% convinced Hanako scares the crap out of Tsukasa okay, it’s my 100% theory that probably won’t be canon but STILL. Also as a Yorishiro, you think Tsukasa like, was killed over and over like sumire? You think he had to relive his death??

Ooooo! That's an interesting question- I'm not sure because it seems Tsukasa can walk around unlike Sumire who was trapped in No.6's Boundary. That doesn't seem to be the case with Tsukasa tho- so maybe?

But I slightly noticed how Tsukasa hasn't deliberately gone out of his way to see Hanako. Witch is interesting because ya he seems like he wants to be around him 24/7 but we don't see much of him through the series? At least much of him around Hanako-

It would be very interesting if Tsukasa was scared of Hanako tho since it seems like he isn't scared of most anything. Tho ya sadly it probably won't be canon- but who knows maybe that will be the big twist lol

Tho I am curious on your thoughts about Hanako? You seem to have some interesting thoughts so I'm all ears lol (also I'm having a huge Hanako brain rot so please don't mind me- TwT)

Also can I say I HATE when people say Tsukasa abuses Mitsuba- have I already? No? Well I do- I hate it with the passion of OBLIVION-

I think the Tsukasa abuse theory was fun for it's time- it was the beginning of the series when that theory was more prominent but I think with the interactions we've gotten since then has left that theory up to debate and opinion but I feel like it's left a mark on Tsukasa's character as a hole. It feels like Tsukasa can't NOT be abusive now.

It makes me kinda sad because I love Tsukasa SO much as a character and to see him get so much hate for seemingly no reason is sad. Kinda like Teru- these two are like- top 2 favorite characters and they get so much hate because what? Teru's "heartless" and "unsympathetic"? Tsukasa is a "monster" and "abusive"? Smh

What about Hanako and Kou?- no one talks about theme??? What about how Hanako treats Nene??? What about Kou's backstabbing???

Anyway- *cough cough*

Basically lol I agree with all the shit you're bringing up ^^

But it does bring up another question regarding whether Tsukasa has had to relive his death like Sumire- if that theory is gonna work then we're gonna have to assume that the Bathroom isn't Hanako's Boundary.

So then would his Boundary be in the toilet?- ok ok hear me out- the actual legend of Hanako San in a lot of readings she drags you to hell THROUGH the toilet- some others have her turn into a giant lizard and eat you. I highly suggest looking into it yourself if you haven't already the parallels are EVERYWHERE. But what if Hanako's hell is that day? The day he killed his brother?(and maybe even hole family-)

I'm just shit balling- but I thought it could be interesting to add to the conversation

[queenharumiura]

(When you casually remember you have another KHR blog that you can connect timelines with for the luls. This tiny brain rot hasn't left me so I thought to write a small thing for it. Readmore bc i'm shy.)

@belacedia​

-

With a small bird perched on her shoulder, Haru was led down the long halls by Kusakabe, who was quite used to escorting her to and fro on the behest of Hibari Kyouya, the Cloud Guardian of the Vongola.

Haru was showed into a room where Hibari was already sipping a warm cup of tea at. It never ceased to amaze her how this room in particular was filled to the brim with Japanese aesthetic. A traditional room fitting for a man who was somewhat old-fashioned.

She didn’t know what exactly she was called in here for, but she didn’t feel unnerved by his presence. Over the years, the two would interact with each other at random and one could say they’ve formed something akin to a friendship. At least, that was how Haru saw it.

Don’t get her wrong, it took an incredibly long amount of time to reach a stage where the two could enjoy a cup of tea together as Haru would speak on random inanities. The little bird, who Haru dubbed ‘Mi-chan,’ flew towards Hibari, perching on his outstretched finger. “Miura.” He greets her calmly.

“Hibari-san.” She greets back as she simply approaches, sitting down at the table where a cup of tea was already poured for her. “Can I ask why you’ve sent Mi-chan to me today?” Not bothering to waste time with the pleasantries, she cut right to the chase.

The warmth of the teacup felt comforting as her nerves were wound tight in anticipation. While there were many yellow feathered ‘minions’ under Hibari’s command, there was one in particular that Haru often interacted with, and it was due to the fact that Haru had found it injured one day and nursed it back to health before returning it to Hibari’s side.

Having grown attached to Haru, Hibari deemed it useful to allow this one lone bird to serve as a liaison between Haru and himself. It was quite rare when the bird that Haru has affectionately named ‘Mi-chan’ was used for any business other than spoiling the bird with treats, so being summoned the way she had today had Haru feeling nervous.

“A couple birds have reported something interesting. A certain Prince has been visiting you frequently.”

Haru almost dropped her tea in shock, but she managed to keep the cup in her hands by fumbling. She wasn't expecting to be having this conversation with Hibari of all people. “Hahi? They told you about that? Well- it’s not wrong…” She awkwardly fiddled with the cup in her hands. “… He’s been visiting me often.” At a certain point, she’d dare say he was just terrorizing her by getting on her nerves, but at large, it was mostly harmless.

She did ponder on this fact in her downtime, but it did seem like Belphegor’s frequent visits didn't go completely unnoticed. So far, it seemed that only Hibari knew about it (Or rather he was the only one to outright confront her about it).

Eyebrows raised in surprise, “You called me here just for that?” Her tone was incredulous as he never involved himself in her business as it wasn’t his place to do so. The two would talk on occasion and it was merely due to the fact that Haru put forth the effort to try to get along with all of the guardians, and that included Hibari. It was accurate to say that the both of them had come to a common agreement to simply accept each other’s existence and not bother the other.

It helped that Haru got along with the yellow avians, often looking after them if they wanted to rest after a long day of hard work. It only took one of the avians to speak well of her for the rest to understand that she was a ‘good person who can serve as a secondary food source.’

Not one to owe others favors, Hibari willingly associated with her on occasion. Luckily, Haru never asked too much of him, so they could interact with each other in peace. “What is he planning to do in Namimori that involves your cooperation?” His teacup now empty, she had his entire attention. Obviously, this conversation would not budge from this topic.

She blinks a few times before she chuckles quietly. “I don’t think anyone has plans to harm Namimori, Hibari-san. I understand the concern, but he can be agreeable if you’re willing to meet him halfway. He certainly is very lacking in sociability, but he’s doing his best… I think. Even though his reputation is what it is, he is able to be civil, so I don’t think you need to be concerned about his casual visits.” She has absolutely no intention of stating that Belphegor wouldn’t destroy Namimori if a mission was involved.

“You have a positive opinion of him.” Hibari notes, his piercing gaze picking every small movement of hers down as his mind then collates everything together to form a coherent but unorthodox thought. “Don’t get played.” A pointed comment that both would be able to understand.

Of course, he was referring to a certain 10th generation mafia boss. “Tsuna-san didn’t play around with me.” Haru hisses, instantly going on the defensive. Being played would suggest that he even looked in her direction to begin with—which he didn’t. Just like the lightning comes and goes with a sudden flash, her temper could leave as quickly as it came. “I don't think Bel is playing around with me. I feel he's being sincere. At the very least, he doesn’t force any expectations on me. He respects my ambitions more than some others we know, and I appreciate that. He’s surprisingly--- likable at times. Would I be stupid for thinking about him?” Who knew there'd come a day when Haru speaks about relationships with the  Hibari Kyouya?

The matter of relationships and feelings were foreign ground for the likes of Hibari, who much preferred to keep to himself, save for those he approves of. Just as she didn’t interfere with his business, he wouldn’t interfere with hers. If she could objectively deduce that she trusted the destructive Prince, that was her choice to make.

Surely, she wouldn’t continue the mistake of falling for yet another person who wouldn’t look her way. Then again, perhaps that wouldn’t be an issue, if Belphegor’s frequent visits were of any indication. It was also true to say that he hadn't received any reports of any significant property damage in Namimori immediately following Belphegor's casual visits, so it may be beneficial to relax his guard on the matter.

Steel cold eyes glanced at the woman across the table, noting the indecisive sheen in her eyes. The normally ambitious and self-assured woman had moments of hesitation, it seems. “It’s your choice to make. Don’t belittle yourself. Any damage to Namimori and it’s people will be met with force.”

"With force!" The yellow bird chimes in randomly, flapping its wings energetically. 

A small smile graces Haru’s features as she read between the lines, “Haru is being made into a convenient excuse for a fight, hm? At least give me a chance to fight for myself first.” In other words, should anything go wrong, the best person to have as an ally in Namimori was Hibari himself. There were some benefits to trying to befriend the guardians, wouldn’t you know? 

It was only a matter of time before others learned about what was going on, so it would be beneficial for all parties involved for her to make her decision quickly, lest she be bothered by a couple of worried nagging guys.

“I told you all this in confidence, you know? Of course, you wouldn’t go blabbing, right?”

“Your private life is of no business to the rest.” Living life without an annoying pest worrying about inanities was a day well spent, after all. 

“Hibari-san understands well.”

She thought it was a bit early to be considering anything in seriousness, but it never hurt to cover your bases. The moment Gokudera or Tsuna heard about Belphegor’s frequent visits, her life was going to be rife with annoyances. Hibari wouldn’t alert the others to what he’s noticed and he may feel it necessary to ensure the others are kept in the dark for the sake of peace and quiet.

The moment Tsunayoshi’s worries trickle down the ranks of the Vongola, Namimori’s peace would surely take the fall. Barring a Prince from doing whatever he wished to do? That reeked of property damage.

Really, it was nice having someone like him as a ‘friend’, sometimes. “Since I’m here, let me tell you about a recipe I’ve thought up recently. I think the birds would love it. It would be tasty and healthy for them.” 

"Hm. Give the recipe to Kusakabe."

“Roger that.” 

[a-crimson-dawn]

Mereoleona was surprised, to say the least.

From what she could tell, the only thing Vangeance had touched was the non-alcoholic eggnog.

And yet, he seemed a bit more... emotional (?) than usual? He definitely wasn't acting his usual self. She didn't really know why she cared - just yesterday, if you'd have asked her if she cared for him at all, she wouldn't have told you that he could go rot, for all she cared - but nonetheless she found herself watching him more intently than planned. Which was coupled with this weird feeling that she could have sworn was concern...

For him???

Nah, no way!

Not that bastard!

She looked at her own glass of eggnog, swirling the contents around a bit, before sniffing at it. It did smell a little off...

Charlotte was too drunk to have noticed - probably had some of that eggnog herself - and Dorothy was assisting her to a guest room, while the briar mage insisted in a slurred voice that Dorothy should "keep her hands off of Yami". Dorothy was busy. None of the other captains that were here seemed to notice that the eggnog was alcoholic, and, if they knew, no one was talking.

Instead, they seemed amused by Vangeance's impression of Sukehiro - which granted, was hilarious, if only on account of the fact that his voice was comically off and the impersonation was greatly exaggerated - and didn't seem to find anything strange about that. How often did those five - Sukehiro, Ripper, Silva, Vangeance and her brother - even get together if they didn't seem to notice something that seemed fairly obvious to her...?

Or maybe Vangeance knew?

Would he really get himself knowingly drunk, given that he was probably going to have to return to work the next day?

It seemed fairly irresponsible, but then again, so did betraying an entire kingdom. And Festiver was approaching, it was common for people to get inebriated during the holidays. Hell, it was one of her favourite past times.

Ultimately she decided to rule out the possibility of him being purposefully, knowingly drunk though.

So, walking over to him, she pulled him away from the table.

"Alright, I think you've had enough of that eggnog, Vangeance," she announced, dragging him off.

"Oh, hey, Sisgoleon," Yami slurred, unsurprisingly drunk. "Why don't you join us instead of killing our fun for once. There's plenty of drinks for everyone..."

"I can see that," she snapped back at him.

"I only had a couple glasses of eggno-" William protested, which was cut off by a hiccup. "Unless there was a limit to how much were are allowed to have-" another hiccup "-in which case, I apologise..." Well, at least she could hear him more clearly than Yami. "But I'm pretty sure there's plenty left -" hiccup "- on the table."

"Hey, Vangeance, drink something before you give me a headache with that hiccuping of of yours, will you?" Yami handed another glass of eggnog over to him, ignoring Mereoleona's attempt to stop him from doing exactly that.

"I don't recall there being any limits on the eggnog, no," Fuegoleon said, quite possibly a bit drunk himself. "There's no need to be concerned, there's plenty left for everyone..."

She groaned. "Please tell me you at least have a designated sober person for this, you idiots..."

"Nozel.... or maybe Fueggy over here..." Yami started pointed at the other captains, "but you know, I could always just get my wheels to drop us off... if we do get hammered."

"Neither I, nor Fuegoleon plan on drinking, and I'm fairly certain that Vangeance hasn't touched any alcohol..."

'And that's exactly where you're wrong, bird brain...' she thought, annoyed. "Alright then. I guess there's no reason for me not to get hammered myself since you're all so very clearly sober..."

"You and I should have a drinking competition, sometime, Sisgoleon," the captain of the Black Bulls offered. "See if you're any better than your brother over here..."

"I doubt it would be much of a competition considering you're already drunk out of your mind, Sukehiro," she turned away. She chose to stick around though, interested in how this was going to go down. Unsurprisingly, not well, was the answer.

In the end, all of the captains ended up hammered.

Which left Randall to take a rambling Fuegoleon back to the Crimson Lion King headquarters. Finral and Zora meanwhile lugged a very aggressive, drunk Yami - who weirdly kept insisting that only he could tease "Prickly" (was that an imaginary friend, or something?) - to the Black Bull hideout. Puli assisted a stumbling Charlotte who was busy wailing "Yami!!!" with all the subtlety of a blue whale - on the other hand, Prickly could have been Charlotte. Nebra and Solid assisted a confused and far too honest for comfort Nozel, who switched constantly between moaning about how much of an insensitive, rude jerk Yami was, to swooning about Dorothy - coming from him, that was kind of unsettling with how out-of-character it was. Dorothy had been playing with Nozel's braid before he got dragged out, and then she was helped by an oddly concerned Kirsch back to her base. Walter took Rill back, who kept talking in a dazed voice about this random girl that saved him - but that was no indicater of inebriation for Rill, as he'd been in this state for weeks now. As for Jack he kind of just... stumbled out into the darkness, which didn't exactly concern her as much as it should concern the people he might attempt to slice up. Judging from the voices outside though, she assumed that one of his squadmembers had gone to help him. Kaiser had returned early to his wife.

But the Golden Dawn didn't show up.

Which could have been because Yuno was currently in Hage with Asta, last she'd heard of Langris he'd went on some spiritual journey, or it could have been because the idiot - Vangeance - hadn't thought to call anyone even when it became apparent he wasn't going to get to his base alone.

And if that didn't speak to his level of inebriation, then his half-awake ramblings definitely did.

So, she grabbed him with her lion paws.

As it were, she had no idea where the Golden Dawn headquarters were. Instead, she went to the Vermillion House, which she assumed would have at least some spare guest rooms left. Worst case scenario he could simply take her room, she barely stayed inside the manor anymore anyway and had her own place in the wilderness. She'd inform the servants of his arrival, to ensure that no one was caught by surprise next morning.

But in the meantime, there was the journey there, which wasn't made any shorter by William's constant ramblings. She could swear he'd never been this talkative when sober. In fact, as far as she was aware he was mostly a very reserved person.

Now everything - every apology and regret, every compliment and delusion - poured out of him like water out of a fountain and it was... weird.

After hearing him apologise for Fuegoleon losing his arm for the tenth time, and mutter out random names she assumed were names of the deceased from the reincarnation event given the little information that he gave her, as well as trying to apologise for and simultaneously defend Langris and his behaviours... she was starting to feel a bit bummed out for even taking him with her. The sentiment was getting too much to handle. And when she thought the worst was over, he started pining over his elf friend and Langris. By the time they were close to the manor, he'd thankfully almost fallen asleep, but even then he wouldn't shut up. In the end she had to put a fire paw over his mouth to stop herself from getting all torn up about him. She wasn't about to feel sympathy for the enemy.

"Tell me there are guest rooms available...?" she asked one of the maids once she'd entered the manor.

"A-actually L-lady Vermillion... some of your relatives-" by which the maid really meant anyone remotely related to her "-had been invited to stay overnight at the manor..."

"I suppose that leaves my room," she sighed. "Please inform my father and the rest of the staff about the new guest."

"I-I'm not sure your father would approve-"

She rolled her eyes. "Arya, he's clearly drunk. And I don't plan on doing anything inappropriate with him, if that's what you're implying. And father can stuff his approval somewhere - maybe don't tell him that in those precise words though. I've been an adult for over a decade now, and it is still my room to do with as I please, no?"

"Well, y-yes..." the maid obediently nodded. "D-do you need any help with-"

"No, that's fine."

With that, she took the man up to her room, laying him down on the bed and finally retracting her fire paws. Relieved to know that he wasn't trying to talk anymore, she took off his boots and then put a cover over him. He seemed more peaceful now. Endearing even.

She bit the inside of her cheek, annoyed at herself. There was nothing endearing about a traitor.

'Even a traitor with a guilty conscience...?'

Even a traitor with a conscience.

"Mereoleona..." she heard a murmur coming from behind her as she was leaving the room. Oh, dear gods, not this again, she wasn't about to put up with more guilt-

"... I love you."

She froze at first, before turning around when he didn't say anything else. His eyes were closed, and there seemed to be a smile tugging on his lips. He appeared to be, asleep.

"I love you" followed her out of her room, even as she closed the door, unable to push it out of her mind.

Three little words. Three words that left her indignant. Afraid. Excited.

Was this some kind of cruel joke?

Or was that really how he felt...?

"That bastard," she whispered placing a hand on her chest. "If this is a joke, I'll kill him."

[whiskeynovember]

UGH!!! My Cuprea has root rot!

And honestly, i should have known. It's been 2 weeks and other than the Dragon Scale, the other 3 have either been stagnant or in some form of decline.

The Dragon Scale was watered about 4 days ago and the pot seems fairly light, so it's not holding on to too much water. it pushed out that new leaf (with a bit of sport variegation, hello?!!) and all the leaves that arrived kinda droopy have perked up.

The Silver Dragon hasn't done anything. Just... giving me nothing.

The Nebula has the oldest leaf that is slowly crisping up from the tip and that point of new growth that it arrived with hasn't moved.

and then my Cuprea... 😭

After the new leaf unfurled, the old leaf just steadily died. i thought it had to do with the cold weather, because it did it the same time as my Ebonys, but while the Ebony leaves are just... sad, but still firm, the Cuprea is actively dying.

i should have repotted them when i realized the soil was still wet after more than a week, but i didn't want to shock them too much. i decided today that it was burning a hole in my brain and got to work with the 3, since the Dragon Scale is doing fine, i let it be.

The Silver Dragon's soil was wet. just... wet. roots looked fine with a bit of growth, so more perlite and orchid bark. shallow pot and topped with moss for moisture.

The Nebula soil was... wet. Roots looked really healthy and firm. Again, more perlite and orchid bark. a more stabilized repot (the plant was tilted forward) and topped with moss for moisture.

from now on, i will be lightly watering, maybe 1/4 cup or less and then only spraying the moss.

the Cuprea... just sort of fell out of the pot as i tipped it over. not a lick of root. all mush. i wanted to cry, but what good would that do?

rinsed away the remaining soil and started feeling for firm roots.

none.

removed all the dead roots, rinsed again, and sprayed with peroxide. decided to repot in a clear party cup with holes so it could have some extra drainage and airflow and i can monitor root growth without disturbing it. potted in a mix of sphagnum moss and perlite. topped on a humidity tray and I'm debating on whether to keep it in a glass dome for the humidity or keep it out in the open for the airflow.

i left the dying leaf on so it can pull the last bit of energy from it.

i did notice a tiny firm root nubbin, so there's hope. also, the corm itself was still firm, so that's a great sign.