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fluffypotatey · 9 months

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thinking about how mei could contain the samadhi fire again. like yeah sure it could just be bc of her dragon ancestry like nezha said (its like pokemon logic, dragon type beats fire type). but also what if it's not. what if it's some other reason.

in the s4 openings, mei takes a way more prominent role than she did in the s1-s3 openings, fighting alongside mk. almost like she's gonna have a bigger role in this whole arc or something. mei contained the uncontainable flame and was able to use and withstand it without destroying the world. and now the jade emperor's power doesn't have a vessel, and nezha's seal won't hold forever. are u picking up what im putting down (<- high on copium)

GOOD MORNING AND WELCOME TO "Fluffy's Long Answer Responses," AND TODAY WE WILL BEGIN WITH THIS BEAUTIFUL ONE RIGHT HERE :)

Mei and the Samadhi Fire

aka, something i think about a lot & am hoping to see her wield once more T^T

so, I honestly will be super disappointed if the reason why we don't see the Samadhi Fire anymore is because her dragon abilities "canceled out" the fire (which would diminish the Grand Power™️ of the fire since it's supposed to be an end all be all power that can and will extinguish reality).

HOWEVER! while reading the lmk wiki (something i tend to do if i want to make sure i'm not just pulling stuff out of my ass for nothing) i found this:

The Rings of Samadhi are three special rings that were created by Tang Sanzang to seal away the Samadhi Fire. After the Samadhi Fire was reforged, the rings often acted as Mei's weapon of choice, being one of the ways she can utilize the Samadhi Fire

and

Pyrokinesis - After Season 3, Mei was able to create common green flames, which succeeded her powers to control the Samadhi Fire, which she, according to Master Subodhi, could no longer wield

and

Samadhi Fire - At first, Mei had difficulty controlling the fire because of her fear of hurting someone with it. In "Embrace Your Destiny", Mei eventually learned how to surpass her doubts about controlling the Samadhi Fire by being trained by Red Son, and used it to destroy Lady Bone Demon. Because of her dragon heritage, Mei can't be harmed by the fire, but still has to control it through controlling her emotions

so....what the fuck is this?

i am so glad you asked, deary >:)

we were already made aware that Mei's miraculous ability to avoid earning irreplaceable burn scars from the reality breaking fire is no thanks to her dragon heritage despite being mortal. this is most likely why Ao Lie was able to withstand the flames that first time thanks to his scales, BUT dragon scales can only do so much. the fire will still fight against it's vessel (host? body?) unless they are able to commune with it and "embrace" the fires.

as Red Son said, Mei is "strong enough to contain" the fire, but with training and meditation, she could be able to wield it. it's similar but also different to when Mei first got her dragon sword. even without its special abilities, anybody could pick up the sword and claim it as their own, BUT only a chosen few are deemed "worthy" of fully wielding the sword in it purposes (protecting one's family and home).

so, yeah, thank you dragon ancestry for preventing mei from burning herself and the wold into a crisp. the rest of what Mei does, that's all her. and i want to focus on something else the wiki says: "the rings often acted as Mei's weapon of choice, being one of the ways she can utilize the Samadhi Fire."

hey what the fuck????

AYO???? EMBRACE YOUR DESTINY WTF?????

YOU'RE JUST GONNA DROP THAT AND NEVER COME BACK TO IT???? I THINK THE FUCK NOT!

*coughs* anyway....where was i?

right, so, in helping Mei wield the fire (because i'm assuming just raw-dogging it would be suicidal for any beginner trying to use the Samadhi Fire), she converts their original purpose of containing (since they are no longer the ones that need to hold on to it) and reverse engineers them to help her current the fires to her will???

at least that's what it looks like to me. also, lmk we should absolutely bring this back. Mei with the 3 rings hovering over her whenever she summons the flames. can you hear me lmk, are you listening, can you hear me breathing down your necks as i plead-

but then, after s3....it's like the fire left her??? or is more dormant than before. HOWEVER (i love this word btw) as @gumy-shark said, Mei shows up in the lmk intro more often. so, let's do a comparison, yeah? of s3 and s4's intro (just to show how Mei is being inserted into a more prominent role in the intro itself starting now lol)

ok, ignoring the beautiful paused piece of MK's smushed face, these 2 pictures occur at the same place in their intros. MK flying into the TEA car, and MK and Mei flying into an ancient Chinese towers while in the scroll. and in the next two,

their placement ALSO happens at the same time (also the lighting is very similar....huh, i wonder why?). what do we notice? no Mei on the left side of the first pair, and no MK on the left side of the second pair. just MK, our lovely main character (also, has anyone else gotten a kick out of MK being a letter away from MC? no? just me....that's fair) and just Mei, our beloved dragon girl. because while Mei's story was also important in s3, the main plot focused on MK trying to regain his powers and defeat LBD. HOWEVER, in s4, we have both Mei and MK in the scroll trying to save their friends, and when they split up, BOTH characters meet someone important to their past (Subodhi being swk's mentor so like MK's mentor grandpa??? and Mei meeting her literal ancestor, Ao Lie) and BOTH come to learn something new about themselves.

HOWEVER >:) while Mei's encounter leaves her more self-assured and solid about her place and identity, MK's encounter leave shim with more questions, some denial, trauma, and the works (hooray!)

anyway, what can this tell us about the upcoming season? well, firstly, i believe Gumy is right! this is sort of like lmk's "subtle" way of showing that Mei's role will become more important to the narrative. they're telling us, "hey, don't forget about her. don't ignore her storyline just yet." and yeah, we should not :)

we still don't know the whole story on why Mei doesn't wield the Samadhi Fire in s4 (is she scared of it? did she decide it was better to only train and meditate with it? is she even aware that she can still use it? or did she give the 3 rings (now her rings bc she reconfigured them) to Nezha for safe keeping and hope for the best? WE DON'T KNOW!) and that is a pretty significant event to just ignore.

like, yeah, sure, it's brought up by Master Subodhi but all he says is, "as someone who once wielded the Samadhi Fire," WHICH GIVES ME NOTHING! he also mentions that Mei has the potential to be even powerful if she just took a minute to think before letting her impulses rule her, but i'm not mad over that. but, that does give the hope that Mei in the following season will have an arc where she attempts to slow herself down and think about the consequences (and she's done it before!! her actually thinking about how "Wukong knew the risks")

so yeah, i am in agreement. and my theory is, at the end of s5 is when she "reawakens"/summons the Fire once again, now that she is more confident in her powers and strengths and takes the time to consider her options on how to defeat something big (i wonder who 👀)

#ok so this may be all over the place sorry #i tried to keep it together and stick to the points you brought up T^T but i made have veered off a tad 👉👈#anyway #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk analysis #lmk meta #lmk mei #lmk long xiaojiao #asks #if there are any typos i apologize T^T tried my best

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crowtrobotx · 1 year

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Give us 3 things you like best about your top 3 blorbos plsnthx

I am going to stick to canon/not OC blorbos bc I feel like I talk too much about Lottie and everyone is annoyed by it

Hector Barbossa - (POTC)

I would be remiss to not first include the OG blorbo. The introductory Old Man. The character that made me realize something was a little Funky™️ about my gender/sexuality.

Okay, first of all, I love how sincerely full of himself this man is. He really thought he could pull Keira Knightley despite being the scrunkliest pirate on earth and you know what - good for him!!! Shoot for the moon, even if you miss you’ll land among the stars etc etc. We love an unconventionally attractive person who knows they’re hot shit.

The fashion sense/vibes - the fucking ostrich feathers in the hat. The rings. The big ass necklace. The single fang earring. The swagger walk. The matching pet monkey. The bisexuality of it all. In all seriousness, I love the way his outfit and accessories serve to play up his overly dramatic theater kid energy but also are very interesting when you consider that he came from extremely humble beginnings. He’s showing off what he’s fought tooth and nail for and it is working for him, honey.

I really, genuinely love that we got glimpses - in the first movie - of the fact that the character we were seeing wasn’t always like this. Ten years of being a walking corpse had twisted him beyond the recognition of people who knew him (even Jack looks pretty damn horrified a few times despite having been on the receiving end of his bad behavior before) and YET. When he gets resurrected we find out… he still sucks lmao. Like, he’s not outright cruel and isn’t totally insane anymore but he’s still ultimately just a selfish, snarky, conniving geezer who’s only part of the “good guys” because it serves him and his interests. There wasn’t really a redemption arc (the 4th and 5th movies are not canon, fight me) and he, at best, just ended up being the weird unsavory uncle to the main cast. What a king.

Sandor “The Hound” Clegane - ASOIAF/GoT

If you followed me prior to 2021 you know this was my prior HBIC (head blorbo in charge.) I still love him dearly and I hope he’s enjoying his retirement.

Look at him. No, really, look at him. Help??? Aside from me being a thirsty bitch, I have an extreme soft spot for characters who are visibly different and not in a purple eyes/horns/otherwise “sexy” way. Bodies are lived in and should look as such - and, this might be shocking to some people, disabled and/or disfigured people exist and they’re just as cool and hot and worthy as anyone else (I would know 😎.) I actually think the show should have gone a little harder on his burn scars but oh well. Sheesh, I need a cold shower.

His road trip arc with Arya. Need I say more? Y’all know I am WEAK for father/daughter dynamics and it’s even better when they’re both murderous lunatics. I love that she makes him softer but he doesn’t try to restrict or control her. I love that he tries to show that he cares in the only way that he knows how which is by teaching her how to rip/maim/tear/kill. Like, I know everyone enjoyed this part of the story because there were some genuinely hilarious moments and it was absurd, but I think under the surface we got some really fascinating insight into who he actually is and we were robbed of cranky but proud adoptive dad!Sandor in the show. I’ll be mad forever.

Fuck the city. Fuck the kingsguard. Fuck the king. We stan - I am obsessed with his realization that he doesn’t need or want to do anyone’s bidding anymore. I love that he turns heel but also has no idea who he is once he’s not Cersei’s dog - I love that he initially relies on his warped perception of people and the world to survive and slowly but surely begins to realize that maybe he doesn’t need to focus on revenge and violence all the time. I think it’s pretty obvious that GRRM is kind of going for a “a dog’s behavior will reflect its master’s” thing with him and if we ever get another book (lol) I am excited to see what becomes of him. Because he’s pretty clearly not actually dead.

Karl Heisenberg - Resident Evil Village

Literally WHERE have you BEEN if you didn’t see this coming lol. The reigning champion. Completely unchallenged for over a year and a half. I am chewing on him as we speak like a squeaky toy.

Okay, like… obviously I’m very fond of his design. I love that he’s fat. I love that he’s got a super unkempt beard. I love that his hair is grey and that his clothes are dirty and he’s covered in scars. I love that he looks like someone who works (in contrast to Alcina, for example) and isn’t concerned with his appearance. This is such a small and shallow thing maybe but with the tendency for media to just make everyone Extremely Conventionally Attractive, I’m enamored by characters like this. Actually, this has been a thing across all three of these guys, hasn’t it? Hmm.

Completely love that he’s an actual genius with the apparent imagination of a little kid who just downed an entire box of sugary cereal. “What if I stuck this propellor engine onto a dude’s torso.” “Drill arms never hurt nobody.” “JET PACKS!!! I need jet packs!!!” He’s such a fucking nerd, too, like his deranged cackle followed by “…ending recording” on that tape you find is so cute and stupid. Karl what the hell is going on I love you so much. It makes me wonder who he would have or could have been if he hadn’t found himself kidnapped into an abusive cult - I’m getting strong “Bill Nye but make him chaotic neutral” vibes. Eccentric raccoon man. Peepaw is feral and I’m going to fuck him.

If you’ve ever read anything I’ve written with him in it, you know I like to play up the fact that it’s pretty clear (to me, at least) that the swagger and showmanship is a mask for… a lot of shit. And that is extremely compelling to me - even if it’s ultimately just my HC. The stutter, the “sorry about that” after Sturm keeps making noise, the diary entries and comments that seem to indicate he hates his body after what Miranda did to him, his pretty heartbreaking last words. I don’t really see the genuinely confident daddy dom that a lot of the fandom sees - and no hate if you do!!! For me, with the canon fact that he never leaves the factory, he reads to me like someone who is incredibly socially inept and inexperienced, someone who is struggling to accept what he is now, and, perhaps most importantly, someone who really believes he’s the hero of the story and is blind to the fact that his rage and pain have turned him into what he hates most. I feel like he says all these things that make him sound like he’s full of himself but then you see him and he’s… just some guy. Living in a dirty factory with clothes that should have been thrown out a long time ago. And he’s lost it, and he’s furious, and yeah on some level he’s a bit of a selfish jackass but I wonder how much of his posturing is him needing to hear himself say it because he doesn’t really believe it and is terrified he won’t be strong enough to free himself. I just love him, y’all. I’m not sure we’ll ever see him again (in RE canon) but I’m going to keep making content for him for a long time, I hope.

#thank u for this! ❤️ it was fun to reflect on #asks #long post

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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

Text

gin and tonic and bad, bad men

Collab Masterlist

✧ pairing: bartender!dabi x waitstaff!fem!reader

✧ word count: 6k

✧ warnings: misogyny, scummy dabi, noncon/dubcon, yandere vibes, cat calling, toxic relationships, toxic work environment, face fucking (?), smut, semi-public sex (in an alley), alcohol, drunk reader, drunk sex, smoking mention, brief spitting, humiliation, light degradation, probably incorrect use of restaurant terminology, reader is implied female but no body parts are explicitly gendered

✧ summary: Dabi is willing to protect you from those awful, nasty men who torment you at work, but he never does anything on the house -- or the newbie at the bar catches dabi's attention and everyone else's.

✧ a/n: Heyy my first dabi, and he's scummy as hell in this. who's shocked? Not me. This is for the BNHAREM collab and it's a coworker/workplace au! Please go check out all the other works, everyone is so talented! Enjoy~

Dead men tell no tales, but drunk men’s mouths run wild.

Liquor loosens the lips like no other force of nature.

Dabi knows this to be true.

Whiskey runs hot in the blood and makes hands reach to lay claim on whatever is closest, whatever is prettiest within their grasp.

Alcohol on the tongue draws forth cravings from deep, hidden pits in men—bears their ugly truths to the world—and Dabi is the master of this liquid sorcery.

He sits, high and mighty, behind the safety of his bartop and watches the sea of bodies grow loose with vodka and gin and in turn he drinks their secrets. Sees the things they hide in sobriety and knows their nature with a removed certainty that is only found in those who have seen the darkest depths of mankind and come out the other side stinking of their filth.

The mahogany slab that separates Dabi from the waves of slobbering drunkards does nothing to stop the infection from spreading. He knows their thoughts, knows their truth, knows what their hands long to bruise, because they’re his thoughts too.

His truth.

His longing.

Kept only at bay by the simple fact that the boss doesn’t like him drinking on shift. Likes to keep his air of professionalism even if the bar is nothing more than a seedy dive in the bad part of the bad part of town.

Whatever keeps him off Dabi’s back is fine.

“The bar is over there and that door is to the kitchen…”

Toga’s voice pulls him from his stupor. The dirty rag he’d been using to halfheartedly wipe down the counters leaves his skin slick, calluses soft and plump as the water eats at them. She’s showing around one of the new hires. The turn over rate for staff here is so goddamn awful that this is a near weekly occurrence, so Dabi doesn’t pay her much mind as she wanders over.

It isn’t until her face is shoved up against his across the bar that he looks away from his task.

“Say hi to the newbie!” she cackles, smile just deranged enough to keep her safe from the crowds on packed nights.

Toga doesn’t look it but she belongs here too, in the filth and squalor of humans. But not like him. She thrives and gorges herself on their foolishness, twirling through the mob of patrons, always knowing who’s back to pat for gracious tips and who’s to stab when she needs to.

He glances up through his lashes and is both shocked and unsurprised by what he finds.

Hanging off the end of Toga’s arm, you stand out against the dingy background of the taproom. The smog of the bar clings to it’s staff, making their hair dull and their eyes red rimmed. You haven’t been poisoned yet though. The smell of the downpour raging outside still clings to you and errant raindrops drip down your chin like tears.

“Hey,” he grumbles and with another prodding look from Toga tacks on a gruff, “name’s Dabi.”

“He’s our bartender,” Toga provides after his silence and you smile. He guesses cause you don’t know any better.

You’ll learn not to do that down here soon enough.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Your name slips off your lips and onto his like top shelf tequila. There’s rain on your palm as you reach out for him, so when he takes it to shake, you can’t feel the way the grime clings to his skin—can’t feel the roughness etched into his fingers through the chill.

Can’t see him for what he is.

Meanwhile, you’re practically transparent in the dim, neon light of the bar.

The buttons of your shirt are undone too low, he notices as Toga drags you away to the back. He could warn you, should warn you. That when the late night crowd stumbles in, you’ll want those extra inches of skin covered up. That dressing like that is just asking for something to get smacked.

You must be stupid to not know it, because he doesn’t think you do.

You’re not really carrying yourself like a slut, he thinks, watching you trail along behind his boisterous coworker smiling and nodding and eager to please.

He ought to warn you.

But he knows he won’t.

You’ll be gone within a week and Dabi will swiftly forget your name and face just like the others before you. He’ll sneak shots in while his manager’s back is turned and any memory of you will be filtered out by his abused liver.

But for now, Dabi reigns himself back in to polish some of the obvious stains from his glasses and prepares himself for the show. The doors open in an hour, and he wants to be ready for the action.

The drunk antics of all the city's criminals gets old fast when you’re the one who has to clean up their shit.

Fresh meat is the only real entertainment they ever get around here.

So Dabi watches as you don one of the stained, black aprons and doesn’t tell you to cover up that sliver of your chest practically glowing in the electric red and blue light. Just looks on from the relative sanctuary of the bar as Toga instructs you on how to carry the drink trays and waits patiently to see you be devoured.

After you trip on the way back to the kitchen, Dabi pulls a twenty out of his pocket and shoves it in a jar hidden under the bartop. He makes a mental note to tell the chef he’s betting on just under a week you’ll last.

At the very least he’ll get a free performance and a neat hundred out of your inevitable failure.

He goes back to polishing, only looking up once as you breeze past the bar on your way to unlock the gates for the nocturnal animals of the city to filter in as they please.

You smile at him again as you pass.

Dabi tosses another twenty into the jar.

***

Well, he may have lost the bet, but he can’t find it in himself to mourn the forty dollars too hard.

Today would be your two week anniversary, and honestly, Dabi felt a bit of grudging respect for the determination you showed, no matter how pointless it was.

Determination and foolishness often came hand in hand.

He couldn’t help but think you looked more than a little the fool as you smiled and made unbridled eye contact with the patrons while walking your rounds from table to table. You’d learned enough to cover up a bit more, but he can’t be sure if that’s because you’ve started to notice the stares or because a spring cold front has rolled over the city. Either way, he watches you shiver under the gaze of a particularly rowdy guest and feels a chill run up his own spine as he watches the man’s eyes trail up your thighs, drinking down the slivers of bare skin like his fifth beer of the night.

Dabi is intrigued now.

Wonders how you’ve made it out of the fray every night so far.

Wonders what you’re hiding under those skimpy clothes and friendly, thoughtless smiles.

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out.

It’s inevitable really. When you’re working nights there are certain occupational hazards to expect. So when the little clock above the bar reads just past one in the morning, and you drift out once again into the raging mass of bodies, Dabi isn’t shocked to hear the yelp and smash of glasses just a few minutes later.

The first die has been cast.

He looks up from pouring out two fingers of whiskey just in time to catch the man’s hand slipping between your thighs, dirty fingers digging into the flesh and yanking you down onto his spread legs. The tray of drinks you’d been carrying clatters to the floor, lacing the air with the sweet burn of alcohol and futile outrage.

It’s far too loud to hear what the man says to you, but the way his blackened, ragged nails press five perfect, filthy crescents onto your skin—how they mark you as a worthy target, claiming you with their muck—sends a clear enough message.

Dabi wouldn’t bother watching if it wasn’t you trying to squirm your way out of being passed from lap to lap around the booth. He’s isn’t the least bit ashamed to admit how curious he is to see which way you’ll react.

And while he expects passivity—a drawn look with wide eyes, hoping no reaction at all will leave them bored and searching for a more interesting conquest—Dabi finds himself on the wrong side of the tracks once more.

His eyebrows shoot up, quite the reaction from the generally stony bartender, as your hand cracks open palmed across the face of your captor. A strange, heavy silence falls over the bar. It lasts only a few precious seconds but it’s enough to draw the attention of your manager who pulls you, cursing and snarling like a dog without it’s muzzle, back to the kitchen.

It’s your face that does him in—seals both your fates in dripping cream and purple wax.

Working down here, in this pigsty bar with it’s air that clings and dirties and tarnishes, brightness of any kind is foreign.

Alluring.

And your eyes that shine with the glow of reckless willpower have the same draw as the fat wads of cash that slip too easily from drunk fingers into his tip jar. Defiance is a rare currency in the underworld and Dabi’s fingers itch as your secret is revealed.

You believe you’re worth something.

Even as he hears the rasp of his boss’ voice, berating and threatening from behind the swinging doors, Dabi can’t help but hold the image of your smile turned snarl. You’ll get off with a warning because you’ve lasted this long and it’s a hassle to find replacements with pretty enough faces. But only this once, do it again and you’ll be out on the street.

For his part he tries to look sympathetic when you crowd yourself behind the bar and pout with your tail between your legs.

You haven’t spoken to him since that first night and he hasn’t exactly made an attempt at conversation either.

It wasn’t like you were worth the effort before.

But now, as you sniffle and pretend the pin prick tears in your eyes are just from the bite of the liquor slicked floor, Dabi feels an old heat rise in him. Something stokes the embers that laid dying out inside the prison of his ribs, and he welcomes the familiar burn.

Like an old friend, like a knife at his throat.

The man from before approaches the bar to order another drink and his cloudy eyes don’t even seem to register the way you cower from him, back turned and sinking into the peeling wallpaper. They’ve forgotten you already. To them you are one of dozens, not worth the fight it takes when plenty of properly meek flesh hops from table to table, ripe for picking.

But Dabi see’s the flint in your hands and knows it’s you that lit this fire licking up the back of his throat.

With two rough fingers he beckons you over into the soft overhead spotlights of the bar. Like a beast to its master’s call you shuffle forward into his gravitational pull and look up at him warily.

“Wanna learn how to mix?” he asks, even to him his voice sounds harsh with disuse.

“...sure,” you say quietly, after a brief pause.

You’re warm and soft as he settles behind you, caging you in with his arms under the guise of reaching for a strainer or a jar of olives. Unlike that bastard, now long passed out from drink, Dabi’s face remains free of your claw marks when his chest brushes against you or his hand wanders to the small of your back to move you aside as he serves customers.

He even works up a little smile of his own when you stare, sunny bright over your shoulder at his attempt to distract you from the incident.

The city, the bar, the underground—all of it is an angry, storming ocean filled with angry, storming bodies that swiftly drowns its victims as they desperately tread water in the open, black abyss.

Without him, you’d learn to take the wandering hands and vulgar words or you’d be foolish enough to inhale them in lungfuls and sink to the bottom.

But as you smile and nod while he shows you how long to stir an Old Fashioned, Dabi feels his own neglected determination rise to the challenge.

By the end of the night, you already trail behind him as he does his rounds to each abandoned table. Like a stranded victim to a raft, you cling to the safety he’s dared to provide.

And if he plays his cards right.

He might not come out of this bet so empty handed.

If only you knew, he was no better than the rest of them.

You’d run straight from the trees into the wolf's den.

***

“What’s your favorite drink to make?” you ask.

Dabi glances up at you, his chest pressed against the cool surface of the bar as he surveys the empty taproom. It’s a little over an hour till opening, but the only thing waiting for him outside of this hellhole is an even deeper hellhole, so Dabi almost always finds himself lounging around the abandoned bar. The boss doesn’t care anyway as long as inventory gets taken and any dried blood from the night before is gone by the next day.

You’ve taken to drifting in early too, even sometimes on the nights you don’t work.

Normally, he’d be annoyed, but it’s better you’re here than out on the streets.

At least if you’re bugging him behind the bar, he can keep an eye on you. Dabi’s found recently that you’ve been on his mind with increasing frequency. It’s easier if you’re in his line of sight. There’s a certain reassurance in your dopey little smile and your hand fisted in the back of his shirt—your body knows where you belong even if your pretty little brain hasn’t quite caught up yet.

Pretty.

“My favorite or my best?” he grunts, pushing off the bar and wetting his lips.

“Is there a difference?”

You’re looking at him with what he assumes is meant to be a cocky grin, but he has a hard time taking you seriously with your crossed arms squishing your chest up like that.

“‘Course there is,” he turns to grab one of the highball glasses from it’s rack and sets it down on the counter. “Just because you like something, doesn’t mean you’re good to it.”

When he looks back at you over his shoulder, you’ve got this comical little furrow in your brow.

“To it?”

Dabi presses the tip of his finger into your forehead, “At it, whatever. Don’t frown so much, you’ll look old as fuck soon if you do.”

“You don’t know how old I am,” you scoff and slap his hand away.

“Bet I’m older,” he mumbles, searching the shelves of bottles idly while dropping a few cubes of ice into the glass.

It melts in his palm, slipping through the spaces between his fingers.

Dabi clenches his fist tighter.

“I don’t know about that,” you’re trotting around to the other side of the bar now, slipping into one of the worn, red topped stools and watching him start to mix.

He likes having you for an audience. Any other customer is only concerned with getting his drink as fast a possible, to numb whatever wounds need to be numbed on their insides. But you appreciate the art form of crafting this liquid destruction.

“I’m older where it counts,” he replies simply, pulling a bottle of gin down from near the top shelf and plopping it on the counter.

“Oh really? How’s that?”

Dabi measures out two ounces of sharp, clear liquor and pours it smoothly over the ice. He doesn’t bother looking at you as he works. He knows your eyes won’t leave him.

“Experience,” he offers and doesn’t elaborate.

The tonic water cracks open with a satisfying hiss and bubbles as he tips it into the glass. You trail your fingers through the condensation on the bar absentmindedly.

“I’m not as clueless as you think I am, you know that?”

He does glance at you then, senses the lack of your attention that’s focused on the fading finish of the bar top.

Dabi waits in silence.

You do elaborate.

“There’s some real fucking choice clientele here, but nothing that’s gone down on shifts is like, a new development.”

“No?” he asks because you expect him to respond and because he enjoys the way you perk up when he actually engages in a conversation with you.

He likes that you like it.

His attention.

It’s not often he finds anyone worth the effort.

“No.”

You stare at him expectantly now, eyes flicking between him and the glass as he stirs the drink a few times and grabs a lime wedge.

Dabi rolls his eyes at the clear fishing line you’re casting for more questions, but takes the bait anyway.

He hopes you know how lucky you are.

“What, got groped on the train a few times and now you think you're a seasoned member of the criminal underground?” he squeezes the fruit between two fingers lightly to spread its juice around the rim and lets it float atop the ice. “I fucking knew you were a dramatic little bitch.”

“I am not dramatic,” you pout just like you do every time the boss chews you out.

He gets the distinct feeling you’re just as much of a petulant little brat elsewhere as you are at work. Then again, that is what makes you so interesting. If you didn’t try to gnash those little baby teeth at him every now and again, he wouldn’t have bothered jumping to your rescue so often.

Dabi doesn’t partake in...partners often. People disappoint him, which isn’t shocking considering the amount of shit he’s seen them spew in his years behind the bar. People are dirty and never in the sexy way all those pop songs talk about, and that makes them boring. The allure of inviting someone else into his shoebox little life is shaping them to fit it. You can’t sculpt mud that loses its shape, slips through your fingers and back to the filthy earth where it belongs.

But you haven’t been stained yet.

You sit at his bar looking like a perfect slab of clay, ready for his hands to dip past those sweet, sweet lips and form them to fit only his fingers.

A rare find in a place like this, just like the single malt on his top shelf—unexpected, leaving behind a pleasant burn on his tongue.

He thinks back to that man on the first night he showed you some of the drinks and all the others that came after him. Here, in the bar, you can come scurrying over and hide behind the wall of his chest. You can put Dabi and the counter between you and the mass of hands and whistles.

He hadn’t really bothered to think of what might happen to you when he’s not around.

Who might touch his precious treasure he’s managed to dig out of muck.

Who might try and ruin you before he gets the chance.

His brain is working to rationalize the growing feeling of possession he feels towards the half frown half permanent smile that you fix him with. But he knows.

He knows exactly what he’d like to do to you and how he’d like to do it.

Knows it’s exactly what all those creeps on the train or drunks that stumble in one hour to call would like too.

It’s fine though. People like him wouldn’t be so attracted to people like you if you weren’t asking for it.

And you were asking.

Every time you stood by him, attached at the hip and let him chase off the assholes who tried to get in your pants or practically begged him with your eyes for some scrap of attention—you were asking for him to take control.

Even if you were too stupid to see it for yourself.

Your body knows what you want, even if you deny it with every fiber left of you.

He doesn’t offer another response, just slides the concoction across and into your outstretched hands.

Gin and tonic is simple, bare bones and hard to fuck up. He likes that. Everything else is so goddamn complicated, this type of magic doesn’t need to be.

You seem to forget the weight of the previous conversation and peer curiously down into the glass. Dabi is shameless as he watches your lips wrap around the curved edge and your throat constrict as you swallow.

He likes that more than the floral gin that hits his tongue when you pass the drink back and he sips.

“So which is it, your favorite or your best?”

There’s a pause as he considers the questions before passing the glass back to you.

“My favorite.”

He isn’t looking at the drink when he answers.

“Oh,” you respond quietly, sipping lightly on the drink he’s made and looking at him like he isn’t seconds away from taking you then and there.

“Stay awhile after your shift,” he says, not much thought behind the words. “I’ll drive you home.”

***

You look almost angelic, a beacon amongst the refuse and grime of the back alley, silhouetted by the dying orange glow of a lone street lamp. The door to the kitchen is still rattling in its frame as Dabi pulls you stumbling behind him.

He isn’t angry.

But there’s something burning in him.

In reality, he’d felt the potential of the night the instant he walked through the front doors, slipping behind the bar to clock in only to find you leaned up against the drink racks, ready and waiting.

The same sensation since the first time you’d smiled that dopey smile his way was raging to a crescendo under his skin. He’d been doing you a service all these weeks, keeping you from the prying eyes and fingers of the patrons—keeping them from soiling what was his to ruin.

Tonight he would take what he was owed.

Indulge a bit in what he’d won, the gold nugget he’d plucked from the dirty, city sewer riverbed.

After all, he needed to make sure you were a worthwhile investment.

If the boss thought the restaurant business was risky….well, Dabi knew better.

You struggled a bit as his fingernails dug into the skin on your bicep, but he just tugged harder, clicking his tongue at the jumble of slurred protests you groaned into the sweet summer air. There was a space between the two massive dumpsters out behind the kitchen Dabi used to go to smoke. It was a nice, private little spot. Didn’t smell too great but nothing here did, and that wouldn’t matter when he had you to distract him anyway.

In seconds he had your back to the wall, hidden on either side by steel containers. The brick caught on your uniform and Dabi watched the fabric tighten around your chest and throat. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, but your hands were weak as they shoved at him, easy to gather in one palm and pin down.

He wasn’t exactly sure what put this idea in his head—the urgency in his blood—but it definitely had something to do with that last customer.

It was halfway through your night shift, closing in on one in the morning. Dabi was stuck behind the bar, churning out cheap beers and lines of shots. You’d been forced to brave the sea of regulars, too busy to hide yourself away in the kitchen with Toga or watch with owl-wide eyes as Dabi doled out liquor.

The bar was unusually packed. Not that it was strange for a bar to be full on a Friday night, but he’d never seen the place without an empty seat in sight.

Maybe it was because you were so easily swallowed up by the roiling mass of bodies, or maybe it was because Dabi lost himself in the magic of the drinks—of the mixing and matching and perfecting—that he didn’t notice the man.

That the way this particular customer stared and touched and spoke to you miraculously didn’t end in a smart slap to the face and a screaming session from the manager.

No. It seemed that somewhere along the way he’d let that light in you, the matchstick spark, dwindle just a bit too much, let you sink just a bit too far into the mud of the place. Cause when this man pulled you into his lap and plied you with shot after shot, cheering all the time, calling you his ‘pretty little thing,’ you didn’t put up any fight.

No.

No you smiled that dumb, bright eyed smile at him.

Flashed this nobody asshole Dabi’s sweet little smile and drank the shots he’d poured like Dabi hadn’t wasted the nearly a month driving you home and keeping you safe from the human garbage that wandered in off the street. Like all that work had been for nothing, up in ashes the instant that man’s hand found purchase on your bare thigh and you didn’t so much as squirm in his grip.

You squirm now though.

Fight despite the alcohol blurring your vision and turning your bones to jelly. Normally the boss hates it when his employees drink on shift, but if you want to take it like the fucking slut you were well, who’s Dabi to stop you?

He kept pouring rounds for that table and watched the man tip sweet, top shelf whiskey down your throat. It didn’t take long till you were losing your balance and sinking deeper into the quicksand debris of the bar.

Gin and tonics used to be medicinal—mixed up with quinine to treat malaria. Dabi likes that. Likes the idea that he’s whipping up healing potions instead of Molotovs. Likes the freshness amidst the burn.

But Dabi wants you to burn now.

Wants your throat on fire with the betrayal.

It’s easy to force your knees. The whiskey made you pliant even as you shake your head and look up at him with bleary eyes.

“You’re looking at me now, huh?” he works his tongue across his teeth as the words leave him, spitting straight on your cheek to watch you recoil in disgust. “Didn’t seem too interested in me earlier.”

“I don’t, I’m sorry...what?” you mumble.

He thinks if you were more coherent you might be crying.

Maybe he should have cut you off sooner.

“Don’t act stupid with me,” he still has your hands held above your head and his free hand moves to grip your scalp. “You’ve been behind my bar so many times, there’s no way you don’t know I see everything.”

“Why didn’t you…” Dabi shakes your head as your eyes droop and you gasp at his nails raking your skin. “You could have helped me!”

“What? Help you get fucked by some drunk shit? I don’t think so.”

“No,” you shake your head yourself this time, face screwed up in confusion and as the grit of the alley bites into your knees. “They wouldn’t let me leave, I was scared, Dabi please—”

He is swiftly losing his patience, hand leaving your head to fumble with the clasp of his belt and pants. The look on your face—tears beginning to bead at the corners of your eyes and mouth opening up as words try but fail to find their way off your tongue—is enough to have his cock twitching with interest.

“Listen sweetheart, cause I’m not gonna fucking say this again,” he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in his chest as his dick falls free from his boxers and your eyes go almost all white as he strokes up the ladder of piercings on his shaft. “You might think you’re cut out for this job, but you aren’t shit. Everything’s got a price down here and you’re gonna have to pay the fuck up for what you owe me.”

You look like you want to protest, even in this state—on your knees in an dirty as fuck alley with a fat cock nudging your lips—but he’s got his thumb worked between your teeth, shoving down on your tongue until your jaw pops open and he can sheath himself inside.

The half choke, half sob, half shameful moan that squeezes out past his dick only has Dabi growing harder. It’s been so long since he’s fucked someone’s throat. So long since he’s fucked anything at all, he’s nearly forgotten how goddamn good it feels to have something other than a fist wrapped around him.

His fingers migrate, moving to grip you by the cheeks, keeping your mouth open and jaw locked so you can’t bite him. Not that he thinks you really would.

Your body knows what you want.

And it seems like you really want a fucking dick in your mouth.

He pulls out, listening to the click of the little metal barbells against your teeth and the gasp of air you take before he plunges back in.

“Look at you,” he muses, daring to release your hands which flop uselessly to your sides as he holds your face still and starts to roll his hips. “Don’t know why I waited so long to collect, fucking shit.”

Your neck bulges with every stroke of his hips, and when the ring at the tip of his dick nudges the back of your throat, you gag so pretty he can hardly stand it.

He wonders idly, as you cry and choke on his cock, if you’re thinking about the man in the bar. Wishing it was his length you were lapping at like a good little hole.

Wishing Dabi had been better.

Not like the others.

And for a moment, it has him stilling—the horrid notion that there might have been something not so twisted between you if only he wasn’t scum like the rest, if he wasn’t just hiding his dirt on the inside.

Tar logged lungs and heart.

But then he remembers that if he just fucks you hard enough, you’ll forget all those nasty things until you’re fit just for him. Molded for Dabi right down to the thoughts in your head.

So instead of stopping this now and hoping you’re drunk enough to forget the filth of the alley and the salt of his cum on your tongue, he picks up his pace.

His thighs burn with the effort, not used to this kind of movement after years alone, and your face is a mess of tear tracks and spit that dribbles out in streams around the length of him slamming into your throat.

It’s quick and dirty and hard and everything Dabi has ever been and will always be. Delicious and hot and fresh. His blood is pounding in his ears, drowning out the cries and sobs and whimpers coming from you between his knees. Instead his head is alight with the thought that soon he’ll mark that mouth as his, claim you before the others could. And if the road to hell is paved with good intentions then Dabi doesn’t know where he’s going when he dies, but he’s deep in heaven now.

With a bang and a whimper Dabi will pretend didn’t slip past his lips, he slams past your teeth once more before exploding in your mouth. Thick, white ropes of release coat your tongue and he doesn’t pull out, just works his fingers under your jaw until he feels you swallow around his softening cock.

Only then does he take a step back to survey his work.

Half in shadow, surrounded in trash and debris, cum stained with dirt under your nails, Dabi feels pride well in his chest.

Distantly he thinks that this burning sense of completion, of perfection, of accomplishment, is what an artist must feel—hand finally dropping the brush to gaze upon their life’s work.

A masterpiece.

His perfect, human clay creation.

Your mouth still hangs dumbly open, hands resting on the brick dust coated ground, your eyes are wide and still stare up at him—reminiscent of a peasant gazing onto a king, confused at the power before you. And with the dim burning of the streetlight, illuminating his hair and glinting off the silver piercings adorning his ears, Dabi thinks he must look just that—a king with his crown of bloody jewels.

He watches as you sway and fall forward on your hands and coughing onto the ground. Your chest heaves, your legs shake, and Dabi feels his shoulders soften. He tucks himself away slowly, refastening his belt as your sputtering subsides. With careful steps, he moves to stand in front of you once again, running his hand along the back of your head until your breaths come deeply and his mouth tastes sickly sweet at the way your hands move to grip at his boots.

“Hey,” he mumbles, feeling some strange heat in his face that brings him to his knees before you. “Look at me.”

And you do in an instant.

Dabi half expects a glare, steely and cold like the walk-in but it’s not.

Your eyes are blank and glossy, staring hooded and helpless like a stray cat desperate to be carried away and fed warm milk.

He wipes a bit of his own release from the corner of your mouth and doesn’t question the sudden, intense need to lick behind your teeth. With filthy hands he cups your face and revels in the feel of your swollen lips and the taste of himself on your tongue.

It screams ownership.

And Dabi has never had much to his name so the thought only makes him want to cling harder.

As he pulls away there’s a smear of red dust on your cheek from his thumbs stroking the skin. Marked. Claimed. Coated in a thin layer of grime just like every other poor soul that walks into this place, but that dirt is his. That filth is him, a permanent imprint on your bones.

He thinks you’d look good with his name in black ink etched into your flesh, dark and blatant so anyone who looks at you would know, would see who owns you even when the muck has been washed away.

“You did good,” he says, giving you a smile of his own—maybe his first, surely not his last.

Your voice is nothing more than a sunken ship wreckage of what it once was, interrupted with sniffles and creaks. “I..want to go home….”

“Let me drive you,” his hands reach under your arms to lift you shakily off the ground, head tucked safely into his shoulder as he helps you limp to his car. “Not safe for you to go walking at this time of night. Men can be fucking monsters you know?”

His heart pounds happily in his chest as you nod against him.

“Thanks,” you whisper into his shirt.

Dabi grins wider than he can ever recall. The kind of expression that makes his cheeks ache and his head spin.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” the words drip off his tongue, top shelf truth if he’s ever heard it. “Anytime.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #bnha fanfiction #tw: alcohol #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw misogyny #tw sexism #tw cat calling #tw drinking #tw toxic behavior #tw yandere #tw spitting #bee.writes

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arty-shadow-morningstar · 3 years

Text

A Failed Betrothal /Betrothal AU: Take Two

So here is the second part of the betrothal AU that I decided to name "A Failed Betrothal. This takes place before Part 1 which in hindsight should have been done first. Part 2 got too long so I cut it and started Part 3. I have no idea and nothing planned on how long this will go. Hope you enjoy ❤.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)

PART 2

Marinette also wasn't having a good day or a good week.

Lila Rossi had been up to her usual tricks. You know, spewing lies from her mouth. How she met these awesome celebrities during this trip and they worship the ground she walks on for her amazing and humbling help. There were stories of these charities, trips and galas that she had been to or was invited to. She has problems with her wrists and can't do simple stuff like carry her own bag or do her homework. She has tinnitus in her ears so she needs to sit in the front where the only seat available would be next to Adrien.

And for the finale.

The desert after feeding the class a banquet of lies.

"Mari...nette..has been bullying me, she...told..me not to tell anyone..*sobs*..that she would kill me if I did.."

Lila dramatically gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. Turning on the waterworks for a more dramatic effect. They all ate it up, jumping on the ‘let’s hate Marinette, a bad person’ train.

"She is going to kill me now and I am so scared." That snake managed to snuck an evil smirk past her glaring, oblivious classmates.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marinette, at this point of her life, had frankly given up caring for them due to the class's lack of brain cells and Agreste's spineless 'High Road' Approach.

For Kwami's sake, she went through a brutal torture that was training in some jungle temple in Asia before Sabine Cheng, former mercenary/assassin, kidnapped her (Little Marinette took a risk. She ran away and followed her around until Sabine begrudgingly accepted that she was now the 6- year-old girl's mother because screw it, Tom said he wanted children.) to raise/train as her own while she settled down with a baker whose mother may or may not have ties with the Mafia and other illegal activities.

(Mother-daughter bonding days became much more fun once she had Guardianship of the Miraculous. Sabine was ,at first, furious at Master Fu for dumping everything on the girl and losing his memories before swearing to help protect the jewels. Adopted or not, Marinette is her daughter and no one should let a child, even one with training, fight a war. A good thing to come out of her reveal was that her mother was a great tiger to have as back-up. But now, her training regime had become harder and challenging.)

The point was that Lila Rossi would be dead and body missing since that first time she threatened Marinette in the bathroom. The Italian was in perfect health despite what she claims otherwise, because Marinette didn’t want to be the person she was raised to be and also she didn’t want to disappoint Tikki, she was fond of the little red kwami. But sometimes, she just wanted to give into the urge to kill.

She had met and dealt with unsavory characters of all types and she can safely say that Lila Rossi was a manipulator that thrives on attention and like a parasite, latches herself onto the fame of others. None of the unsavory people she had met get under her skin like Rossi had.

Marinette had enough self-preservation to drop the nice girl act and sometimes let the dragon underneath to surface. She stopped doing last-minute favors and giving away free stuff which Lila uses to her full advantage to further destroy her relationships with her ‘friends’. It was better than sticking her neck out for classmates that were no longer worth her time. Attempts to expose Lila had backfired due to the denial they are in, believing the liar to be a sweet, nice girl living the high life.

Adrien with his rose-tinted glasses firmly stuck to his eyes was not happy at all with her decision. That may also have to do where she suggested he shove his advice after he tried to reason her to take the high road for defending herself for the umpteenth time. She felt like the biggest idiot to ever have a crush on him. Every time, Rossi blames Marinette for a problem, he would shoot disappointed looks in her direction.

Alya being Lila's biggest guard dog tore into Marinette for her newfound 'bad' behaviour. The rest of Lila's supporters backed her up with "How could you do that to Lila","I can't believe you changed." Nearly all her so-call friends had turned their backs and lost all common sense to the Italian's manipulations.

(Alya was supposed to be her best friend, aren’t you supposed to listen to your ‘bestie’ over a complete stranger)

The designer took it all with a bored expression on her face, used to the lecturing which was a waste of time because her behavior isn't going to change, no matter what, Lie-la will keep up the act of being the bully's (*cough*Marinette*cough*) victim.

Her heart that cracks the tiniest bit at the accusations. A small part of her, she admits, is hurt that they think so low of her.Was she really that worthless to them? All those times and efforts helping them out on last-minute favors and giving them free treats. Were they not enough to earn their friendship? Their trust or at the very least, a benefit of doubt?

The only ones who didn’t join the berating to 'correct' the raven-haired girl’s attitude were Chloe (who had proven herself to have changed after the miracle queen incident and Lila stole the spotlight and Sabrina. There were a lot of apologizes, gifts and ‘making up to do’) Alix (she came to her senses when the supposed bullying started) and Nathaniel (Lila blatantly claimed to be the artist for the Ladybug comic to his face).

“Girl, Marinette, are you even listening to me?”Alya demanded.

“Maybe. Did you say anything that doesn’t have to do with Lila or how I did her wrong or how I am no longer the person you knew?”

Marinette knew that being sarcastic would backfire but nothing she does or says will change what they think of her. One word from Lila and they will turn back on her. As much as she hates to admit it, Lila’s threat has fallen through and she was alone. Mostly.

She still had Chloe, Nathaniel, Alix, Luka and Kagami as friends. The trust-worthy and loyal kind.

“Girl,” Alya says in a disappointed tone, shaking her head,“when I look at you, I don’t see that girl who stood up to Chloe the bully-”, Chloe snorted, she had changed but they were too blind and prejudiced against her to notice her efforts, “-Picking on Lila, threatening and harassing her. This isn’t you and you know it. Just get over your jealousy on Lila being close to Adrien and apologize to her.”

If Alya had talked to her in the past 12 months other than demanding things that took away her time or anything relating to Lila, she would know that her infatuation had turned into annoyance.

Marinette sighed, too tired of this routine, tired of trying to knock heads so the brain cells can work again. Apologizing would mean that Lila had won. She was petty and stubborn enough to allow that to happen. Lila said she will take the class and Adrien. Fine, she can have them but Marinette Dupain-Cheng will not admit defeat. Bigger men had fallen to the ravenette for lesser offences. A year has passed since the expulsion and the class still hasn't regained common senses, so they can deal with the consequences after the inevitable downfall of Lila and Marinette will be there to see them lay in the grave they dug.

Steeling herself for the pain that will come with the execution of her plan,

“What if I don’t. I won’t apologize to her because I have not done anything to her or even interacted with her. If I apologize, it would be insincere and a lie. And I hate liars.” The former assassin said evenly.

“Lila is not a liar. I don’t know why you are like this.” Alya said, frustrated.

Marinette knew there would be a small chance of an akuma with Gabriel Agreste having an important meeting to attend on this day that would last for the next hour. This was the small window of opportunity to start the plan and also further confirm the identity of Hawkmoth. Killing two birds with one stone.

“Alya, this has always been me, you just never took the time to get to really know the real me.”, she replied, the last part with an icy tone.

“Well-... I- ..You-, fine, then if you can’t say those simple three words, we can’t be friends. I clearly don’t know what a selfish bitch you are. God, I can’t believe I wanted to be best friends with you. You are now replaced by Lila because unlike you, she is genuinely nice and selfless.” Alya declared. The rest of Lila’s supporters murmured in agreement.

Phase 1, complete. Lure the Lie-la into a false sense of security by making her think she won.

Marinette tried not to show how hurt she was, to be replaced by the scheming bitch. But at the same time she felt relieved, she no longer had to walk on eggshells in fear of losing the friendships of people she used to care about. It felt final as she maintained her stoic expression, hoping they didn't notice the glassy sheen her eyes had.

“Then, it is official. We are no longer friends.”

They haven’t been friends for a long time.

Mme. Bustier finally walked into the classroom to start the afternoon classes, signalling the end of the conversation. After class, Marinette resolves to inform them that she was resigning as class president which she was sure the class will be glad for. She was right.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ladybug was, as the Americans say, pissed at Hawkmoth which was nothing new. He had sent out another akuma just as Marinette was back home and trying to relax after the stressful day. The akuma was not any of her ex-friends which she wasn’t sure to be thankful for or not.

Louise Martin was a boy about Luka’s age and mad at his friends who had blamed their fifth loss-in-a-row on him despite the fact that it was his skills that were getting them any progress. They were playing one of those recently released 5V5 skills and strategy battle games. (League of Legends or Mobile Legends. Take your pick, I am going with the latter)

He was akumatized into Hayakuma as proof of Hawkmoth’s lack of creativity. Hayakuma was a bleached out version of Louise’s chosen hero avatar, Hayabusa whose outfit was basically what the media portrays ninjas to look like with some samurai aspects.

Unfortunately, he also had the hero’s ultimate special powers which were making four shadow copies of himself and being able to switch positions with them. Thanks to Rattlesnake’s Second Chance, they know that he can only make a switch once every two minute. Hayakuma also wields a sword, showing off his skills.

Just lovely.

Hydra and Ladybug were the only ones able to counter his attacks with Hydra’s sword and Ladybug’s summoned one. (Let’s go with that headcanon(?)/trope that she can summon weapons for plot convenience and the others can too but just don’t have enough practise yet.)

The others managed to dodge and shield themselves from Hayakuma’s really sharp sword.

The shadows themselves were annoying as they would distract or hinder the miraculous users by grabbing them by their shadows and making them unable to move. Until Bunnix had the brilliant idea of shadow boxing which gave the heroes gain more even ground.

With how strong and handful the akuma was, it was code ‘all hands on deck’. Ladybug, Stinger, Rattlesnake, Hydra, Bunnix, Trickster. Well, nearly every hand. Lady Mǔ lǎohǔ was busy with the bakery. Chat Noir was nowhere to be seen or very late which had been the norm for the last year ever since Ladybug wanted to form a new miraculous team consisting of permanent heroes.

(He didn’t show up for the first few months because the first permanent member was Ladybug’s mother who did not like his attitude towards her daughter. He ran away with his tail between his legs once he found out how she was related to Ladybug. His face when he realized it, was something Marinette will cherish forever)

At least when Lady Mǔ lǎohǔ was around, he would not dare act out of line. When she is gone however, he is back to his old ways.

After saving one of Louise’s teammates from Hayakuma’s sword, they gathered the rest of the team and hid them someplace safe. Using Trickster’s illusions to trick all the shadows and the original to one place, the heroes were going to surround and ambush them and get the akumatized item. The plan would have been a success if it weren’t for Chat Noir hugging Ladybug from behind, making her miss her cue.

“Hey~ Bugaboo~ Did you miss me~? Your Chaton~?”

Thwack! Smack!

Chat Noir was on the rooftop, groaning pitifully in pain. Especially his crotch area. Ladybug glared at him and looked to the ambush point to see the illusions had disappeared and everyone else gone from their hiding place.

She sighed and turned on the comms, (Thank you, kwamis)

“Sting, did you venomed the akuma?”

“No, he escaped before I could. What happened, LB?”

“A certain cat got me delayed. What’s the status update?”

“Hydra is holding him off and Bunnix found that an umbrella is a good substitute for a sword. The rest of us are keeping track of the shadows. They split up but none of them are getting near where we hid the targets.”

“Where are you? I will meet you later with back-up.”

“Near Notre Dame and tell Mama Tigress I said hi.”

“Tell her yourself.”

She looked down at Chat No-, no he is not worthy of being a hero anymore with the amount of times he had derailed and hijacked the plans to defeat the akumas just so he can ‘earn’ Ladybug’s heart.

She looked down at Adrien Agreste, who was sitting and sulking like a child that was unfairly punished. (Once she got over her crush and started looking at the right things that she managed to piece together her ‘partner’s’ identity by accident. Tikki’s confirmation sealed the deal.)

“Chat Noir, this partnership of ours,” she said, gesturing to the two of them, “ is going to change tonight. Meet me at the ‘spot’ at 11 sharp. Now, go home.”

He left with a small glimmer of hope in his eyes at her words. She felt a little bad about the subtle manipulation but with the way things were now, it can’t go on. He was hindering more than helping and the people of Paris that weren’t shipping ‘Ladynoir’ saw that.

As she jumped towards Notre Dame, she called the bakery with her yoyo.

“Mama, are you free now? I need a little help with the akuma and can you bring the horse miraculous.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chat Noir waited excitedly at what they both dubbed at their ‘spot’, in the good old days when it was just the two of them. Maybe Ladybug was finally open to the idea of dating. Or maybe she must have seen what a great hero he is and was going to get rid of the team. Or realized that having her mother on her team was a bad idea. Parents are the worst and they both can be two rebellious teenagers in love. Like Romeo and Juliet. So romantic~.

He was so deep in his daydream that he didn’t hear his lady land.

“Chat Noir.” Startled, he nearly fell off the roof. No, don’t make a fool of yourself in front of Ladybug.

“Yes, Bugaboo.” Hoping she didn’t know that he was very distracted. His attention will always be hers 100%.

“Don’t call me Bugaboo. Tikki wants to talk to Plagg about Kwami stuff. So you go over and hide behind that chimney. Then, we can talk about why I told you to be here.” Adrien frowned and then smiled. His lady must be very embarrassed about her mistake that must be why she is taking her time. He tried listening to what they were saying but the kwamis were talking in their special Guardian Language. Was it him or did Tikki’s voice sound more like his lady’s voice?

Whizz!

Adrien was tied up with Ladybug’s yoyo. “M’Lady? Bugaboo!? LADYBUG! WHAT IS GOING ON?!! PLAGG-”

Ladybug cut in, “Adrien Agreste, you have been slack in your hero duty and choosing your own feelings over supporting your partner, me, the holder of the Ladybug Miraculous and current Grand Guardian, in the efforts to defeat the enemy of Paris, Hawkmoth. Due to those reasons, you are no longer worthy to be the Holder of the Black Cat Miraculous” in one swift motion, she took the ring off his finger, “As such you are hereby revoked of Plagg’s Ring.”

“NO, YOU CAN’T. YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! I LOVE YOU AND I KNOW YOU LOVE ME BACK. WE ARE SOULMATES, WE ARE MEANT TO BE-”

Adrien went slack at Lady Tigress’s pinch on his pressure point.

“I don’t what you ever saw in the boy.”

“I don’t know either. I think I dodged a bullet here. Can you carry him back to his home? I think I have dealt with enough of him tonight.” Ladybug muttered, as she erased Adrien’s memories of being Chat Noir.

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Tag list: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0, @myazael, @tonicxworld, @thewitchwhowaited, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @kissa-chan, @iwantasecretidentity, @theymakeupfairies, @user00000003, @woe-is-me0, @kashlyn, @mochegato,@moonlightstar64 , @greatcatblaze, @moongoddesskiana, @tazanna-blythe.

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(Part 3)

#maridami #maribat #damian x marinette #mlb x dc #Betrothal AU: Take 2 #A Failed Betrothal #sorry. No Damian this chapter #there is salt #Alya salt #Adrien Salt #Lila salt #class salt #I don't know if it is mild or not #Marinette is an assassin

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marahuyos · 3 years

Text

anon asked: Hello! This is lowkey a comfort request for me djdnks but could I request how diluc, xiao, and childe would react to confessing to their crush but being turned down because their crush doesn’t think they’re worthy of them and they almost genuinely don’t believe the guys when they confess? Feel free to ignore if this request makes you uncomfortable in any way or anything!

*:･ﾟ✧ THIS WAS SITTING FOR SO LONG IN MY INBOX ANON IM SO SORRY HFDJKGHFKDGHFDKGDFGK

gn!reader

tw: swearing

✧ Diluc Ragnvindr

“I... you make me feel that there is something to look forward to in this bleak world. I hope that you will stay by my side forever. So... will you do me the honor of courting you?

• Diluc Ragnvindr is a classic man and he’s absolutely the type to listen to his father regale stories of how he courted his mother. His naivete and rose-tinted view of the world of love is something that Diluc internally cringes at whenever it passes in his mind. He never thought that he would ever go back to reciting corny declarations of love... that is until he met you.

• He wasn’t the type to beat around the bush. He tells you those words quoted above and his visage nearly rivals the color of his hair. He cringes at his own words but he feels like that he didn’t mess it up. In fact, he’s lowkey proud that he was able to fish out those words without making a complete fool of himself. Surely, that would be enough to show you how he truly feels--

• “Are you playing me for a fool, Diluc?”

• Or not.

• He stares back at you, mouth agape and eyes widened. Did he do something wrong? Did he perhaps catch you at a bad time? He was sure that the settings of his confession was perfect. If not that, then why would you think he was joking?

• When he hears that you think he’s ingenuine in his feelings, his heart breaks then those pieces turned into sparks of fire. Did something or someone happened to make you feel this way? How dare someone make you feel like you were undeserving of love? And who was the person to make you like this?

• His plans of vengeance will come later, right now, he needs to show you that he won’t break your heart. It’s a long process, but Diluc won’t give up so easily. It may take months, but he’s willing to become your dawn amidst your dreary days.

“I’m serious about what I said. I’ll wait for eternity until you say yes.”

✧ Xiao

“Mortal... I have-feelings-for you.”

• The one who struggled the most with his confession, yet the one who expects your response, even going so far as to relating to it. Xiao never had much of a proper conversation, much less a confession, to someone that wasn’t an adeptus. What more if it were a mortal who struggles with self-confidence?

• “Are you sure, Xiao? Or is this another thing that you’re confused about?”

• He’s not sure of it himself. He’s not sure of anything. But he’s sure of his feelings towards you. He’s afraid of the rejection but fuck, does it make his heart race every time he thinks about it. He’s willing to risk his dignity for you and it’s scary that an adeptus like he is willing to do this for you.

• But he sees where you were going with this. He had that moment in time where he thought he was as worthless as a dog-a lapdog serving his master and never even offered a bit of kibble. Xiao knows how you feel and he relates to you so hard. It’s almost ironic how both kindred spirits-two people who’ve been hurt and so distrusting of the world-joined hands together against all odds.

• Surprisingly, he’s the most relaxed out of everyone here. At least he doesn’t go in an immediate murderous rampage. Instead, he stands by you in silent relations. He’s not good with words but he’s felt your struggle. He stands by you and he hopes that you understand his feelings.

“I understand... completely how you feel. And I am here.”

✧ Childe

“I wish to go back home to Snezhnaya with you-to meet my family. And for them to see the apple of my eye.”

• He’s the type to have faux confidence. All his splendor in fighting and battles and yet he can’t muster the courage to come and confess to his crush. It’s laughable, really. So even in his confession, he seems insincere and it seems like he was just playing your feelings.

“That’s cute, Childe... What do you want?”

• I-he wants you. Was he not clear enough? He was sure he didn’t cause another city-wide disaster or he forgot anything important. He was sure that he laid out his confession as smoothly as possible, so why did you think that he was confessing for the sake of getting something in return?

• At first, he was angered by that. Did you think he was that shallow to toy around with your feelings? Did you think that he was a lowly mongrel who backs out the moment his enemy fights back? He becomes defensive immediately, admonishing you that he's already having a tough time trying to confess and you were here making things even more confusing.

• And, of course, you argued back. This argument went in a back and forth for a while until you explicitly say to him that someone before had made you feel this way. That your heart was toyed with and broken and they weren't there to pick up the pieces.

• All Childe could feel after that was pure rage. Rage unlike anything he's ever experienced. Out of everyone here, Childe has the most violent reaction, and you had to make a convincing argument for him to stay before he kills the person who broke your heart.

• After apologizing, Childe makes sure that you know that he's into you. It's awkward at first, probably laughable how a Harbinger is brought to his knees by you, but it's worth it when Childe hears those three words on your lips before kissing them.

#genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc imagines #diluc x reader #xiao #xiao imagines #xiao x reader #childe #childe imagines #childe x reader

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skzsauce01 · 3 years

Text

Hymn to Myself

Anniversary Request Special

Synopsis: The Goddess of Spring tells a mortal the story of her abduction by the King of the Underworld. Follows the Homeric Hymn to Demeter.

Warning: kidnapping

Word Count: 2.6k

Pairing: fem Persephone!reader x Hades!Hyunjin

Dear mortal, listen closely, for I have deemed you worthy to hear my tale. You have danced in my name, burned offerings to me. You shall be rewarded for your worship. Lend me your ear now, and perhaps I will lend a hand in the future.

You know me by many names — The Maiden, The Younger, the Goddess of Spring — but today I will be the Queen of the Dead. There is no need to be so frightened. Your time has not come yet, nor will I be the one to ferry you to the Underworld, as you well know. Trembling and bowing your head for mercy will serve you no purpose but do as you like.

You have heard the tale, I am sure. The Dark-Haired One seizes a maiden and makes her his bride, as her mother, holy Night-Mare of the golden double-axe, ceases the earth’s harvest in her despair. The story you may have heard prior is my mother’s version, without the details of me in the Underworld.

Like most stories, it begins with the Cloud Collector, my father. Seeing that the King of the Underworld had no queen and that no goddess or nymph desired him, he offered him a bride, the flowerfaced daughter of the Corn-Mother. The King of the Dead accepted.

As you may have guessed, I did not know about this arrangement. The nymphs I surrounded myself with then, daughters of the Titan God of Rivers, did not either, yet they braided my hair and wove flowers in. Roses, crocuses, and hyacinths entangled with violets and irises to make a crown of spring. I still remember the way they fussed over me, singing songs and pulling at my scalp. I hated it. I only wanted to pick my blossoms. Once they had finished, I walked through the meadow, leaving them behind, gathering as many of the flowers I could into my arms.

Then I spotted a narcissus, its center as radiant as the sun and its petals the color of fresh milk. Its honey-sweet fragrance filled the sky and enchanted me. I approached it with both hands, ready to hold the bud to my nose, when the earth beneath me broke open.

A golden chariot drawn by sable-black horses leapt out, and I was snatched by the gloomy Lord. I cried out for my father, he of the thunderbolt, but he was the one who promised me, and I did not know that then. The King of the Dead had me in his grasp. He refused to let go. But still I cried a piercing scream, begging the pantheon of gods seated at Olympus to help, pleading Lord Helios in his own golden chariot to come down and save me. No one heard a thing when the chariot descended back into the earth.

And when we finally entered the Underworld, my voice had gone hoarse, my body limp. The flowers I clutched to my chest were the only remnants of the sunlit earth I had, but their petals had scattered into the wind and their stems wilted in the dark. The Dark-Haired One kept his arm on me, making sure I would not be able to flee. The shades wandered in the fields below us, their moans a constant hum.

Soon we stopped in front of his palace, a cold and imposing labyrinth with a locked gate reaching to the sky. A three-headed dog stood guard, saliva dripping from its maw. The King stepped off first and offered his hand to me, but I remained frozen on the chariot. It was still warm from the sun, and I wanted to soak in every last piece I could. The hound growled and lowered its center head to sniff me when I latched onto the side, even as the Lord of the house tried to drag me off.

“Leave me be,” I cried, pushing at his chest. “My father will punish you for this. He is the king of the heavens, and you will be struck with his bolt.”

“At the behest of the Thunderer, you are now my wife. Come, my queen, into your new home.”

I had no tears left, and I mutely followed him, keeping my eyes on the back of his wine-dark cloak. He led me through the gates, the corridors of his palace, all the way to the throne room. Two chairs stood next to each other, both as black as the horses and the sky. His was obsidian, etched with bone-white carvings and lined with onyx gems. The other, the ebony one intertwined with asphodel and pomegranates, belonged to me now.

“Are you pleased?” he asked.

I said nothing, for the fight in me had died along with the flowers I left between the paws of the hound.

“Are you frightened?”

Again, no sound left me. He made me sit on my throne, and I did with my head hung low. He cradled my face, and I shut my eyes. If he desired a kiss, then he could take it. I was a wife now, to the king of the Underworld too, and I would let my husband put his mouth on mine.

“Tired,” he declared after some time. “I will bring you ambrosia and nectar, so that you may recover.”

He brought the divine foods to me, but I did not eat. He tried to make conversation, but I did not speak. The scent of the asphodels and pomegranates were suffocating, and the musk of death coated the air untainted by natural fragrance. The thick slabs of wood underneath me were unyielding, and so was I. The Dark-Haired One was dismayed.

“What is it that you require?”

“I require that I be returned to my mother and to the earth.”

He smiled. “I have all of the riches of the earth. See what I have made for you.”

Humans called him the Wealthy One on occasion, and I understood that it was not merely a euphemism when he presented my crown to me: a golden-leaved garland with apple-red rubies the size of hen’s eggs and emeralds as vivid as moss, not a hint of death clouding its elegance. It was magnificent and befitting for a queen of spring. He undid the nymphs’ braids that still remained in my hair and placed the crown on my head.

“Are you happy now?” he asked.

“I will never be happy until I see the sun again.”

He frowned and left me alone on my throne, hoping I would change my mind. The ambrosia and nectar laid on the moonlight-silver tray. They glistened and glowed, their dangerously sweet scent enveloping the room, doing their best to entice me. Instead, I sat as rigid as a tree for days, languishing in my misery. Color faded from my features, and I looked like the very image of the Queen of the Dead, with my soulless eyes and ashen skin.

Day and night, I remained there. The Lord of the House was patient, as his realm was eternal and as I was immortal. He brought gifts to try to sway me: diamond birds perching on bronze branches, amethyst crocus bouquets with delicate sprigs of roses the colors of ripe peaches. I left them on the ground. They reminded me too much of what I no longer had. The treasures around me grew, but he persisted with his prizes and his attempts at conversation.

“There are many souls arriving today,” he would say. “How lovely,” I would reply.

“What do you think of the sky here?” he would ask, and I would tell him, “It is like you.”

“Would you like to see Cereberus again? I think he liked you,” to which I would answer, “I am content here.”

It was his offer to visit the Asphodel Meadows that drew me out of my fog.

We took his chariot, golden and gleaming as before. This time, he held out a hand for me, and I accepted. The three-headed dog at the entrance of the palace whined when I did not pat his heads like his master. The flowers I left as a peace offering earlier were gone, not even a broken stem lingering. I could only imagine that they were played with and eaten.

“He does like you,” the King whispered. He placed one arm around my shoulders as he held the reins with the other. I shrunk as much as I could, burying my nose in my hair so not to smell the death radiating off of him.

“Yes, I suppose he does.”

We stopped in one of the many fields, the asphodel ghostly white and fluttering in the breeze. The shades kept their distance when I stepped off the chariot and into the flowers. My bare feet touched the Underworld dirt, my ankles brushed the stalks as I roamed the meadow like I did that fateful day, plucking the prettiest blooms from their roots. The Dark-Haired One followed closely behind, and I did my best to keep my eyes on the iron sky as I wandered through more of the fields. Lone petals circled in the wind, adorning the false flowers of my crown with themselves. I thought about the nymphs — their songs, their chatter, their life — and nearly wept. Then I thought about my poor mother, with the beautiful garlands in her hair, finding no trace of me among the meadow, and I dropped to the ground.

“There is no need to cry,” said the Dark-Haired One softly. “The shades will not hurt you.”

“I want to go home,” I replied in-between my gasps. I thought that picking flowers would somehow soothe me, but they only pained my heart. “Please, let me return home.”

He held me up, and I saw up close the famed black locks that framed his face. “Home,” he smiled.

My spirits soared, and I clamored onto his chariot, eager to see the wispy clouds and splendid sun again. But I had deceived myself. For the Queen of the Underworld, the palace was home.

The throne was too far for my limp body to retire to, so he set me down upon a funeral couch. There, I laid and stared out the window at the vast number of souls inhabiting the fields. He brought me ambrosia and nectar once more, a feeble attempt that even he knew was wasted.

He ordered entertainers to sing and dance for me, but I stared at them like one of the many skulls carved on his throne.

However, my prayers were soon answered months later. The mighty Messenger of the Gods, with his golden wand, came and relayed my father’s message: I was to be returned to my mother, for she was wrathful against the gods. The Lord smiled and did not disobey the Thunderer’s orders.

“Go to your mother,” he said to me, “for I am not an unseemly husband. But you are my queen, and all those who do not perform your rituals with reverence, all those who do not perfectly burn offerings for you, will be punished.”

I did not care about those things. Still, I rejoiced and leapt from the couch with liveliness, my crown falling to the ground in my eagerness. To feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, to see the vibrant earth, to be with my mother — those were what mattered to me.

“Before you leave, I ask that you try the Underworld’s fruit,” he said, holding out a pomegranate. “As a blessing to us from the Queen of the Dead.”

“You have been nothing but kind to me, so I will,” I told him. I ate four of the seeds, red as the rubies on my Underworld crown and sweet as honey, before I could tolerate my impatience no longer.

The King’s chariot was already drawn with his sable-black horses. The dog eyed me curiously as I got onto the chariot with the Immortal Guide rather than his master. The messenger took the reins, and we ascended to the upper world. The taste of the pomegranate still coated my tongue when the earth cracked open.

We burst forth like a new sprout. The nymphs came out from the sea and flocked around, fussing like they did before. This time, I did not mind. I let them pull at my clothing and let them weave fragrant flowers in my hair.

My mother, with a dark robe, soon arrived. She saw me, stretched her arms out, and I ran into them, breathing in her familiar scent. She stroked my hair, all while murmuring in my ear about how I was safe now, how happy she was. I was happy too. I recounted my tale to her in a frenzy, words crashing into one another like the churning tides. We stayed together, roaming the fields, soaking in the sun and earth I had missed. I danced in the streams, playing with my nymphs in celebration, for I was home.

It was later that I learned that I was bound to the Underworld, having eaten the pomegranate seeds. I left with a heavy heart and arrived to the expectant Lord, smiling with his brows.

“You tricked me,” I said. I would not weep; I could endure my time here.

“It was a request you accepted,” he said as he strode to me with my crown. He adorned me with it, and I let him brush the loose tendrils from my face. “Welcome home, my queen.”

In the beginning, it was a partial home.

I left the palace as often as I could to roam among the asphodels and the shades. The shades grew acquainted with my presence and bowed to me, moaning cries of worship in that strange tongue of theirs. I learned to feed the horses with sweet pomegranate seeds to entice them into being obedient, and the golden chariot of the King became one of my possessions. I stayed away from him, for I still felt betrayed.

Despite my frigidness, he adored me like no other. The entertainers seemed to be a constant at his court now that I present. He offered to dance with me, to which I rejected every time. He played knucklebones with me on the rare occasion I was receptive. I suspected he let me win on several occasions in an attempt to open me up like a blooming flower. And whenever I returned from a walk through the fields, he would have a lavish bouquet of false flowers waiting on my throne.

However, over time I grew to recognize my stature. After all, not many goddesses could say that they had power like mine. I began to wear my royal title like a mantle, draping it around my shoulders and letting it trail behind me in my wake. I was not always merciful, as you may well know yourself, mortal, but it is nigh impossible to say that I was not fair. The Lord took this fervor of mine as a sign that I had forgiven him. I still do not know if I have.

I sit beside him, as his equal, commanding the dead just like he does. I let him kiss my cheek and sometimes return the favor if I am feeling kind that day. I dance with him, resting my head over his heart and breathing in his musk.

But he is the one who made me his bride and thrust the Underworld upon me.

It is difficult to say that I resent him. It is much easier to say that I cannot, and will never be able to, love him in the same way he loves me.

Thus, for four months of the year, I live as the Queen of the Dead, never as his wife.

Now, dear mortal, you have heard it all. Tell it to the world.

~ ad.gray

Extra: Sorry for the unholy amount of name euphemisms and epithets. The TL;DR is that I didn’t want the associations of the Greek gods’ relationships, and by extension their names, in this story because they’re a mess by modern standards, so I opted for euphemisms and epithets instead. I decided to not use names at all because consistency, I guess? This kind of works though since “Persephone” is telling the story to a mortal and mortals avoided saying certain god’s names, Persephone and Hades among them, out of fear or respect (source). Saying a god’s name gets their attention, and getting the god’s of death attention was considered unlucky (source). This story’s version of Persephone is pretty understanding, I guess. Also, I tried to mimic the style of the Homeric Hymn to Demeter (this was the translation I used), and the amount of descriptors is insane. Thanks for coming to my TedTalk.

Hope you enjoyed this! <3

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cinnamonest · 3 years

Note

please spare more crumbs for the sex slave au with diluc and kaeya's meimei,,

Thank you for giving me permission to be more depraved this is from forever ago but I'm slowly getting the "forever ago" stuff done lol

I love the concept tho, especially Crepus buying a lil qt and having to teach them how to be good masters bc they’re both dumb clueless boys, bless.

TWs: slavery, implied incest or pseudo-incest, could give vibes as under//age (nothing is specified but I guess it could strike some people that way so I wanna be cautious), noncon/dubcon, mentions of anal, misogynistic, awful depraved and nasty -------------------------------------

God. The arguing. The rivalry. The chaos. Like, with some poly yanderes/owner/master relationships, the two work *together* and focus attention on controlling *you,* but these two are... not like that. They have a lot of rivalry going on half the time.

Now, this could be Crepus buying a slave and basically indoctrinating her as a meimei, but of course, if you actually are one of the boys' bio sis, the one is gonna claim some authenticity - you know, the whole "well she's my real sister, not yours, so I get to fuck her more" kind of thing. The other appeals to "well she's your real sister which makes you worse," and it devolves into arguing back and forth about whether or not the blood relation makes them more or less justified in sticking their dick in you and claiming more rights to meimei's time and attention. Not just to each other either, it's also directed at you -- the whole "hey, I'm your real big brother, so you should spend more time with me than him" kind of thing. It actually can get pretty annoying over time, you have to constantly be soothing not one but TWO egos in desperate need of affirmation. But here I’m going more with the idea of Crepus just buying them a sweet meimei. Diluc's more... patient. He teaches you "touch commands" -- little learned gestures, like a dog. Just the lightest touch on your spine and you know it's a clear message to arch your back, a hand under your chin and thumb pressed against it has you instinctively opening your mouth, a tap to the back of your neck and you kneel. Little gestures that can bend your body and mind with minimal effort. Despite that though, Kaeya is actually the master of The Look™ - the kind that can make you go quiet and apologize in a mere instant when given. But because you know it, expect him to be even harsher if you defy it. Sometimes in your little tantrums you get so mad that you'll have the audacity to ignore that look and keep whining or being a brat which does not end well.

Meimei is what you call free use - any time, anywhere. One of the most important lessons Crepus told you when he first got you/when you were old enough is that you are never to deny the boys any of your holes if they want it. This is just as important for the boys to learn as it is you, he's a big believer in the whole, "if you act like a good proper master, the slave will naturally fall into their role too" sort of thing, so he teaches them to be forceful and dominating, not hesitant to do what they want -- if they're clear on what they want and make known their expectation of your obedience (and the subtle implication of threat of punishments if not complied with), you'll fall into the submissive role you're meant for and naturally want to submit to them like a good little wife-sister-slave.

So, whenever one of them beckons you over, you smile and ask them how you can help. Your brothers work so hard, and it's the least you can do to take care of their needs. Sometimes they just want you to sit on their lap, wrap your arms around them, sit there a while in silence when they're sad, sometimes they want to vent to you about things when they're frustrated, sometimes they want to use you. Of course, the former two usually leads to the last anyway. You're... emotional support pussy. There's important rules and practices to be followed, it's actually rules for all three of you, several apply to them, actually, as Crepus taught you before he died, and it's become second nature for the boys (it works in their benefit, after all). #1. You can never be left alone. There's a lot of reasons for this, but primarily it's in your instinct to get fucked, all you know how to do is take cock, so if you were left alone you may very well go running off and jump onto the first thing with a dick, and they can't have that. So basically you either have to be with one of them, within their sight, or accounted for in some way - there's a couple of installed tethering hooks and the like on the walls in several areas of the house you can be attached to. But, really, they're not usually necessary, with two very horny males running around you're busy most of the time, even if it's a more passive task. You spend a lot of time sitting on someone's lap, sometimes taking naps throughout the day with whoever decides they're tired at the moment. So, you spend more or less every waking moment with one or both -- well, every sleeping moment too, of course you don't have you own room. You alternate nights between the two just like you were told to. There's not really any task you do alone. Bathing? It's always gotta be with one or the other. Sleeping? Always with one or the other. Even when you're cooking -- because obviously you do that, they wouldn't even know how to, since you've always done it -- one is always standing beside you, talking to you, or sitting a ways over in a chair as they vent about their day. Oh, speaking of that, as aforementioned, you're there for emotional burdens too. When one has had a long day, what would they do if meimei wasn't there for them to vent and whine and complain to? You've always been taught to be a good listener. Don't interrupt. Listen to everything and don't zone out. Don't oppose their actions when they're telling you about their problems, always tell them they were in the right and comfort them. Smile while you listen. That's how you were trained to respond when one of them has some burden to unload on you. Always offer your body to make them happy. That's the last part, and they've never not taken you up on the offer. That being said, sometimes you have to... motivate them. Push a little bit. You see, you're just so sweet that sometimes your brothers might want to just spend the entire day in bed with you. So you have to motivate them to do their actual work. Tell them that if they don't go to work, if they stay in bed all day inside you, how are you supposed to clean the house and make dinner for them? So they sigh and accept you're right and go off to work after all. And, again, the rule is important for them too. You can never run off on your own, but they're also vigilant not to ever leave you alone. When you're first bought, Crepus had to constantly pull them back inside the house when they'd go to another room for something because see, you're leaving her all alone and she's going to go running off and it'll be your fault. So they had to be conditioned to communicate and make sure you were always accounted for, taught how to restrain you properly. If you were left in a room, Crepus would come by to make sure they remembered to lock you inside, would test the tightness of your leash if you were tethered to something, and sigh and chastise if one of them neglected to do it right. #2. No getting off on your own, this is a rule they have to help enforce. It's a waste - you have TWO big brothers, surely one of them is always going to be available and eager, so really, getting yours without either of them involved is pretty selfish, and worthy of punishment if found doing so. If for whatever reason they're all too busy, you have the option of asking permission to ride and grind on their thigh, but no cumming until they're done with their task and are available to properly handle it. Crepus is particularly adamant about this rule, as well as enforcing the same mentality in them, doesn't think it's appropriate for a girl to be so selfishly absorbed with pleasure when she should be giving it to the men that own her. For one, a girl should be spending all of her time dedicated to serving her masters in some way, and two, they're both needy boys that would be eager to fuck you at any time. So really, masturbating is an act of defiance and will be dealt with as such. #3. No favoritism! There will be times where you may feel mad at one or the other, and sure you have different levels of how much you can tolerate certain behaviors... But, you have to train yourself against that. Meimei should have no limits of what she can tolerate - that's part of your whole purpose. So even when you're mad at one, you can't try to avoid that one and go to the other, you still need to divide your time, energy, and body equally. Don't talk bad about one to the other, don't try to spend more time with one or the other at any time. This also includes pitting them against each other through jealousy, it's a huge no-no. Don't try to make one jealous of the other. If they catch you doing that, sooner or later they'll realize what you're doing, and deal with it, usually harshly, since it's seen as a high-ranking offense. In fact, you really shouldn't be mad, ever. Your big brothers know what's best for you, so if you're mad over a disagreement, you just need to accept that they're right and you're wrong and that you need to submit to their will. Outwardly showing you're upset is bratty behavior, things like pouting or giving them the cold shoulder are punishable offenses. #4. You're also a peacekeeper. Diffuse fights. Both of your big brothers can be... stubborn, prideful individuals. This leads to pretty regular conflict over this and that. It's meimei's job to help with that, calm them down with a smile on your face. Or, if it works better, with some tears and a quivering lip. Please don't fight, you say with watery eyes, sniffling, and well, they can't help but feel bad, they both turn their attention to you rather than to each other and apologize for making you upset. And if they're having one if their regular it's my turn kind of arguments, your job is to propose the easy solution of sharing. You have more than one hole to fuck, and can easily cuddle one on each side. It should be an obvious solution. Oh, and they fight sometimes over who gets to do what, who spends time with you, but doing different things rather than both wanting to do the same thing. One is sitting at his desk to work and he can't be expected to focus on work without meimei sitting on his lap and cockwarming him of course, but the other says he wants to take a nap and how is he supposed to sleep if he can't rest his head on meimei's tits? There is only so much of her to go around! But they will legit adjust their schedules to make sure they get alone time. And are very nitpicky about it -- wait why do *you* get an extra hour on Tuesday?? If you get that I deserve an extra hour on Thursday -- that sort of thing. You're supposed to be able to propose such ideas. It's your job to come up with solutions that make everyone happy. You can cockwarm one brother while he works and tell the other that hey, if he postpones the nap, you can just ride him until he cums and can sleep right? Things like that. #5 Actually isn't for you, it's for them, regarding punishment. When Crepus got you, the poor boys didn't really know how to go about doing it, so they had to be taught. It's important to be a good master and know how to do so adequately, you know? To not let anger get the better of them and go too far, since sometimes they might get too mad about something. In fact, a good trick, he teaches them, is to just tie you up, and go blow off some steam before coming back to punish you. That way they won't go too far, and you'll have to wait around in fear for a while, which just helps the punishment sink in better. But at the same time, don't go too light. No matter how much you whimper, he says, don't feel pity for her and go lax. It's intentional, it's just your nature to try and fake-cry to try and get out of it. You did something bad, so they shouldn't feel bad about it, even if you cry and squeal. It's the right thing to do. You're supposed to cry, you're supposed to say it hurts and whimper, that just means they're doing it right. But of course, there's some sensitivities to be taught. If they have you bent over a knee, they have to make sure to only hit your ass and the back of your thighs, make sure not to go up too high and hit your back, since that could cause injury. If they're gonna fuck your ass as punishment, make sure to use a certain amount of lube. Things like that, it's important to be good masters, just as much as it is your job to be a good little slave.

And to remember, of course, that meimei is... an inferior little creature. Don't get mad at her just because she's stupid and doesn't understand this or that, that's not her fault. She can't be expected to be smart or responsible, that's their job. But also, don't feel pressured to give her what she wants just because she wants it or anything. And, most importantly, don't start having self-doubt and ever think she might be right about something while they're wrong, because obviously that can't be the case. You might get defiant and try to insist you know better than them, act like you're just as capable of something as they are, or think your opinions matter or something, but in that case, they have a responsibility to remind you of your place.

#tw: incest #tw: misogyny #lena's asks #atml #.meimei

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tales-unique · 3 years

Text

FAITH, LOST II

Tagging @chelseareferenced so she can read this goodness first hand! ;3

Chapter 2

“You have got to be joking!” Heisenberg can’t contain himself, not that he ever censored himself in the past. This is beyond ridiculous, even for the high and mighty bitch herself. He’s quick to turn on his heel to stare down the deceiver but he doesn’t call her out. Not yet anyway. He doesn’t need to, not when Lady Goliath looks about ready to burst a vein. “Mother Miranda, I must protest!” Lady Dimitrescu hisses, eyes practically glowing with rage. “Heisenberg hasn’t the faintest idea of the gift you are giving, he’d sooner throw it to the dogs!”

You wince at how little she regards you, conflicted. As it stands Lady Dimitrescu is fighting viciously to no doubt claim you as her own, which bodes marginally better than the man who would sooner toss you aside without a second thought than look at you. The Countess stands tall but her posture reminds you of a petulant child, demanding to be given what they want. Albeit a regal one. All while Heisenberg stands there with a mean snarl on his lips that brandishes his impressive canines, aimed squarely at Mother Miranda. Lady Beneviento sits silent as the grave watching the exchange while her devilish doll wiggles in excitement on her lap. Lord Moreau lingers on the edge of the fray, wringing his hands; he’s clearly distressed at the fighting and you almost feel ashamed for being the cause of the turmoil. “My decision is final,” Mother Miranda states firmly, voice echoing unnaturally around the room, her form already receding towards the doors. “Mother Miranda, please!” Lady Dimitrescu calls out, a brief look of panic flitting across her porcelain features when she receives no response at all. The cracks are already showing — she will not get her way today. In a desperate attempt to regain control she turns to Heisenberg, who stands tense as he watches Mother Miranda leave. “Heisenberg!” She seethes, hands balled tightly into fists that threaten to snap the delicate neck of her opera length cigarette holder into splinters, “say something!” You watch, helpless, as he casually lifts his hammer, taking his sweet time under Lady Dimitrescu’s smouldering gaze. The others have already made a hasty retreat, following their Mother’s steps closely, leaving you at the mercy of the feuding siblings. When Heisenberg finally locks eyes with her, hammer set proudly on his shoulder, the tension is so thick you struggle to breathe. Then, he smirks. The tautness of his body melts away into a well versed confident swagger, complete with a wolfish grin, and Lady Dimitrescu recoils so quickly in rage that you fear she’s given herself whiplash. The tirade of pure and unadulterated hatred that spills forth is in no way befitting of a woman of such high standing but Heisenberg seems unaffected. In fact, it amuses him to see her become undone when he ignores her. You don’t understand how he’s so calm when faced with such venom, practically cowering when she turns to you, face twisted in indignation. “Now don’t be a sore loser,” he tuts, quickly tugging you to his side, “Mother Miranda made her choice, are you really going to defy her?” He teases, grin widening at the sight of faint colour spreading on the Countess’ face. Heisenberg always knew how to get under skin and make her squirm. Sparing you one last glance Lady Dimitrescu turns sharply on her heel to leave, huffing in annoyance and frustration. Neither of you are worthy of even a biting retort, it seems. “You can breathe, you know.” You startle at Heisenberg’s teasing remark, finally releasing the breath that you didn’t realise you had been holding the whole time. You had been so transfixed on the very real prospect of your demise at the hands of a nine foot tall Vampire woman that you may have neglected that small fact of life. Lightheadedness makes your vision swim and for a moment you think you’re about to faint. If ever there was something to make you feel like you had one foot in the grave that moment was very much it. It does not bear repeating. Heisenberg takes in your deer-in-headlights expression, chuckling at the way his stare makes your little hummingbird heart flutter more. You’re absolutely petrified. It’s understandable, he knows that he’s dangerous and your little flock has more than enough stories about the big bad Lycan master that lets his hounds descend from the ominous Factory to feast on the nonbelievers. Utter bullshit. Well, mostly. But they don’t need to know that, of course. “So,” he drawls, tilting his head, “Mother Miranda says you’re my new— what was it? Ah, right, right, my new servant.” It’s a statement, but you’re not sure if he fully understands what he’s supposed to actually do with you, just like Lady Dimitrescu remarked. You nod shakily, bringing your still bound wrists up in a feeble attempt to warm yourself. It doesn’t offer much, the metal is so cold it brings your skin out in goosebumps. Thankfully, Heisenberg notices. “Oh, uh, sorry about that,” he clears his throat, a sudden switch, and with a flick of his wrist the shackles snap apart and shoot off to the side. They clatter to the ground unceremoniously, rusted and broken. It’s almost sad how much you relate to them at that moment. “T-thank you,” you answer meekly, rubbing at your sore wrists. The blood rushes to your fingers, making them tingle. It’s an odd, but muted, sensation, given the gravity of your situation. He doesn’t reply, merely tips his hat at you before motioning for you to go ahead of him. You’re unsure if it’s because he’s a gentleman or if it’s a power play but you move regardless, your pace hesitant. You’re not eager to be thrust out into the chill of the mountain, not that it’s any warmer inside at this point. You can only hope that the Factory is better than this.

It’s so much worse. The heat— it’s humid, stagnant, and downright heinous. Steam hisses and spits from rusted, internal pipes that streak across the walls and ceilings of the corridors, making the air humid and cloying. Your feet ache through your boots as you try to keep up with Heisenberg's strides, echoing off the metal grating underfoot in an annoying clank clank clank rhythm. In an attempt to cool yourself down you try to sweep up your damp hair from where it sticks to the back of your neck, grimacing at the wetness that covers your fingers. You’re a sweating mess and you hate it. The elevator is your near breaking point. In such a small space the heat intensifies, stuffy and borderline unbearable. It’s normal, your muddled mind tries to rationalize, since the lower levels are closer to the furnace, and it’ll get better once you go up, but it doesn’t take away from discomfort. You notice with great irritation that Heisenberg is barely batting an eyelid, though it’s to be expected. He lives there, of course he’d be used to it. The ride to the upper levels is uncomfortable and not just because of the humidity. His eyes are on you the entire time, at least you think so given those round glasses that he wears obscure his eyes from your view, no doubt wondering just why he’d taken in such a mess. And a mess you most certainly are. Heisenberg can see how your desperately try to keep stringy, moist hair from plastering itself to your sweat-soaked skin, failing miserably as the rebellious strands slip from your fingers. There are dark patches to your simple dress, made worse by how it clings to your body from the heat. He can barely stop himself from smirking when you curse quietly under your breath, rolling your eyes in irritation as you fuss over your hair. It’s the first time that you’ve shown some real spirit. Your annoyance is refreshing on your flushed face, the dim, artificial light casting you in a dewy, warm glow. Sadly, it’s not enough to overpower how badly you need a bath and fresh clothes. “Well, here we are,” he announces as the elevator stops and the door opens up; your new home. It’s another long hallway that looks similar to the dozen odd that you walked through to get here, but you do notice that it’s comparatively cooler. It must be near the top of the Factory. It’s a pleasant relief and you follow Heisenberg to a cluster of rooms a little lighter on your feet. The tour is, well, barely that, as he shows you a bedroom, a kitchen, and a bathroom, all outfitted with the barest of necessities and far too much scrap metal, tools, and other engineering components. You linger in the doorway of the modest bedroom, staring at the single bed pushed up in the corner as though that’s the out of place object in the room. He leaves you for a moment, fumbling through papers and projects on the heavily cluttered desk that takes up the length of one wall, and you wander the hallway, peeking inside rooms with doors slightly ajar. Most are storage rooms with all sorts of junk inside, but one looks salvageable with an old, banged up couch and minimal debris. As you look about envisioning how to make it more homely, leaning against the door frame, you’re not paying attention and it gives Heisenberg the perfect opportunity to scare you. “Found yourself a room, huh?” He whispers into your ear, pulling back quickly as you shriek in alarm and swing out your arm instinctively to hit him. You can barely hear your heart hammering wildly in your chest over the sound of his raucous laughter, retreating from him quickly. “Why would you do that?” You shout, wide eyes staring at him. Heisenberg can barely pull himself together, breaking into small fits of laughter at the sight of your astonished expression, exhaling deeply to try and ground himself. “Couldn’t help it,” he explains, grinning at you, “it was a perfect setup!” Flabbergasted, your mouth falls open at his response; this man was one of the four Lords of the village, not some child playing tricks! Noticing the offense you take at his actions Heisenberg scoffs, his own expression souring as he turns away from you. What was he honestly thinking? You were just another haughty, stuck-up, loyalist to Mother fucking Miranda that clearly wouldn’t know a joke if it came up and slapped you in the face. “Bathroom is right there, you reek,” he snaps harshly, pointing into a small room lined with cracked, dirty tiles and rusting, dated appliances. You glare at his back, wordlessly going inside and doping your best to slam the door shut, but all you manage is a half-descent rattle. You look about yourself and suppress a shiver of disgust, staring at the old, rusting shower that has clearly seen better days, questioning whether you can forgo washing after all. Needs must, you think to yourself, as you dig out the cleanest towel you can find from a rickety old cabinet in the corner. Thankfully the water is fine when you turn the handle and you quickly strip to take advantage of the first good thing since you came to the Factory. As you stand under the tepid spray you wonder if you are, as Mother Miranda had said, perfect for this task. Doubt nips at your resolve and tries to whittle down your faith, but you refuse to let it win. You must succeed, for Mother Miranda.

#RE #RE8 #RE 8 #Resident Evil #Resident Evil 8 #Resident Evil 8 Village #RE Imagine #RE Imagines #RE8 Imagine #RE8 Imagines #Resident Evil Imagine #Resident Evil Imagines #Karl Heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg Imagine #Karl Heisenberg Imagines #Karl Heisenberg x Reader #Heisenberg Imagine #Heinsenberg Imagines #Heisenberg x Reader

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fruityuncleskeletor · 2 years

Text

I posted 984 times in 2022

That's 984 more posts than 2021!

226 posts created (23%)

758 posts reblogged (77%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@vegasandhishedgehog

@therealblessedaffliction

@urheartsamess

@la-fourmi

@asliceofoceanmist

I tagged 291 of my posts in 2022

#vegas theerapanyakul - 125 posts

#pete saengtham - 93 posts

#vegas - 89 posts

#vegaspete - 89 posts

#pete - 66 posts

#kinnporsche the series - 58 posts

#kpts - 53 posts

#kinnporsche - 50 posts

#build jakapan puttha - 38 posts

#fic - 31 posts

Longest Tag: 110 characters

#or the minor family home guards having to unsee vegas' dick out as he returned home with his wet pants in hand

My Top Posts in 2022:

When you finally find that epic drip that feels custom made for you.

129 notes - Posted August 18, 2022

More late night thoughts about Vegas and Pete

I was thinking about Vegas and about the way Gun raised and beat him into becoming a weapon; I was thinking about his office, which is a front decorated with shiny shit by someone who secretly and desperately wants to be discovered and found interesting enough to dwell on. I was thinking of how the Bond villain attire is strictly mafia and stricly work gear, Vegas himself being a snuggly PJs kind of man. I was thinking of how his family did to Vegas what many people do to pitbulls - take a very mellow and protective nature and twist it into something hideous and then BLAME the animal for how it was trained and for being too good at carrying out his master's orders. And then in walked Pete.

I saw your witchy shit. I saw your BDSM gear. Cool decor, bro. You need love. You're doing your best. You're a good son. You don't have to compare yourself with others. Like on those shows where they rescue abused dogs, they cower or try to bite when they see a hand approach because they are used to the beatings, but when the hand pats the head, the dogs wag their entire person. It takes one instance of being seen to be reset. And sure, it could be argued that this take makes Vegas too needy and pathetic, and painting him as a victim is boring and not as fun as making him be an unrepenting monster-

but I propose to you this: he is still a monster, and he's worthy of forgiveness, healing and love nonetheless.

A pitbull can still rip someone to shreds even once it becomes a beloved family pet. It just chooses not to. And Pete is like that one person who stops in front of the cage at the shelter where the most scarred and gnarly dog sits, ignored by families and young couples, Pete looks and says "I'm the only thing between you and the gas chamber, but I can deal with you, I can take your anger because you and me, we're the same." And the scarred and mean looking dog gets to go home with a human, and sleep on a soft bed. Not even God can save whoever is reckless enough to threaten his human.

Then, what does it say about Pete, a man hardened by a life of poverty, abuse, and intense violence, who still, even when pushed to his limits, can look at a man and say "yep, needs love" ?

172 notes - Posted November 16, 2022

I made this because it's mixing two of my favourite things: the Black cat bring good luck video and VegasPete. This one needs the sound on.

182 notes - Posted August 27, 2022

Not these stale takes on Vegas again

I was reading a thread on reddit and someone was saying that Vegas is a chronic loser, that he always loses out to Kinn, that even Porsche with his one braincell knows all Vegas deserves is a hard pass. And then they had the gall to add "and he ended up with a fucking bodyguard". I've seen the post yesterday and I am still fuming. It bothered me so much that there's people who see Vegas as a loser and it made me think. While I was watching the series, I felt that for Vegas to be a credible villain, he should have gotten with Porsche FIRST, before Kinn, a la Dangerous Liaisons, but then I realised that if he had done that, sure it would have one-upped Kinn, but it would have made Vegas petty and short-sighted in his pursuits. And I like to tell myself that Porsche does find Vegas attractive, but the little self-preservation he has is begging him not to fuck around and find out because sure, Vegas is appealing and he promises a lot, but danger follows him wherever he goes and Porsche would like to live to see Chay graduate ( *cough* if Chay sees fit to get his shit together at some point *cough*). Calling Vegas a loser is looking at him through his father's eyes and choosing to ignore the fact that he is hands-on, competent, brings the skills needed to lead and is respected (and feared) by his henchmen. Kinn sits on his ass and does what daddy tells him, and when shit doesn't go his way he flashes his ring like he's in a Green Lantern movie. He wins just by showing up. On a level, I also think Vegas was sabotaging his attempts to get with Porsche just to stick it to Kinn because I can't imagine he approved of the plan since it came from his bitch-ass dad and it was in poor taste. I cannot, for the life of me, imagine that Vegas, perceptive and good at reading people Vegas, failed to see that his sad meow-meow cursed prince act would not work on Porsche, who loves to be the princess in every scenario and who is looking for a hero with big firm tiddies he can dramatically faint on. I also don't think Vegas is a loser AT ALL. Sure, he didn't beat Kinn at... *checks notes* being trapped in the mafia and under Korn's foot? And he "ended up" with the best, most interesting and hottest character on the show, who also happens to be compatible with him and loves him back... wow, such tragedy (that I would also like to experience)!

Look how in love he is. Pete is the best thing that happened to him, at the right time too. That's not losing and going home with scraps to me.

268 notes - Posted August 10, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I like to imagine this is Vegas' dating app profile pic and that those sacks are full of cocaine.🥳

429 notes - Posted August 22, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #vegas #vegas theerapanyakul

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fanficshiddles · 3 years

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Be Gentle, One shot

Summary: Loki noticed Thor was having trouble pleasuring women. So he ropes you in to help, but while he is trying to teach Thor to be gentle, he finds he wants you all to himself instead. And you only want Loki.

Loki was heading along the corridor and was almost knocked over by a young woman charging down it, clearly not happy. He moved to the side to let her passed as she stomped by.

He frowned and looked down the corridor to see Thor stood outside his door, rubbing the back of his head.

‘What did you do?’ Loki headed towards him. ‘Or more, what did you not do?’ He asked knowingly as he reached his brother and leaned against the wall, awaiting his answer.

‘Why do you always assume that I did something wrong?’

‘Because you always do. Especially when it comes to women. Did you fail to pleasure her properly?’ Loki smirked.

Thor glared at Loki, nostrils flaring a little. ‘Not at all… We had fun and’

‘Let me stop you there.’ Loki said with a finger up. ‘When you say we do you mean you had fun, so simply assumed that she also did too? Because that certainly did not look like a satisfied woman.’

Thor was a little stumped, he didn’t answer, just looked down sheepishly.

‘Exactly my point.’ Loki chuckled.

‘Help me, brother. You seem to have luck in pleasuring women, you have them eating out of the palm of your hand. Teach me?’ Thor pleaded.

He wasn’t wrong. Loki did often have a woman spend the night with him back on Asgard, he always gave them a night to remember. Though he hadn’t had as many since arriving on Midgard and moving in with The Avengers. He’d been busier concentrating on work for a change.

‘Why don’t we get a lovely lady’s help.’ Loki suggested.

‘Who do you have in mind?’ Thor asked.

A big grin formed across Loki’s face.

You were just reading a book in the living room when the Asgardians strolled into the room. You looked up, slightly confused when you could feel their eyes on you.

‘Oh… Hi.’ You waved shyly at them, well, mainly at Loki. You were usually so confident, even around The Avengers. But with Loki, he just made you feel like a shy giddy schoolgirl. You had the biggest crush on him.

Loki liked you, he liked your intelligence and how kind you were. You didn’t treat him different from the others, aside from being a bit shy around him. But he found that rather endearing. He had thought about trying to get you into his bed before, but you were too nice to simply be a one-night stand and he wasn’t sure if he was worthy of courting you.

‘Can we borrow you, love?’ Loki asked.

‘Yeah, sure. What can I help you with?’ You asked as you stood up, slightly keener than you had meant to be. But it made Loki smile with how keen you were to help.

You’d do anything for Loki, he just didn’t know it.

‘Let’s go somewhere more private.’ Loki reached out and gently took a hold of your elbow, he also grabbed Thor’s arm and he teleported the three of you to the privacy of his room.

‘My brother has some lady issues.’ Loki started after motioning for you to take a seat on the edge of his bed.

‘Lady issues?’ You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Thor.

‘He manages to scare away everyone he beds, taking his own pleasure and not thinking about the woman.’ Loki explained.

‘Oh… Uhm, how do you need me to help?’ You asked, a slight lump in your throat at discussing this kind of subject with Loki.

‘I wanted to go over a few scenarios with you, see which one appeals more.’ Loki sat down next to you, rather close. ‘You return from dinner with him, are kissed sloppily, more like a dog snogging you. You are manhandled onto the bed, clothes torn off and then you are roughly poked and prodded around your quim, not hitting any good spots at all. Then you are crudely invaded by a reasonably large cock, barely ready. Rammed into until he finds his pleasure, then without making you cum he simply rolls over and says how amazing it was.’

‘Like a DOG?’ Thor roared at Loki. ‘I think you’ll find’

Loki narrowed his eyes at Thor and cut him off. ‘Brother. Was I wrong with any of that description? Or was that pretty much how it went down with that woman I saw running away from you?’

Thor put his hands on his hips angrily and just snarled in response.

‘Does any of that appeal to you, darling?’ Loki asked you.

The only thing that did appeal to you was Loki’s voice telling it. ‘No, not at all.’

‘How about this scenario. You come back from dinner, you are invited into his room for a nightcap. As he hands you the wine glass, his fingers lightly brush against yours.’ As Loki spoke, he acted it out a little by brushing the tips of his fingers against your hand, making your breath catch.

‘He slips an arm around you to pull you in close to him. Brushes your hair back from your face,’ Loki looked at you intently and did as he said, smoothing your hair back behind your ear, then resting his hand on your collarbone. ‘Gently holding your chin, he leans in and kisses you softly, slowly working up to using his tongue in a gentle dance with your own.’

Your heart was hammering in your chest while Loki spoke, so sensual and intimate. You struggled to keep eye contact with him, instead looking at his lips.

‘Then he would slowly remove your clothes, kissing every bit of skin that became available to him. Before gently lowering you onto his bed beneath you. He would kiss and lick his way down, to then make you dance on his tongue. After you were well satisfied, he would take you. Slowly, intimately… Filling you with his cock, rocking into you deep while looking into your eyes. He would make sure that you came first around his cock, to feel you soaking and squeezing him, then he would explode within you.’ Loki’s voice caught in his throat slightly as he had moved a little closer to you, your beautiful scent capturing his attention. And his hand was still resting on you.

‘Loki?’ Thor asked, getting irritated.

‘Well, which is more appealing?’ Loki grinned and leaned back a little, not looking at Thor.

‘Uhm, tha… that last one. Definitely.’ You swallowed hard and nodded, trying to calm your racing heart down.

‘But how do I pleasure a woman? I never seem to even get that part right.’ Thor asked as he started pacing back and fore, clearly frustrated.

Loki rolled his eyes. ‘Do you even know the anatomy of a woman, Thor?’

‘Well, of course.’ Thor nodded, folding his arms over his chest.

‘Oh really? What is the name of the body part on a woman that is most sensitive to stimulation?’ Loki asked, he looked to you and winked.

‘Well, it’s the uh… Of course it’s the vagina.’ Thor chuckled and looked at you with a shrug.

Loki face-palmed and you started laughing.

‘It really is no wonder you can’t pleasure a woman.’ Loki sighed.

‘That’s why I need you to teach me!’ Thor pleaded.

‘You need to listen, didn’t you just hear the two scenarios?’ Loki snapped at him.

‘I need to be taught, I can’t just go by words…’ Then he stopped and looked at you, eyes wide as an idea hit him. ‘I need to be shown, physically!’

Your eyes then widened. ‘Oh no… No, no, no!’ You said quickly, shaking your finger at him.

Loki did look surprised at first too, but then he realised it might be the best way to teach his brother. As you looked at Loki, he gave you the best puppy eyes. ‘That might actually be a good way of teaching him.’

‘You can’t be serious?’ You asked Loki.

‘You trust me, right?’ Loki asked.

‘I do.’ You said quietly. ‘But that’s not the point.’

‘We will be respectful, darling. I will make sure that Thor behaves and does exactly as I tell him. It means you’ll get an orgasm or two out of it, too.’ He grinned cheekily. ‘I will personally guarantee it.’

You were already aroused and the thought that Loki would be involved was rather exciting, too exciting to pass on…

‘Ok…’

‘We won’t if you aren’t comfortable with it, love.’ Loki said softly and put his hand on top of yours.

‘No, it’s fine… I just uh, it’s been a while.’ You said shyly.

Loki took the lead at first, taking your hand and standing you up. He smiled warmly at you, then with regret he looked at Thor and stepped back, hands behind his back.

You weren’t attracted to Thor at all, though he was a kind hearted person. He just wasn’t your type. Even less your type when his brutish hands grabbed your upper arms and he pulled you into him, forcing his mouth upon yours.

You pushed at his chest to try and get him to stop as you couldn’t breathe, his tongue almost all the way down your throat.

‘THOR!’ Loki hauled Thor off you. ‘Did you not listen to a word I said?’

Loki ran his hand down his face and moved over to you, rubbing your back. ‘Alright, love? Not too traumatised?’

‘I’m fine.’ You smiled at him.

‘Alright, why don’t we try and just show him the right way to pleasure you?’ Loki suggested.

‘If… If you think that will work.’ You nodded slowly in agreement.

‘You can just lift your dress up and take off your knickers, if you wish.’ Loki said.

‘Ok.’ You nodded and did as he suggested, glad you weren’t going to be completely naked.

Loki helped you onto the bed and gave your arm a reassuring squeeze. He sat down next to you and motioned for Thor to begin.

‘Let’s see what I’m working with first.’ Loki drawled, he didn’t hold out much hope though.

Thor grinned and moved onto the bed, he grabbed your legs and pushed them apart roughly. You looked at Loki uncertainly, he reached over and rubbed your shoulder.

Thor looked at your cunt and he just started rubbing his fingers over you, then poked and prodded to try and get his fingers in, not aiming for anywhere in particular.

‘Ow! Thor!’ You hissed at him and tried to move away, he was being far from careful.

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘You need to be gentle, Thor. Not hard.’

‘I was being gentle!’ Thor argued.

‘Clearly not!’ Loki yelled at him and he shoved Thor out of the way. He took your hand and helped you up off the bed.

‘I uh, don’t think this is the best idea.’ You laughed a bit.

‘No, you’re right. I think the master needs to show him how it’s done from the beginning.’ Loki said cockily as he moved his hands to your hips. ‘If I may?’ He asked softly as he pulled you into him.

‘Uhm… Ye… Yeah.’ You squeaked.

Loki grinned at your shyness and trailed his fingers down the side of your face, then cupped your chin as he leaned in to kiss you. His lips moulded with yours gently, moving in such a nice way.

You ended up wrapping your arms around his neck as you melted completely into him. Loki had just started using his tongue when Thor coughed, getting impatient.

But Loki ignored him and continued to slowly seduce you, even though you were already putty in his hands from the moment he just laid eyes on you. But when he did start to undress you, it was a whole new kind of seduction.

He was slow, gentle, passionate, doing just as he’d described before. Kissing all over you as he removed your clothes, paying extra attention to your neck and when you whined at a certain spot, he made sure to zone in on that area.

You completely forgot that Thor was there, watching. You were so wrapped up in Loki, it was like you were alone with him only.

Loki carefully lay you down on the bed underneath him, he took your hands and slowly raised them up above your head, leaving them there as he started his journey down. Kissing and licking on his way, he prized your thighs apart and when you felt his warm breath against you, you almost bucked him right off the bed.

He chuckled and wrapped his arms tightly around your thighs, keeping you in place as he dove in. His tongue was like the devil as he licked long strips up and down, never keeping over your clit for long. When he had you squirming and begging for more, he concentrated on your clit, running his tongue over it firmly. He brought a hand down and added two fingers into the mix, carefully twisting and curling them until he found the right spot that had you howling as you had your first orgasm.

Thor was watching wide eyed from the side, having never seen a woman get off like that. He was hard in his trousers, so was just stood there squeezing himself.

Loki smeared his lips against your inner thigh, kissing you gently, slowly pulling his fingers out of you. He crawled up your body, suckling on your nipples on the way, making you moan.

‘Clean my fingers, love.’ He growled as he pressed them against your lips.

You opened and took them into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his digits, tasting yourself on him.

‘Good girl.’ He hummed. You could feel his erection against your thigh, through his leather trousers.

Thor coughed, clearing his throat. ‘Can I try now?’ He asked, stepping closer to the bed.

‘NO!’ Both you and Loki said at the same time, shocking Thor.

Loki looked at you with a big grin, you bit your lower lip and smiled up at him.

‘Get out, Thor!’ Loki barked at him when Thor was just hovering like an annoying fly.

‘I thought this was my lesson!’ He whined.

‘Not anymore.’ Loki growled and glared at him.

As soon as Thor left, Loki’s attention was back on you. He cupped your face and leaned down to kiss you again. ‘Mmm, I don’t think I want to share you with anyone anymore, now I’ve had a taste of you.’ He growled over your lips.

‘I don’t want anyone else.’ You whispered, wrapping your arms around him.

He smiled widely and nuzzled his nose against yours.

‘There is uhm… still more to your scene that you described earlier?’ You asked with a smirk.

‘There is indeed.’ He growled and kissed you again.

#Loki #Thor #Loki x reader #be gentle #one shot #fan fiction #tom hiddleston #mcu Loki

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dyns33 · 3 years

Text

The Tiger and the Rabbit entry :

Citra was a bitch, so it seemed normal that her mate was a dog.

But she wasn't a real bitch. No, the high priestess was a serpent.

A snake and a dog, it might not have worked, but it was not abnormal. Little and medium beasts.

His sister was very good at turning all the men around her into dogs, brave and faithful little doggies who blindly obeyed her.

Brainless pendejos, who only thought with their dicks.

Vaas had been blinded too, but because she was his sister, joder, and he wanted to make her happy, like a good brother.

The problem was, there were too many dogs on this fucking land. And a lot of them were related to reptiles, so it was hard to know which one was the right one. It wasn't even sure that her mate would ever come to the island. It was not as unique as a tiger with a rabbit.

Citra was very saddened by this, but a mate was not enough anyway. Nothing was ever enough for her.

She wanted everyone to love her and fall at her feet. Everyone.

"Vaas, you don't need a bunny. A bunny ! That ridiculous little thing isn't worthy of you. You're a tiger, you deserve a more... exceptional mate."

"Like a shark or a bear ?"

He didn't like where this conversation was going.

"... Vaas. Together we are stronger. Masters of the world. We can create great things."

"I'm sure hermanita."

Yeah. Hermanita. Little sister. A sister does not fuck with her brother. He hoped she had understood that correctly.

"You are a great warrior. A tiger is stronger than a dog. Your children will be powerful."

Mierda.

It was hard to realise that his sister was completely crazy. A real freak. He had really loved her, he really wanted things to turn out differently.

Vaas thought they were stupid, but he felt a little sorry for the poor dogs who crossed her path. Citra didn't like being told no.

Even though he expected her to be angry after his refusal, he didn't think she would attempt to burn his mark and then slice off his skull. Yeah, the Queen of the bitches.

Unlike her, Vaas was very happy to have one mate, only one.

It was not a problem if they were a little rabbit. He didn't fucking care.

He wasn't what people could call a romantic, he had had partners, he wasn't going to wait and stay a virgin, but...

When he thought of his conejita, destined to be his forever, to love him, with whom he could have children. It was nice.

Not necessarily very possible on the island, with his pirate life, but it was a nice dream.

He still thought about it when Y/N slept against him, or when they ran into the jungle together.

The little rabbit was leaping between his paws, and he was tempted to open his mouth and grab her. She would be a little scared, even knowing that he wasn't going to bite her, but only carry her like a baby, purring like a mad motherfucker.

If they had babies, would they be rabbits or tigers ? Something else ? Oh, to have a family of little rabbits.

"Little you hiding around the camp. Dios mío. A real nightmare Jefe."

"Shut up Carlos !"

"But, mini Vaas. They would destroy everything."

"Yeah, my niños will be real little monsters, strong and powerful. Even if they're rabbits. So watch your sorry ass hermano."

Y/N never talked about having children. The bunny was smart. She also knew it wasn't a good idea here. Too dangerous.

Citra would try to take the little ones and kill them, no doubt.

And if she did mention it, his conejita might give him ideas. He thought about it, he dreamed about it, but as long as she didn't talk about it, it was just a fantasy.

She was not like Citra at all. She was careful, but she didn't manipulate him, she didn't ask him crazy or impossible things, and she seemed quite happy with him.

It was not always easy to make her happy, locked in a pirate camp in the middle of a jungle, on a crazy island, but Vaas was doing his best.

So far, she hadn't tried to run away. The only time she could have had a chance, she had come back.

The best day of his fucking life.

Well, sometimes she would ask if they would ever go away together, but Y/N wasn't stupid, she knew the answer. Even when Vaas would be too old for this bullshit, he wouldn't want to leave. It was his island.

"... Or else we'll burn everything before we go." he mumbled once, a bit drunk, while he was hugging her. "Then we'll go make baby rabbits wherever you want. You'll be my island. Mi isla."

"That would be wonderful Vaas."

"Bebé conejitos, mi cielo. Lleno de conejitos ! En todas partes ! El mundo lleno de conejitos ! Nuestros hijos! Oh, amor mío, eso será demasiado bueno !"

Vaas would fall asleep, purring, dreaming of rabbits and baby tigers populating the island and destroying everything, as Carlos had said.

Hoyt, Buck, and Citra were dead. He and his bunny could do whatever they wanted and it was really wonderful.

One day, maybe. He had to kill the bitch and the other fuckers first. One day.

#the tiger and the rabbit #vaas #vaas montenegro #vaas montenegro imagine #vaas montenegro x reader #I like this gif #Vaas if he was a rabbit too #but imagine a big tiger instead

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love-toxin · 3 years

Note

Hi! I’ve been reading a bunch about your new batch of oc’s (it’s really cool how they’re all super distinct from each other—that’s pretty hard to pull off, but you do it so well!) I was wondering (only if it’s ok!) to ask/req about how your new batch would react to a mouthy/sassy s/o who’s really not interested in a relationship? Thank you for your time and have a wonderful day!

merci!! ;w;

Leo

"I love you too much to let you push me around."

he may be domesticated, but there's no way he'll let your mouth run him away. he hates how much your laughter pisses him off in this moment, how it reminds him that you don't take him seriously enough to even consider his confession. nobody else makes him so crazy, so angry, so needy like the dog he's accepted that he is. you can barely collect yourself, and it's humiliating. it's all he can do to keep himself from baring his teeth and sink them into your neck to take you down and show you your place.

"are you serious, Leo?"

your voice cuts so deep into his chest, deeper than any knife of the most dire sharpness.

"this has to be a prank. you're not my type, puppy, and you know that."

you reach out to ruffle his ears, you think it's all just a joke at his own expense. you won't even look him in the eyes long enough to see how dark and cold they've become. if you don't see that he loves you now...

well, he'll just have to make it clear to everyone, so you'll never doubt him again.

Mel

"Mh? Is that an attitude I sense?"

it is. undoubtedly. but it's of little importance to him--he knows how to play this game, and he'll play it better than you ever will. you mouth off like you've never been shut up before, that much is very clear, and he didn't mind so much at first. thought it was just a little teasing back and forth, which isn't unnatural considering his personality.

but you don't wanna be his, and that's not allowed! haven't you realized by now that you're special? what the two of you have is rare, impossible even--he loves you so much he would give up his own life, and he knows you would do the same if you just admit it to yourself.

but you're so closed off. you serve back every flirtation with sass, get mouthy with him when he tries to be real and honest with you about anything, much less those times that you've been alone together and he tries to tell you how he feels.

this isn't how things are supposed to be. he won't let you shy away from the most passionate love he'll ever let you experience.

Noel

"Please, just listen to me....I love you."

how could you do this to him? just stop, pause, and stare right into his soul....and give him attitude? you're gonna make jokes like he didn't just pour his whole heart out to you?

what else can he do, now? he feels so lost, and for once your smile can't comfort him when you're holding back saying something rude to him. he doesn't want to cry, he wants to be strong, but the tears spill down his cheeks whether he wants them to or not.

"c'mon Noel, you know I don't want to be with you. is it really such a surprise?"

oh, now you've done it. his tears will abide soon, but only because he's realized what you're doing now.

you're just trying to string him along. test him to see if he's worthy enough to deserve being yours. and with that in the back of his head, he can find the strength to smile through the pain in his heart--because nobody has more patience than he does, and you'll understand just how much of your abuse he'll endure for the sake of your love.

Vivi

"So feisty, so cute! That's all I need to hear. You're mine."

it's adorable how you think a little brattiness will get you off the hook. don't you realize she's the master of this little game you've got going on? a few little scathing remarks aren't gonna make her run with her tail between her legs--in fact, quite the opposite. she loves the chase, after all.

"yeah right, Vivi. I don't think so, but thanks anyway."

aww, are you getting a little scared? she can see the twitch of your fingers against your arm, that look in your eye that befits an animal of prey. you couldn't get rid of her if you tried, and even if you did it would just end up pissing her off. so you keep hiding behind that wall of words you always put up to protect yourself, but she's gonna tear it down in seconds and take you for herself if you're not careful.

oh, dear. she didn't just say all that out loud, did she? your eyes are really struck with terror now...but it's such a cute look, isn't it? it really suits you more than all that attitude you like to give.

"just be still, darling." it'll hurt a lot more than your words ever could, otherwise.

Avi

"Settle down, little red. Don't make me bite you."

he's always liked playing with his food, but you bring a whole new meaning to that. you distract him with your little remarks and snarky comments, sometimes so much so that he forgets how perfect you would look with his teeth against your throat. he could choke you down and spit you up, churn you up from the inside out and leave you wanting more, absolutely ruin you so nobody else would even think of picking up such a filthy little pet.

and you still give him the best view of that pretty little mouth of yours. just that one comment alone has you giving him lip like your life depends on it, but all he can see is your energy wearing down bit by bit, your breaths getting slower with every passing word you spit back at him with more sass than you should be allowed. maybe he'll suit you up with a muzzle if you get this mouthy on your way back to his place.

just wear yourself out, he thinks to himself. you can't keep up the chase forever, little red.

Leigh

"I think you need to wash your mouth out."

does it not sound as serious when it comes from him? you laugh like you think he's joking, but he couldn't be more sincere. you like to tease him but this is different, this stings right in his heart and you know exactly how to twist the knife so it'll hurt the most. he can already imagine the expression you'll make when he grabs you by the jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks so you'll open up and he can squirt a bit of soapy foam on to your little pink tongue. just so you know he's really serious...but he can't stop thinking of sticking something else in there too, something that will really show you how serious he is.

he doesn't remember every little comment or ill-spirited jab, but the pang in his chest when you brush off his compliments and flirtations is enough for him to know it happens more often than it needs to. you're just being difficult for attention, and that's okay. you just need more of it, that's all, and who better to give it to you than him?

who better, darling? he'll wait for your answer, as long as it'll take to hear his name on the tip of your tongue.

Thorn

"Are you sure you wanna play this game with me?"

it's less of a question, more of a test. Thorn likes to drop these little riddles into your lap, and stand back to see how you'll react when he does. it's field research.

"you're gonna lose anyways, so what does it matter?"

oh, how cheeky. you always surprise him no matter what he throws at you, and this is no different--but this time he's just sick and tired of the answer. it's always the same no matter which way you phrase it, like unwrapping a candy and finding each one to be your least favourite flavour. there's always a part inside of him that thinks you're gonna change your mind one day, as if by a magical transformation--but no, you refuse, and to be honest it's really starting to irritate him.

you really don't know how good you could have it, do you? you don't understand how much he's been doing out of sight, and for you out of mind, just to ensure your happiness. you're royalty, and you don't even know it even when your prince is staring you right in the eyes, begging for the smallest scrap of your attention.

but you'll be the one begging soon. he knows it for sure.

Ilya

"That's enough out of you."

you may find it funny, but he doesn't think the same about you mocking him. sometimes he dreams about slapping that stupid little smirk off your face, but he's swiftly reminded that that may garner him the opposite reaction that he wants. people don't often take kindly to violence, that's right....but oh, you make it look so tempting. perhaps one day he'll get the chance to feel your throat bend beneath his palms, and listen to those sweet cries sputtering off your lips as you gasp for air....but you have to accept his love first, and you've promised him that it's never going to happen.

don't you realize how it breaks his heart? that your rejection time and time again is enough to make him feel like he may just die without you? why do you always do this to him?

he just has to collect himself. breathe. remember that your constitution is much weaker than his--you can't keep up this fight forever, and once you realize that he has no intention of letting you be loved by another soul on this earth, that's when he'll swoop in and claim you all for himself.

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katsulia · 3 years

Note

Could i ask for an oikawa version of he offends you

He offends you - part4

featuring : Oikawa, Daichi

genre : angst to fluff

Atsumu and Kageyama version + part2 / Kuroo and Tsukishima version

Oikawa

"Babe I'm home! "you shouted and slammed the door behind you. And no sooner had you taken off your shoes than your boyfriend appeared in front of you like a dog excited to see his master come in.

"Y/N-chaaan," his voice rose in pitch as if to accompany his exaggerated pout. Automatically his arms came around your waist and although you liked being in his arms he was somewhat suffocating. The embrace lasted a few more seconds before he let go of you and you were able to move towards the living room. Your feet were like compote and you didn't want to move. Oikawa joined you.

"So how was your day? "you asked him as you put your bags on the floor before dropping onto the couch. Oikawa sat down on the couch and put his head on your lap.

"I had to say goodbye to my beautiful girlfriend who preferred to go shopping with someone else although we all know that I have the best taste in fashion ..." you couldn't help but hit him in the back of the head as Iwaizumi would surely have done. "Ouch! YN-chan! That was undeserved! You make me suffer even more when I already had to put up with your absence today! "You looked up at his idiocy before he resumed his story. "So I stayed alone in this house, far too big for one person, and I waited for hours for her to do me the honor of resurfacing. "At this level he could easily overshadow Shakespeare's best tragic characters, after all it was Oikawa Tooru. But it was all part of his personality and it never failed to make you laugh.

"Well, since you ask me, I went shopping, away from my very clingy boyfriend." At these words he opened his eyes wide and put his hand on his chest as if you just gave him a blow which makes you laugh out loud. "How dare you? "You tried to catch your breath and kept answering him with a big smile on your face. "I'm kidding, of course I'm kidding. But I still put my day to good use and I finally found a little black dress that was missing in my wardrobe." You hadn't really gone out with the idea of buying a dress, but you had completely cracked at the sight of it and it was a good thing since you didn't have one of those. Usually you were more hesitant as for the purchase of dress and skirt but this time you were confident.

"It is true? I want to see that right now!" Oikawa's eyes were shining and he got up immediately so you could go change. You rolled your eyes but deep down you were touched by his almost childish but totally adorable reaction. While you were pretending to be lazy, he took your hand and pulled you from the sofa. "Go and try it on! I'll wait here." You knew very well that he would not change his mind as he is and you went to your room, sticking out your tongue.

The dress was simple and basic but you liked it very much. You put it on quickly and took a little time to admire yourself in front of the mirror. For you, who was used to seeing you always wearing jeans, it was a nice change but not that unpleasant. The result will be even better when you have tanned legs but even so it was very nice. You took a deep breath and went to join your boyfriend in the living room.

"Tadam!" At the sound of your voice Oikawa took his hands away from his eyes (yes, he was always in excess). You even did a spin around and laughed a little to satisfy the desire for a show that he always liked. "I love it so much! My girlfriend is incredible! Come over here so I can admire the seams more closely!» Immediately you were pulled towards him and you fell on the couch laughing. With a masterful stroke he made you glide on his knees and positioned you comfortably on his legs. You came to put your arms around his neck while his left hand firmly grabbed your waist and his right hand stroked your thigh. "So it's true, do you like it?" It was obvious that Oikawa was totally seduced by what he saw, but using your seductive voice was always tempting in those moments. He was very close to biting his lips. "More than anything else. We should go back to that store, very good work. By the way, which one was it? I would bet on Zara!" You nodded, because he had found out which brand it was right off the bat. But it wasn't that surprising from him. "How did you guess? I bet you looked at the label! No, you saw me put the bag there!" You exclaimed. "Hm not even. But Saya used to go out there a lot and I remember a dress of hers that was in the same style. How Sherlock! " He winked and smiled a big, charming grin.

You didn't want to smile at all. He associated the dress you were wearing, the one you were so happy to have bought, with his ex Saya. Your face decomposed and immediately you began to let go of his hold on you. Does that mean he was still thinking about her? Probably. You wanted to take that dress off right away and throw it away.

Oikawa didn't immediately understand your reaction and wanted to hold you back, but he could sense that you wanted to let go of him. When only five seconds was all right? But it was when he saw the look in your eyes and your head down that he thought about what he had just said. Saya. His ex. Your dress. He was a complete idiot. There was no way to make up for it but he just wanted to show off his detective skills. If Iwa-chan had been there he would have hit him right away and it would have been deserved. But he didn't need him for that, he was already regretting it and he was cursing himself with all the insults in his head.

"Wait babe! That's not what I meant at all! Well ... I mean who cares about her!" His voice wasn't at all steady and he was at a loss for words. He had no idea what he could say in that kind of situation. If it had been the other way around, he would have taken your words too badly and would have been insulted that you mentioned your ex's name. But he was the one who had done that, he was the one who had hurt you and he knew full well that you didn't need that. "Yet you're the one who talked about her when I ..." He was totally panicked and knew he was at fault but wouldn't let you finish your sentence. "Yes I know it's me! And I shouldn't have! It's unwelcome and very inappropriate of me! But I assure you that it is not her that I think of when I see you! Or ever actually!" He had never spoken so fast before, but that's because he knew what he had just done was terrible and he had to act quickly so you wouldn't get the wrong idea. His throat was tight and he couldn't imagine how you must be feeling. He took your hands in his and forced you to look at him. "I'm really sorry... And um... I apologize... I see you all the time, everywhere. I assure you that you are the only person in my mind! And I know it seems like I just proved the opposite, but you are the most important person to me and the one I love the most, I would never want to replace you either with a person from my past or anyone else." Tears were flowing down your cheeks simultaneously and it was almost as if you were in a romantic comedy. (Nothing very unusual with Oikawa).

When he saw that you didn't totally reject his touch he embraced you tenderly. He kept whispering excuses while he was bent over your head. "I know Tooru. " It could still be heard in your voice that you were upset, but you couldn't remain insensitive to a totally vulnerable Oikawa. You, in turn, put your arms around his waist and took a long inhale into the crook of his neck. Next week you'll laugh when you think back on it, sometimes he was completely romantic that it was worthy of one of the greatest shojos in history. But you wouldn't change your relationship for anything in the world, let alone a partner. For the moment you were just enjoying this very intimate moment. It was sure that the food you brought back was cold now, but it didn't matter.

Daichi

These days your schedule was much less busy, which allowed you to enjoy some free time. But unfortunately this was not the case for Daichi, who could not leave the police station at his leisure. It wasn't dramatic either and you organized yourself to coordinate with his work hours. You often treated yourself to a late morning, although you always managed to kiss him before he left the house. During the day you were free to do whatever you wanted and when you weren't going out with your friends you would slump on the couch to catch up on your series. Sometimes, when it was possible, you would join Daichi in the city at his lunch break and find joy in eating ramen with him in the small restaurant near his work. And finally, when the clock struck 8 p.m., announcing Daichi's arrival, you knew that the best time of the day was coming.

You liked this domestic life even if the lack of productivity was becoming noticeable and you couldn't help but get back to your office files. To make up for this lack of activity, you would dive into the kitchen and try out a lot of new recipes. You even managed to make 100% homemade cold soba when you used to buy them at the supermarket. Daichi always rewarded your efforts with his best compliments and his most beautiful smile. Tonight was no exception to this new routine and this time you had perfected your sushi, eager to get your partner's opinion.

As it was Friday, you had decided to set the cutlery on the coffee table in the living room so that you could eat comfortably and quietly in front of the TV. But it was almost 8:15 p.m. and Daichi still hadn't come through the door. At first you didn't pay too much attention to it knowing that there was a lot of traffic on the weekend, but now the clocks were pointing to 9 p.m. and he still hadn't come in. You were immediately no longer reassured and decided to call him. When after two rings you thought he was finally answering you found yourself on his voicemail. Did he decline your call? It was absolutely not in his habit and you called him back thinking that he had made a wrong manipulation. However, you were not as lucky as the first time and as soon as it started ringing you were redirected to voice mail. As you looked at your screen in shock a message from him appeared. Your fingers were faster than your mind and rushed to display the notification.

From: Hubby I'm at the bar with some colleagues, I'll be back later.

At least you were relieved but somewhat disappointed. It's true that from time to time Daichi would meet his friends and that' s a good thing, he also made time for himself. Normally he had the decency to warn you, he knew you weren't going to say anything, it wasn't your style to complain about him going out with his friends. Despite the disappointment in your heart, you didn't intend to hold it against him and you were still going to enjoy your wonderful sushi. And if you even managing to hold back from eating everything you'd let him have some. That's how you spend your evening in front of the last episodes of Nightmare in the kitchen enjoying your own culinary art.

On the stroke of 11:30 pm you recognize the sound of Daichi's car engine parked in front of the house. You were expecting him to come home later, but it suited you because it meant that you could go to bed at the same time as him. He carefully hung up his jacket and walked into the living room. His rosy cheeks were an indication of his alcohol consumption, probably in small doses since he'd been driving, and his face was adorable. He slumped down on the couch and he let out a long sigh, it must have been a long week for him.

“How was your day?” you asked him as you stroked his cheek with your thumb. When your fingers touched him he closed his eyes and began to relax.

“It was tiring, I'm exhausted.” You could hear the tiredness that had taken over his body in his voice only.

“I didn't know you were out tonight, but I left you some sushi, your favorite.”

“Aaargh Y/N.” He let a growl rise while keeping his eyes closed.

“Uhm what?”

“You didn't have to call me like that, it made the guys at the bar laugh, almost as if you were the cop!”

“Oh sorry to worry about you! I just wanted to know where you were !”

“You don't have to act like my mother, I don't need that!” He left a long puff and immediately you put some distance between the two of you.

It was quite rare for Daichi to get carried away like that and honestly you were a little upset. After waiting for him all evening and worrying about him, you probably didn't deserve such a reaction. And you knew it, that's why you didn't bother to answer and got up without saying anything; you just wanted this day to end and you hurried back to bed. Yet you couldn't help but recall what he had said. He had almost implied that you had embarrassed him by calling him in front of his co-workers. His words were still ringing in your head and you were just fidgeting in bed, it was impossible to fall asleep even with the lights off.

The sound of running water ceased and was replaced by footsteps signaling that Daichi had finished his shower and was on his way to your room. Immediately you rolled over to your side and closed your eyes. You felt him slide gently between the sheets and take place beside you.

“I know you're not sleeping”. You were surprised to hear him speak but you didn't move an inch. Even though you weren't sleeping you didn't want to talk to him at all.

“I don't want us to go to bed without fixing things.”

“No answer? Okay, I hope you are listening to me then. I'm sorry, I know you were just worried and if I were you I would have done the same thing.” You could hear the regret in his voice but it didn't change the fact that he felt embarrassed in front of others just because you called him. You turned and laid on your back with your eyes glued to the ceiling.

“Okay. But you didn't want me to call you in front of your colleagues. Are you ashamed of me?” Your tone was much colder and dryer than his which was totally understandable as you were in fact hurt.

“No babe, I would never be embarrassed to be with someone as incredible as you, it's just... I know I was going to behave like a simp after I drank to the sound of your voice... And they would never have let me down with that at the station... That doesn't excuse my behavior. But I want you to know that I love you and I would never want to hide you or for you to stop paying attention to me.” He was totally sincere at the time. It's true that it was completely dumb of him to act that way, but he didn't want you to think that he was ashamed of you or anything. Slowly you turned to his side this time and he took the opportunity to put an arm around your waist to bring you closer to him. You could smell his shower gel and his body heat. Instinctively you felt better and much more reassured until you nested your head in the crook of his neck.

“I love you.” You murmured softly and closed your eyes serenely this time. He kissed you on your forehead which made you smile and put you to sleep with butterflies in your stomach.

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