#TW: voice that seems like intrusive thoughts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yandere-daydreams · 2 years ago

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Title: Meat.

Pairing: Yandere!Ayato x Reader (Genshin).

Word count: 4.5k.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After meeting Ayato, you began to dream in red.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you still with us, love?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blue.

Dark, never-ending blue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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celestisdivinitusinsaniavero · 4 months ago

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That one time you thought Charles wasn't interested

young!Charles Xavier (Wheelchair) x f!Reader

TW: very dirty smutty telepathy? [18+ MDNI]

You lie in bed, staring at the intricate patterns on the ceiling, wishing desperately for sleep. It’s impossible. You’ve been tossing and turning for hours, the sheets tangled around you like an accusation. Why can’t you let this go? But you know why. It’s because you can’t stop replaying the evening over and over in your head, trying to decide if it was a date with Charles or not.

The restaurant was cozy and intimate, the kind of place with candlelit tables and red velvet booths. You remember how he looked across the table, his blue eyes catching the light and making your heart do somersaults. Everything about the evening felt like a date—the way he touched your hand on the table, the way he complimented your outfit, the way his smile made you feel like the only person in the room. And yet...

And yet, there was something maddeningly friendly about it all. You think of the way he talked, his voice warm and engaging, making you laugh with stories from his university days. How he managed to weave intellectual debates with flirtatious undertones. But he never crossed that line, never gave you any real indication that it was more than just a friendly dinner.

You think about the end of the evening, on your way back to your room in the mansion, his wheelchair gliding silently over the polished floors. He paused, smiled that devastating smile, and said goodnight. And that was it. No kiss, no hint of something more. Just goodnight. It left you baffled, standing there like an idiot in the hallway.

Maybe you misread everything. Maybe you wanted it to be a date so badly that you imagined the connection. You were so sure he liked you, the way he always seemed to find reasons to spend time together, the way his eyes lingered just a little too long. But now you’re not so sure. You might have built it all up in your head.

You roll over, punching the pillow in frustration. It’s annoying. He’s annoying. Why can’t he just be clear about what he wants? You felt so certain tonight, convinced that he’d make a move, that he’d finally show you that this was more than just friendship. But as the dinner stretched on, you started to realize that maybe he doesn’t see you that way at all. The thought gnaws at you.

And now here you are, alone in the dark, feeling foolish and sad. The mansion is quiet, the only sound the rustling of the sheets as you shift. You sigh, trying to push the thoughts away, but they cling.

You’re wrong. The words echo in your mind, startling you so much that you bolt upright in bed. There’s no mistaking that voice, its familiar warmth and playful tone.

Charles. You glance around the room, half expecting to see him there, but of course, he’s not. He’s speaking to you telepathically, and you feel a rush of emotions—surprise, hope, and then a sharp flare of anger. How long has he been listening?

Get out of my head, Charles. You practically shout in your head, accusing him of listening in. There’s a pause, and you can almost picture his amused expression before he responds, apologizing for the intrusion.

Apologies, darling. I didn’t want to pry. You don’t buy it for a second, and he chuckles, the sound echoing through your mind.

You see in your mind how he leans back in his chair, folding his hands nervously in his lap. I haven't dated in years, he admits, his voice tinged with a mix of embarrassment and sincerity.

Not since before … the accident. He lets out a small, awkward chuckle.

I'm out of practice. I wanted to do it right, you know? Without relying on my telepathy to read your mind. He sounds so vulnerable.

But I never did that before, and I felt… insecure. You cross your arms.

You? insecure? you retort in your mind, skepticism lacing your words.

You felt him shifting nervously.

When I was younger, he confesses, I used my telepathy to figure out the perfect moment to make a move. His voice was tinged with regret and he pauses waiting for your reaction but continues when you stay silent. I realize now that was wrong, and I didn't want to repeat that mistake with you. I wanted everything to be perfect, he continued, but it just made me so self-conscious that I froze and didn't make a move at all. His earnest tone hung in your head, but despite his sincerity, a prickle of irritation remained, tightening your chest.

His words are earnest, and you want to believe him.

"Why are you in my head now?" you demand out lout, your voice tinged with frustration. "If you know it’s wrong."

There's a pause.

You’re about to repeat the question, thinking he’s ignoring you, when you sense something else, a shift in his demeanor.

You feel it then, a ghostly sensation brushing against your arm. It’s soft at first, like the lightest touch of a hand, and it travels slowly up to your neck. You shiver and it makes your skin tingle and your heart race. You know it’s him, using his telepathy in a way you’ve never experienced before, trying to avoid to answer your question, and it’s working.

The feeling is so real, so immediate, that you can’t help the goosebumps that rise along your skin. You lie back on the bed, letting the sensation wash over you, every nerve alive with excitement. Charles’s voice is in your mind again, amused and tender, You like that. You can barely think straight, but you manage to send back a breathless Yes.

He admits, I've been doing this for weeks now, listening to your dreams before I go to sleep. It's become my nightly ritual, I couldn’t stop myself.

The confession makes you blush furiously, and you respond, I don’t know if I like that.

He chuckles softly, I know.

You gather the courage and ask, Did you listen even when I… you know? There's a moment of silence. Then his voice returns, warm and unashamed.

I did, he admits, always wishing I could be there to touch you myself.

His honesty takes your breath away, and you’re caught between feeling exposed and incredibly turned on. You didn’t expect this, this boldness from him after the way he acted tonight.

The telepathic touch grows more insistent, more daring, and you arch into it, craving more. You feel him trail down your neck, ghosting over your collarbone, leaving a path of fire in its wake. You can hardly stand it, the delicious tension building inside you, the intimacy of knowing it’s Charles, that he’s finally showing you how much he wants you.

Can you feel it? Charles's voice echoe in your mind, his telepathic presence growing stronger and more insistent. If I were there, if I weren't … like this, I'd show you exactly what I want. I'd start with your lips, he continues, tasting you until you couldn't think of anything else but me. The sensations accompany his words and your lips tingle, making you gasp.

You feel the ghost of his kisses trailing down your neck, and you arch into the sensation. I've never felt anything like this, you whisper telepathically, losing yourself in him. I didn’t know you could do this.

Charles's telepathic touch shifts to your breasts, and you moan.

Feel that? Those are bites on your beautiful breasts, he teases, his voice low and intimate. I'd suck and tease those pretty peaks, leave you breathless and begging for more.

Beneath your nightshirt, you feel a surge of sensation as your nipples harden with an intensity that almost stings, straining against the fabric, demanding attention. You can’t help but touch them with your fingertips.

You pant. "Charles, please,” you murmur, but he wasn't finished.

Maybe I'll ask Hank for the serum again and when I have my body back I can fuck you like you want me to, he told you, his words bold and raw.

Your face turns red as he throws your own fantasies back at you. "Charles," you breathed, overwhelmed but craving more.

The sensations grow more intense, more consuming, and you feel telepathically compelled to raise your arms above your head. You let him, let the invisible restraints hold you in place, trusting him completely. You feel pressure on your throat then, as if a hand is wrapped around it, and the thrill of it nearly sends you over the edge.

He’s dominating you with his mind, with his power, and he asks if you still think he doesn’t want you.

Do you still think I don't want you? The question was playful, yet carried an edge of challenge.

Phantom sensations grip your core, switching between relentless, tantalizing strokes on your clit and bold lashes that circled with purpose. You feel something tighting inside you, each touch igniting a fire of need and desire, leaving you breathless and craving more with every ghostly caress.

Well? He asks again.

But you can’t answer, can’t form words, only moan as the pleasure built and built, bringing you ever closer to that exquisite peak.

When you finally climax, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. You see stars, bright and dazzling, and Charles’s smirking face in your mind, as if he’s right there with you. You’re breathless, floating.

As you calm down, your thoughts are a mixture of orgasmic bliss and irritation. It takes awhile but when you trust your voice again, you need to say it.

You know, you say gently, we could talk about how you feel about the wheelchair. I bet we could have fun without the serum, withouth mindblowing telepathic sex. Your voice is sincere, filled with genuine care. I just want you to know that I like you, just the way you are.

He pauses, and for a moment, you worry that your words have pushed him away. But then he speaks, his voice soft. I hope that one day I'll find the courage, he admits, but until then, let’s try to perfect this method, huh?

His promise makes you tingle again, and you can't help but smile.

#charles xavier #charles xavier imagine #charles xavier x reader #x men apocalypse #professor x #x men #james mcavoy

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gigiszn · 5 months ago

Note

saw u asking for different shows to write abt and if you like squid games i’d love ANYTHING abt player 388🥰 kang dae-ho ml

FOREVER — kang dae ho x fem!reader.

tw: idk if there is any, mentions of debt, mentions of pregnancy, a kiss

FLUFF!

wc: 2.3k

ask and you shall receive! heres a fluff on kang dae-ho, a turn from what i usually write lol! request for any show and any character! i write fluff, smut, angst, etc. :)

۫ ꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ

The moment you discovered her pregnancy after the first game, a primal instinct surged through you—sisterly protection, fierce and unwavering. She reminded you of your own sister back home—quiet, yet impulsive, and always acting without thinking. In that, you felt an overwhelming need to protect her the way you would your own blood.

But it was more than that. The man who had impregnated her, the crypto scammer, lingered in the back of your mind. You couldn’t forget that he, too, was in the game. The weight of your circumstances hit you all over again—the crushing debt, the loan sharks breathing down your neck, the money you borrowed to send your sister to school, to keep food on the table, all while you had no means of repayment. The reason you were in this game, a nightmare you hadn't asked for, was in part because of him.

And yet, as much as your mind raged, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him—not when you, too, were desperate. Not when you, too, were fighting just to survive.

So you stayed by Jun-hee’s side as she stubbornly refused to join Myung-gi’s team, even though his group was probably the safest option. Safety didn’t matter when it came to her. Not now.

You walked the room together, rejection after rejection from every team you approached. The ticking clock was an ever-present reminder of how little time you had. Doubt gnawed at you, an icy presence. Hope was slipping away, like water through your fingers.

Then, a voice broke through the haze of your thoughts.

“Do you... need a group?”

You turned, startled, and saw a group of three men standing just behind you. The one who had spoken seemed almost nervous, his voice shaking slightly, as if asking felt like an intrusion. But there was something in his eyes, something hesitant but sincere.

You glanced at his companions—two men who looked just as cautious. One of them, a wild-eyed figure, looked as if he might burst at any moment. He had the air of someone who had lived through madness before, someone whose grip on reality was tenuous at best. You, like everyone else, had assumed he was crazy, his mind lost in withdrawal from the lack of drugs in his system.

But in that instant, you didn’t have the luxury to second-guess. There was no time to analyze the situation or consider the risks. The clock was ticking down, the seconds slipping by like sand through an hourglass.

You bit your lip, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, with a tight breath, you nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

The two other men, though clearly wary, shared the same understanding. There was no choice. You had to make it through the next round, together.

The game blurred into a haze of frantic movements, strategy, and quick reflexes. You barely remembered the moments between each challenge, each game feeling like a blur of adrenaline and fear. For a brief moment, you stumbled in the jegi game, your foot missing the ball—but somehow, with a burst of luck and panic-fueled desperation, you made it through.

When dinner time arrived, the weight of exhaustion settled on you. You found a quiet corner with the rest of your group, trying to make yourself small and invisible as you huddled together with your new team. A man named Young-il joined you, his eyes fixed on Gi-hun with an almost religious intensity. You couldn’t quite understand the fascination, but there was something about Gi-hun—his calm demeanor, his quiet strength—that seemed to draw people in.

You handed Jun-hee your drink and half of your food, your heart heavy with concern.

“You’re eating for two,” you said, pressing the plate into her hands, despite the reluctant frown she gave. “You need a second meal.”

Her protest was immediate, but you only shook your head, ignoring her discomfort. You couldn't bear the thought of her going hungry—not now, not when she was carrying so much more than herself. Even if she resisted, you had made your choice. And if you had to fight the whole world to keep her safe, you would.

The others followed suit, and you couldn’t help but smile at their quiet initiative. Their willingness to stick together, despite the madness around them, felt like a small spark of hope in the midst of all the darkness.

But before you could indulge in the rare moment of peace, a tap on your shoulder broke the spell. You turned, and there was Dae-ho, his eyes carrying a weight of something you couldn’t quite name—longing, maybe? Admiration? He extended the last half of his food toward you, a silent offering.

"Oh, I couldn’t," you said, shaking your head and gently pushing the food back toward him, placing it in his lap.

"No man should ever let a woman go hungry," Dae-ho said firmly, his words simple yet filled with something tender that made your stomach twist uncomfortably. His voice was steady, but there was a softness there that made your heart beat a little faster.

You offered him a gentle smile, your fingers brushing the side of his hand as you took the half-split food. Without another word, you broke it into two pieces and handed him one. It was a small gesture, but it felt monumental in the suffocating silence that surrounded you.

You ate in quiet company, the weight of the game pressing down on each of you in different ways. As the minutes slipped by, you noticed how your body seemed to inch toward Dae-ho, as though the space between you two had silently shrunk. There was a warmth in his presence, something comforting amidst all the chaos.

The night was thick with silence, the occasional sound of heavy breaths or the muffled snores of the others filling the otherwise still air. Sleep was evasive. You lay awake, the anxiety of the next game gnawing at you, a constant buzz in your mind. It was like trying to guess the next wave of disaster, only to have it keep you from ever truly resting.

"Can’t sleep either?" A voice whispered from the bed to your left, low and soft.

You jumped, your heart racing as you instinctively slapped a hand to your chest. "Gosh, Dae-ho, don’t scare me like that," you sighed, the words half-teasing, half-serious.

He gave an apologetic grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement even in the dim light. Then, raising an eyebrow toward your bed, he gestured to the space next to you. You nodded, the corner of your lips curling into a small smile as you scooched over to make room. Without another word, he climbed down from his ladder, then up to yours, settling beside you with quiet grace.

You both sat in the dark, knees drawn to your chest, your backs leaning against the cold, unforgiving brick wall. You felt lucky to have a bed at the back of the bunks—it offered the illusion of safety, a small semblance of control in a world that had none.

“I have a sister,” you murmured, your voice softer than usual, almost as if you were telling a secret. "She’s 18."

Dae-ho nodded, his gaze drifting down to the worn-out uniform issued shoes he was still wearing. “I have sisters too. Four of them. All older than me. That’s why my dad made me join the Marines. Wanted me to... ‘toughen up,’ I suppose.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind where words weren’t always necessary. The sound of your breaths seemed to echo louder than usual, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was shared, almost intimate.

Slowly, your knee brushed against his. You paused, waiting for a shift, a moment of awkwardness. But it never came. Instead, his shoulder gently brushed yours, and the small, simple connection felt like a quiet promise. Your head tilted slightly, resting on his shoulder. You felt the tension leave his body, felt him relax just a fraction as his hand came to rest lightly on your knee.

"I... wish we could stay like this," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You smiled, the softest of sounds escaping your lips as you nodded, your forehead resting against him for just a moment longer. “Forever.”

He repeated the word softly, a quiet reverence in his voice. “Forever.”

You noticed then, in the stillness, that his finger had started to tap gently against your knee, the rhythm slow but deliberate. A subtle pattern. You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. "Is that... morse code?"

His movements stilled instantly, and when he turned to look at you, there was a flicker of something you couldn’t place—a hint of nervousness, maybe even fear.

"Do... do you know morse code?" he asked, his voice suddenly smaller, like he was worried you might somehow decipher it.

You glanced at him, then back at his hand. The simple, almost childish rhythm of the taps seemed so out of place, yet so perfectly in sync with the quiet moments you shared.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his words, before a teasing smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "No," you said, your voice soft but jovial. "Why?"

He looked down for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he were weighing his next words carefully. Then, with a soft exhale, he stared at your knee, his finger resuming its rhythm.

“I,” he began again, tapping the first letter with deliberate slowness, “love,” he continued, each tap resonating against your skin like a heartbeat.

You could feel the weight of each letter as it sank into you, each tap bringing you closer to an unspoken truth. He paused, his fingers lingering for a moment before finishing the final word, and you already knew—knew what he was saying before the last tap even landed.

In this place, bonds were formed quickly, forged under pressure, either becoming unbreakable or twisted into something dark and dangerous. But this... this bond, you could already sense, was different.

You took a deep breath and, with a steady hand, completed the final sequence of taps on his knee. The air around you seemed to hold its breath as you finished, your finger resting softly against his skin.

His gaze was fixed on you, his mouth slightly parted, waiting for your response. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you looked into his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you felt far away. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and despite everything, you allowed it to settle into place.

"You."

You move closer, each subtle shift in position drawing you nearer, the air between you thick with anticipation. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, then back to his gaze, the unspoken tension palpable as your breaths mingle in the silence.

With every inch you close, the world around you seems to fall away, leaving only the soft beat of your hearts, echoing the unacknowledged yearning between you. His lips brush lightly against yours, the contact so delicate it almost feels like a dream, a teasing promise that hangs just out of reach.

You hover there, the barest touch igniting a fire you didn’t expect, as if the very act of waiting, of drawing this moment out, makes it all the more meaningful. Finally, with a quiet exhale, you close the distance, your lips pressing against his in a slow, deliberate kiss. It isn’t rushed, but filled with intention—a tenderness that speaks of everything you’ve yet to say.

The kiss deepens, slow and unhurried, each movement charged with a quiet intensity, as if your souls are speaking through the press of your lips, exchanging words you don’t need to say aloud. In that kiss, time seems to stretch, each second more profound than the last, a connection that is as much about the pause as it is about the embrace.

You slowly pull away, the warmth of the moment still lingering on your lips, but the quiet space between you now feels just as intimate. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, as if he’s trying to hold onto the softness of what just passed, before you gently settle back, your head finding its place once more on his shoulder.

You can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek, the solid presence of him grounding you in a way nothing else can. The tension in your body begins to melt, replaced by a sense of calm you hadn’t realized you were missing. You let out a soft sigh, the weight of everything you’ve been holding onto slipping away.

“Yeah, forever,” you whisper, the words feeling like a promise, a quiet certainty that somehow fills all the empty spaces in between.

He chuckles softly, the sound like a soft breath of relief, and you can hear the smile in his voice as it washes over you. The sound pulls a faint smile from your own lips as you close your eyes, and for a moment, there’s nothing left to do but just be.

The world around you seems to fade, the worries, the fears, the uncertainties, all slipping away with each steady breath you take. You both close your eyes, drifting back into the comforting quiet of sleep, the closeness between you settling into something deeper than you can quite explain.

The unsureness that had clouded your mind before feels distant now, replaced by a quiet peace that only he could bring. As long as you have each other, nothing else matters. In the soft cocoon of his arms, you let yourself fall into the safety of the moment, the weight of the world no longer pressing down on you.

You fall asleep with a heart full of quiet certainty, knowing you’re not alone in this, that the world can wait, as long as you have him by your side.

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silverflqmes · 10 months ago

Text

໒⦂ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄.

synopsis. in which a ménage a trois is had with the savior of the planet — otherwise, your boyfriend, and the calamity personified.

genre. nsfw

tw. threesome, sefikura ( yes, you read that correctly. so if you are not comfortable with the pairing, just click off now cuz this isn’t for you ), penetration ( vaginal for the reader, anal for cloud ), praise, edging, rough sex, virginity loss, false sympathy, choking, bottom-ish cloud ( if you’re uncomfy, again just leave pls. ), overstimulation, corruption.

disclaimer. uncomfortable with smut or younger than 17? please dni.

notes. tysm for 500 followers guys! it’s a little unreal to me still since i was only at 200 or smtn before writing for ff7 so like😭 yeah.. anyway, take this in return, aka me going completely out of what i normally do and giving into intrusive thoughts because some of you guys miraculously agreed with my 2am ideas..

sephiroth x cloud strife x fem!reader.

“good, cloud..” sephiroth whispered into the shell of his killer’s ear, nuzzling into the blond, unruly locks that tickled his skin. “very good.. her wails for release are most pleasant, aren’t they?”

said male’s hips stuttered like his uneven breathing had at the praise, nearly spilling his load right then and there into your ever-welcoming heat.

gaia, he hated how much of a sucker he was for such, it was humiliatingly weakening, especially when it came from him.. but he couldn’t let go just yet. not with the series of explicit instructions he’d received beforehand.

instructions that echoed in the all-too-familiar velvety voice throughout the confines of his mind. hardly any different from every other time it spoke, had it not been for that sultry undertone this time around.

a timbre that was slowly beginning to get to the self proclaimed ex-SOLDIER. in more ways than one, he feared. "s-shut up!” he spat despite the betraying rouge coloring his freckled skin. “i know what i'm doing. i don’t..” a hitch. “need you to tell me shit.." he breathed out, watching through half-lidded eyes as your head lolled back into the pillow, grabbing fistfuls of cotton while you waited for release, too.

..because sephiroth said not yet.

cloud didn’t know how, nor did he want to know how, but the highly anticipated first time sex he was blindly walking into seemed.. to have invited a rather unexpected visitor to teach him a lesson on pleasure. a phantom guest, as one might say, who just so happened to have the potential to destroy the planet at any given chance.

otherwise, his greatest nemesis.

a nemesis that was now demonstrating on him how to fuck his beloved girlfriend, rather than ending her very life.

and what was your take on your boyfriend quite literally being made into a canvas?

“f-faster, please, cloud!”

well, it's not everyday you lose your virginity to the savior and threat of the planet all at the same time. it felt like a crime to refuse something so delectable.

so who were you to say no? a little risk and tension added that perfect kick to the whole experience. the cherry on top, and you were ready to savor it.

the planet would be fine, surely. gaia and jenova could hold their tongues for an hour or few.

tilting his head, the bringer of calamity offered a small smirk. "do you, now? your beloved seems to have a plea.. she might want to share how close she is..” came his hushed observation, paired with a particularly harsh jerk of hips into his rival’s rear. “how in need she is of finally letting that coil snap within her.." he added fondly, pleased with the choked gasp that entered his ears as his eyes caught your hazy stare. "isn't that right, y/n?"

a soft whimper was all that was able to leave your lips because it was true. besides, what could you say with an orgasm so close, yet so far away, anyway?

aside from cries for mercy, of course.

"'m really close..” you mustered after a few sharp intakes of air, shaking your head weakly. “c-can't hold on for much longer, though." you added quietly, fighting the urge to cave at the sight of those mischief glinted jades. part of you wondered how cloud was able to even resist the owner while being given that kind of look in battle. you’d probably throw in your weapon right then and there while waving that tiny white flag seen in old cartoons.

perhaps cloud was simply just.. used to it.

although, that didn't mean he didn't hesitate from time to time.

"poor thing.." sephiroth acknowledged in a soft coo, trailing a hand down your thigh in a feather-light manner that elicited shivers. even amidst the sweltering heat. "while i did say to hold out, i have reason to believe it will be more fun to take your rightful release from cloud.. he looks to be faltering by the second." he prompted lightly, holding your gaze whilst his lips traveled down the jugular of his rival to the curve of his shoulder. “perhaps you’ll fix that, hm?”

and as if to confirm his statement, the former hero dragged himself out completely before sheathing the blond again to the hilt. once more in that same, abrupt manner that now had a symphony of noises tumbling free of suppression from his lips.

each one more erotic than the last, somehow. so very lewd, as you’d never heard such pitiful sounds spill from your boyfriend's mouth.. but undeniably pleasing to the ears. a mellifluous string of gasps and moans you weren’t even aware he could produce. and sephiroth was pulling them out like it was just another tuesday.

no wonder he had wanted to hear cloud so badly during their fights.

spurred on by sheer fervor and curiosity, you found yourself feeding into the one winged angel’s suggestion, "how exactly would i.. ngh- be able to do t-that..?"

mako tinted emeralds sparked with intrigue. “oh, it’s quite simple, really-”

"s-sephiroth!" cloud cut through another groan, glowering warningly at his foe like an offended kitten. it was more adorable than it was intimidating, as were all the other glares thrown his way. maybe on the battlefield and with more clothes on, it might have been taken more seriously.

here, however?

it only earned him a snort.

the villain in question simply couldn’t be bothered by such, not with that contradicting flush adorning his killer’s cheeks. just who did he think he was fooling when his body evidently betrayed his words?

"hush now, cloud." sephiroth ordered softly, tapping his sunkissed throat with two leather clad fingers. daringly. "your manners are lacking considerably. y/n here has asked me a question, it is rude to interrupt your own significant other.” he reprimanded smartly, giving the lightest squeeze — which was apparently still fatal enough if that was in fact a whine that entered his all-hearing ears.

cute.

but not convincing enough. “you'll just have to wait your turn." the former general finished in his ear, nipping down on the cartilage before shifting his eyes back to your flustered self. "now then, where were we? ah, yes.” he chuckled, patting down on cloud’s thigh. “climb onto your lover’s lap."

“climb onto his..” heat rushed to your cheeks almost instantly at the suggestion.

truthfully, it wasn't like you hadn't done that before, but seeing the pathetic state your boyfriend had been in now.. that quivering, whiny mess. you could only imagine just how far sephiroth was willing to go.

apparently, all the way.

his sapphire hues were practically glimmering with tears already from the simulation he was both giving and receiving. all he needed was to be ridden to come completely undone.

you swallowed unconsciously.

so this was the villain you were told of.

honestly, he was hotter than he was annoying or endangering, or however way cloud had described him.

although tempting, incredibly tempting.

that part of you that wanted to go easy on your partner and stay in the position you were in was practically swallowed up by the malicious glint in the calamity incarnate’s eyes. it pitifully won the favor of your other half with ease, coaxing you into sweet, delectable oblivion.

one that became increasingly difficult to withstand.

shuddering at the tremble in your legs, you pushed yourself up despite the burning sensation in your thighs, letting out a strained exhale at the stretch it caused. “sorry cloud..”

a stuttered noise left the blond's lips as he reclined against his enemy's front, rolling his head back against the plush, yet firm chest behind him. were pectorals meant to feel so cozy? or was it simply his fogged up mind?

regardless, the smirk on sephiroth’s rosewood lips seemed to grow at the nuzzle of gold fluff on his bared skin, and furthermore at your willingness. it was.. amusing, to say the least.

cloud, as it turned, was even more delightful up close. pink dusted skin, furrowed brows, watery eyes — truly a sight.

unable to hold yourself back, you brought your lips together for a chaste kiss, mewling into his mouth at the alarmed buck his lower half gave. it was sudden, without calculation, risky, and divine all at once; enough to remind you of your impending climax. but that, again, could wait.

it had to.

warmth brushed and enveloped your tongue, imploring you to suck down on it, which you eagerly did, peppermint flooding your senses. was toothpaste meant to taste this good?

breaking away, if only to keep yourself from diving right back in with the intent of never breathing again, you were allowed a second of air, and only a second.. before your appendages were claimed by a second pair.

and fuck.. they were as soft as they looked from afar. frigid, yet strangely passionate for the nemesis your lover had described him to be. your mind dared to call it delicate.. until it wasn’t. gentle seconds became half a feverish minute as your eyes fluttered shut, allowing yourself to melt to his flame completely.

icarus flew too close to the sun, well you flew right for the caller of meteor, and clung even as your feathers became ash. uncaring of the way he seared your lips with sin, liquid silver tickling your cheeks like a sheen of mercury.

sadly, your lungs did care.

before any worries of your life quite possibly being stolen and swallowed up by the darkness personified, his lips were torn from yours.. and roughly reclaimed by none other than your boyfriend’s.

it took longer than necessary to register the exchange, with you utterly enraptured by the sight of cloud so.. bothered and lustful, as opposed to his usual composed and indifferent self.

meanwhile sephiroth reciprocated the kiss in full, chuckling at the taste of his own ichor spilled across his bottom lip as his adversary drank like a mortal parched. in return, he gave his tongue a sudden nip, musing at the quiet hiss that allowed him a metallic flavored sample of his own. fair was fair, after all.

in his opinion, anyway.

a knowing look amidst the violent lip lock was your cue to regather yourself, bringing your clammy hands to the curves of the former merc’s shoulders. no going back now.

slowly, your hips lifted just slightly, never missing the twitch against your insides as you lowered them at that same pace with a sigh.

the moan that tore through cloud’s throat was pleasant — encouraging. it beseeched you to repeat your ministrations; faster, sloppier- if only to hear and feel more of your beloved.

sephiroth was no stranger and rolled his own front against the man his life became so intimately intertwined with, devouring every sound that entered his greedy mouth. “such a good boy..” he whispered after detaching from his crimson stained lips, nuzzling into the other’s neck. “taking us so well..”

“f-fuck, haaaahhh~ can’t-!” cloud gasped out, arching pathetically against the toned body behind him. “can’t..!!”

a curious brow lifted. “can’t what, cloud?” the silver haired male hummed out, flitting his eyes to yours. “ask him to reiterate, won’t you, y/n?”

vision blurred, you peered over at your partner through blurry eyes, barely able to hold even yourself together. the words came out somehow anyway, albeit spluttered. “s-say it clearer, cloud — fuck!” you cursed, throwing your head back. “please..!!”

and that was the final straw. as though in slow motion, the ex-SOLDIER gave a finishing thrust before a rush of warmth enveloped his cock, trickling between the mixture of limbs like liquid ivory.

it didn’t stop there, however, as a chorus of pants joined the no longer withdrawn whines of your lover. meanwhile his enemy nailed his prostate with acute precision several more times before meeting his own climax.

sephiroth gave the smile of a feline satisfied with its work. cloud completely undone alongside his lover and the most satisfying of cries to fill his ears? it wasn’t the same as bringing the planet to its knees and under his rule, but the outcome was just as euphoric.

if not more, certainly at the sight of the his seed trickling out of the bruised hole of his dearest adversary. part of him was almost tempted to fuck right it back into him, but the night was young. time was bountiful.

especially for punishment. “mm.. that reply was no good..” the former first commented softly, tilting his head after a contemplative hum before allowing a smile to cross his lips. “but, not to worry.” he chuckled when the blond looked up at him like a deer in headlights, caressing his cheek ever so gently. “y/n and i shall keep going until you get it right, won’t we, y/n?”

willing your eyes to open, you glanced between the pair before falling back against the pillow, staring unblinkingly. “i’m calling in sick tomorrow..”

notes. my bad y’all this.. required a lot of brainpower as expected</3 but i hope it’s somewhat ok! i’ve been hella swamped w moving and orientation, so i’m a bit late on releasing this for the 500 followers gift.. but yeah! tysm again for your support<3

tag list. @demial4 , @rottingiron , @shibarinu0000 && ofc 🎐 anon if you see this<3

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

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dreamwavesexploringreality · 9 months ago

Text

TOGETHER

Requested: Chishiya post-Borderlands, taking care of a depressed wife

Chishiya x reader Post-Borderlands.

TW: Mention of depression, mental health symptoms, apathy, emotional detachment, intrusive thoughts, anxiety, reference to past trauma, social isolation, lack of appetite.

A few weeks had passed since her return to the real world.

“The real world,” Y/N thought repeatedly while lying in bed. “Is this really real?” Since her return to routine, Y/N felt as if she was walking unsteadily on a fragile sheet of ice that might crack at any moment. To anyone, it might seem that all that time in Borderlands had been nothing more than a very vivid dream. It was something she couldn’t explain to anyone and, even if she wanted to, the words didn’t seem real in her own language; it felt as if she were speaking another language every time she tried to give verbal form to everything that had happened. That’s why she chose to remain silent; it was easier and much more comfortable than starting a pointless babble that would lead nowhere.

On the other hand, Y/N had always been fascinated by the way her husband handled things. She had seen him calm and stoic in life-or-death situations, and now, back in the real world, nothing had changed. Chishiya was still the same as always, as if nothing had happened in the past days, weeks, months… As if they hadn’t been on the brink of death repeatedly, hadn’t witnessed bloody massacres and losses. “How does he do it?” she wondered.

So the hours passed, and the days drew to dusk, and she remained there, motionless in her bed, staring at a fixed point on the wall until her husband came home from work.

“Have you been lying there all day?” A voice jolted her from her daydream, making her startle. She didn’t like being caught off guard. “Side effects of Borderlands,” she thought.

Y/N nodded as she watched her husband undo his tie.

“Have you eaten?” Chishiya asked again.

Y/N shook her head. She hadn’t eaten, but Chishiya already knew that. Every morning, he would get up early, leaving his wife asleep, and prepare breakfast for both of them. He would leave with his coffee in hand and place another steaming cup on the table, and, as usual, Chishiya would return from work to find the cup exactly where he had left it, with all its contents untouched.

Chishiya never mentioned it to Y/N, hoping that if she got out of bed and found the cup as a surprise, it might motivate her to start a new day. But the days passed, and none seemed new to her. Chishiya would arrive, see the full cup, discard its contents, and slowly head to his room to find her once more lost in staring at a fixed point on the wall, absorbed in her thoughts, dead to the world.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Chishiya said as he rummaged through his work bag. He pulled out a few neatly folded papers and placed them on the bed before heading to the bathroom without looking back at the girl lying there. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but it hurt him. It hurt him deeply to see her like this, to see the once joyful, active, and lively girl slowly fading away, and he feared never being able to bring her back, losing her, and not having done enough to prevent it.

When Y/N heard the bathroom door close, she turned her gaze to the carefully folded papers on the bed. She knew her husband well enough to understand he hadn’t left them by accident. She reached out and picked them up, feeling their smooth and delicate texture. She unfolded them with reluctance, something trivial to any other person but monumental to her. As she laid the pages flat on her lap, she read the first line carefully: “Clinical Assessment of Depression Symptoms.” Y/N held the paper with both hands while her eyes raced to understand the document. It was written in medical jargon, something she would have asked Chishiya about under different circumstances, and he, with feigned annoyance, would have explained. But this time, her husband had left the papers there for her; she had to decipher the message, and it wasn’t too difficult.

Inside the bathroom, the water stopped running, and Y/N knew Chishiya would emerge any moment. For some inexplicable reason, she felt embarrassed that her husband might catch her with the papers in hand, so she folded them again and placed them back on the bed.

As expected, Chishiya took no more than 3 minutes to come out, and when he did, he cast a fleeting glance at the papers, which, judging by their placement, had been read.

“We don’t have food at home. I’m going to the supermarket in 10 minutes if you want to come,” the man said without looking at her, while rummaging through the closet for something to wear.

Y/N had been with Chishiya long enough to know that every word he spoke was meticulously considered and calculated, so it wasn’t hard for her to recall the text she had just read: “It is proven that walking at least 20 minutes a day improves mental health.” A sigh escaped her lips. The last thing she wanted at that moment was to get out of bed and get ready to go out, and when she was about to refuse, as she had every other time, an alarm seemed to go off in her mind, an alarm she had silenced for a long time that was now screaming for fresh air.

With no strength to respond and feeling unconvinced, Y/N nodded.

Chishiya had to wait on the sofa for more than 10 minutes before leaving the house, but he did so with a faint smile. He could be a cold and calculating man, but it was undeniable that he cared for her, even if he didn’t know how to show it, or did so in his own way.

When Y/N was ready, the man looked her up and down, hoping to see the familiar spark in her eyes. It wasn’t there. He still saw her lost gaze and pale complexion, and his heart ached seeing her look toward the door with distrust. Chishiya opened it with a loud creak that made the girl flinch. A flood of stimuli began to invade the house: the streetlights, the squeal of car wheels, a distant horn, and the chatter of people on the street. Y/N had grown accustomed to the absolute stillness of her dormant mind, and at that moment, the noise was overwhelming, so overpowering that the part of her brain demanding fresh air seemed to shut down, and she saw no reason to leave the comfort of her space. Her indecision must have been glaringly obvious, as all alarms went off in Chishiya’s mind, who remained calm by the door. Without a word, the man extended his arm toward the trembling, pale, and apathetic figure that was his wife. Y/N fixed her gaze on his open hand, and for a moment, the idea of touching Chishiya seemed appealing, letting a wave of nostalgia wash over her. That brief moment was enough for her to reach out and entwine her fingers with his, like a small child afraid to cross the street, and a shiver ran down her spine at the long-forgotten familiar touch.

Neither spoke as they crossed the threshold and Chishiya closed the door behind them. A bitter sensation lodged itself in the girl’s throat as she felt the door seal behind her, and the street she had known for years suddenly seemed more intimidating than ever, with the tall buildings towering over her, threatening to collapse at any moment, cars speeding away, and passersby moving briskly in all directions. For a moment, she remembered it all. All of it. And she felt her heart pound fiercely in her chest, and her eyes moisten with tears that threatened to spill at any moment. Her breathing caught in her throat, and the world seemed to close in around her.

Suddenly, a brief but strong squeeze of her hand pulled her out of her trance. Still breathing heavily, heart racing, and eyes full of tears, she looked at her husband. Chishiya was looking at her with calm resolve, as calm as he could be while his brain screamed at him to hug her and take her back to the comfort of her bed, but he was a doctor and understood clinically and analytically the chemical reactions occurring in his wife’s brain, plunging her into the deepest darkness. Summoning his courage, the man donned a serene, impassive, and even mask to hide his fears and worries, and with one last squeeze of her hand, a thousand unspoken words echoing behind, they both set out on their journey. Together.

---

Hey everyone! 🌟 I hope you enjoyed reading this story! 😊 I really put my heart into capturing Chishiya’s character and how he might support his wife through her depression after Borderlands.

It’s kind of heartwarming to imagine him being a steady rock when things get tough, don’t you think? 💖✨

#aib x reader #alice in borderland #niragi suguru #aib #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x reader #fanfic #ao3 #arisu ryohei #kuina hikari

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jeonginsleftcheek · 9 months ago

Text

The sun to me

Chapter II. Water drop.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

word count: 5.1k

chapter summary: you could say that destiny always has a way of bringing together the souls that need each other. hyunjin meets not one but two people who will change his life for good.

warnings: tw for brief and vague mention of depression and suicide

~ Masterlist for the series

~ next part

🤍 Snowdrop - hope and the ability to overcome challenges.

Deep breath in.

Hyunjin feels like his lungs are expanding, like a flower opening up its petals to receive the warmth of the sun.

It takes him a few seconds to even register the sounds of people who were aboard the ship with him, laughing, talking, walking further away from the pier.

Someone walks towards him and for a brief moment his chest constricts as he waits to be questioned, bothered and ogled at but the man passes him by, saying hello to one of the crew members.

Hyunjin exhales and starts walking towards the road, he needs to track down the location of the room he barely managed to find on the internet.

It was a hassle, getting to the owner of the little apartment, since it wasn't summer yet and the tourists haven't even started arriving. Not that many people even come to this island, which is exactly why Hyunjin chose to hide away on it.

He knows, hopes, no one here has heard about him. He hopes he can just be a regular guy and go about his day, reset his body and his mind.

Fishing out his phone out of his pocket as he stops walking, he frowns immediately upon seeing it blowing up with messages.

Good thing he put it on silent or he might've just let his intrusive thoughts win and chucked the godforsaken device right into the sea.

Hyunjin ignores all the little bubbles and notifications, opting to just find the address on google again.

The island is so small, so unknown, so irrelevant that even after finding the address information, it seems that gps has trouble finding him on the map.

It's like he literally fell off the face of Earth and for some reason, that brings him relief.

He stuffs his phone back in his pocket, he's gonna have to find someone to ask for directions.

He looks around, noticing everyone cleared away from the pier so he just follows the first street down.

It's eerily quiet, even on such a sunny, lively day, the sound of his suitcase being dragged breaking the beautiful peace of the island. All the houses are adorned with flower pots on their windows and balconies, colorful gardens inviting you in, mesmerizing like a flower is to a bee.

Hyunjin hopes he can find some kind of shop or cafe or anything with people in it, but all he comes across are a few cats sitting on a low roof and staring at him menacingly, as if asking 'what the hell are you doing here'.

He sighs in frustration, thinking he'll actually have to knock on someone's door and disturb their Friday afternoon peace.

Just when he's mentally prepared himself to knock on a stranger's door and potentially have them yell at him, his eyes light up.

There, on the corner, is a little flower shop like an oasis in a desert, promising safety and aid. Hyunjin speeds up towards it, the suitcase almost flipping behind him as it bumps against the uneven and cracked sidewalk.

It's time for your lunch break, the old clock on the wall reminds you together with your stomach, growling embarassingly loudly.

You're behind the counter, about to grab your bag and keys, when you hear footsteps approaching and the sound of suitcase wheels scraping against the stones before they come to a stop in front of the door.

"Um, hello?"- you hear a pleasant and curious voice ring out from the outside, you almost want to curse the person out because everyone on the island knows when lunch breaks happen, but judging by the suitcase and the unknown voice it must be someone who just arrived here for the first time.

"Hello, come in!"- you sense the apprehension and you walk around the counter, coming face to face with what you would describe as a man made of dreams.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, and his reaction seems to be similar, as his eyes widen slowly to the point where he almost looks completely bamboozled as his lips part and he just stares.

Quickly shaking it off and putting on your customer service persona, you smile at the stranger.

"How can I help you?"- you ask and he swallows, closing his lips as he seems to snap out of whatever trance he fell in.

"I- um- I'm looking for this address. I booked a room here, but I can't seem to find it on google maps."- the stranger pulls his phone out and shows you the address and you nod.

"Oh, at Isaac's. It's not too far away from here, just keep going straight until you see a blue house, then go right and up the hill a little bit, you can't miss it since it's the biggest house on that street."- you explain.

"Oh, thank you! I thought I was gonna get lost."- he smiles a little and you chuckle, shaking your head. This seems to deepen the redness of the young man's cheeks.

"You can't get lost here. The island is so small, you can circle around it three times in one day and still have some daylight left. Plus, most of the time the internet doesn't even work so you can't rely on gps. If you need to make calls or such, you'd best stand on the pier and try to catch the signal."

"Oh, thank you for the tips. I'm actually relieved that there's no internet."- the man says, running a hand through his dark hair.

You quirk an eyebrow at him, your eyes running over his frame.

"That's a first. People usually complain about that."- you say, as you take in his expensive looking jewelry, the branded shirt hugging his lean but toned frame, jeans also probably more expensive than your entire wardrobe and the fancy sneakers on his feet.

"Then they've probably come to the wrong place."- he concludes with a small smile.

"Probably."- you agree, ready to end the chat even though literal eye candy was standing in front of you, you craved a warm meal more than anything else.

There was a moment of awkward silence as the handsome stranger sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, bringing your attention to it.

"Well, it's my lunch break, so... If I can't assist you with buying some flowers, I'd like to close up shop."- you say as politely as you can.

"Oh! Sure, sorry for taking up your time."- he looks apologetic as you round your counter to grab your things.

"It's okay, glad I could help."- you smile as the both of you make your way towards the exit.

"I'm Hyunjin, by the way."- he reaches his hand towards you just as you close the door.

"Y/n."- your hand slots into his and he shakes it, soft but firm.

"Nice to meet you, y/n."- something about the way your name rolls from his pillowy lips melts the ice built around your heart, gentle like the first snowdrop peeking it's head through the snow.

There's something different bubbling up inside Hyunjin, something he hasn't felt in a long time.

As he makes his way up the little hill towards the biggest house with faded yellow paint, chipped at some parts of the wall, his heart skips a few beats.

Maybe it's because he's been a bit out of shape lately, or maybe it's because of you.

You with your genuine smile, you with your curious eyes and with all the pretty flowers surrounding you.

The flowers that used to bring inspiration and comfort to Hyunjin, ones he painted so happily, his hand gliding easily across the once blank canvas, the colors all bleeding into one another, kissing and loving.

The feeling he forgot. The feeling of love. The feeling of home. The nostalgia that inevitably comes with it.

Hyunjin knocks on the big wooden door, and after a few moments he hears heavy footsteps and a voice calling out.

The door swings open and a man probably in his 60s stands in the frame with a friendly smile on his face.

His grey hair is neatly pulled back, the wrinkles on his face are proof of how many years he smiled and frowned. There's a sparkle in his eyes and a bright smile on his face, showing off perfectly white teeth that he probably had done.

He's dressed in a simple black turtleneck and grey pants, the only ornament on his body in the shape of a huge silver ring, a black tourmaline stone in the middle of it.

"Welcome, welcome! You must be Hyunjin. Come in, young man."- the man smiles wide, immediately helping Hyunjin with his suitcase and stepping aside so he could come in.

"My name is Isaac. But you probably already had that figured out."- the man waves his hand as if to dismiss what he just said. "Welcome to my humble abode, I hope your stay here is as cozy as can be."- Isaac says, leading Hyunjin through the lobby and towards the big carpeted wooden stairs.

The house looks old but well taken care of, everything is wiped clean and polished, each nook and cranny devoid of any dust and neglect.

Hyunjin can't help but notice the skillfully crafted wood on the handrail, as well as a few other sculptures carved out of wood, taking the shape of people with their head in their hands who are desperately crying, lovers holding onto each other where you can't even tell where one ends and the other starts, beautiful women with big breasts and tummies lying on their side, vunerable and goddess-like.

Isaac eyes Hyunjin carefully as he seems glued to all the works of art around him, probably forgetting that he should be settling into his room and eating something.

"What do you think, young man?"- Isaac asks, making Hyunjin jolt a little as he looks up for a second before the carved sculptures grab his attention again.

"Very beautiful pieces, there's so much detail in each and every one. They must be very expensive."- Hyunjin comments making the older man chuckle deeply.

"Yes, very expensive. Cost me a lot of time and patience. And then of course, there's the material. The actual wood."- Isaac crosses his arms on his chest and Hyunjin needs a few seconds before a lightbulb appears above his head.

"Oh... Oh, you made them. That's incredible, you're an artist."- Hyunjin smiles, somewhat chuckling ironically for the fact that he can't seem to escape that which he considers brought him to the state he's in right now. "I'm kind of an artist too."- he downplays whatever life he built, suddenly feeling too dumb and embarassed do act boisterous in front of Isaac.

"Let me see your hands."- Isaac says and Hyunjin doesn't question him, just reaches his hands towards the man and Isaac leans down a little, his lips pursed as he folds his hands behind his back, a quiet hum in the back of his throat.

"You're a painter."- Isaac concludes before lifting up.

"How did you know?"- Hyunjin's eyes widen just a little, his eyebrows lifting up and Isaac lets out a laugh.

"Your skin is too pristine for anything else. But your nails are stained a little."- Hyunjin brings his hands up, closer to his face, and stares as if he sees his own hands for the first time.

He never noticed the slight staining on his fingers, almost forgetting the fact that beyond all the expensive paintbrushes and tools, an artist's work comes from his hands and his heart.

Is his heart stained too?

"Which one calls to you the most?"- Isaac brings him out of his thoughts again with his warm and patient voice and Hyunjin follows his line of sight, landing his eyes on the beautiful wooden sculptures again.

Maybe if he was younger he'd choose the woman, her breasts full and supple, inviting him to lay his head on them, wrap his lips around the tender nipples.

Maybe if he wasn't so jaded, he'd choose the lovers because love is the greatest feeling of them all, love is what makes people climb the highest mountain peak, swim the deepest ocean, reach the furthest star.

But Hyunjin can't help but stare at the man sitting in despair, fingertips digging into his own forehead as if he wants to rip his face out, take his brain out and scream at it.

Isaac sees. He sees through Hyunjin, he was once like him. Caught in the web of self-hatred and nihilism, despising everything he once held so dearly in his heart.

"You must be hungry."- Isaac never comments on Hyunjin's silent choice and he's thankful for that.

"Actually, yes."- Hyunjin feels the emptiness in his stomach as soon as food is mentioned and he realizes he hasn't eaten anything since last night.

"Why don't you get settled in and I will heat up some dinner?"- Isaac suggests and Hyunjin quickly shakes his head.

"You don't need to do that for me, I'm sure you have other business to attend to."- Hyunjin says.

"Nonsense, I don't mind at all. Honestly, it gets a little lonely here before the tourists start coming in so it would be nice to have someone to talk to. Other than my sculptures, that is."- Isaac says with a chuckle.

"Alright, if it's no bother then."- Hyunjin nods, giving a small smile to the warm man.

"Your room is the last door on the right."- Isaac points towards the staircase.

"Thank you."

Isaac smiles, quickly turning on his heel and leaving, presumably to the kitchen.

Hyunjin makes his way upstairs, his suitcase in his hands, the floorboards look too old and sensitive to drag the harsh wheels on them so he opts to just keep carrying his suitcase to his room.

Every wall is adorned with framed wooden carvings, sculptures even bigger than the ones downstairs are sitting in the corners of the hall.

Hyunjin curiously eyes every single one of them, waiting for them to suddenly come alive and move.

He shakes his head quickly, opening the last door on the right.

A loud gasp escapes his lips as soon as he walks into the room. It's bigger than he thought it would be, decorated like the rest of the house, everything is carved out of wood and the works of art made from Isaac's hands have become a staple that Hyunjin's eyes are already getting used to.

Hyunjin lays his suitcase down next to the closet and his legs first take him to the big window, the curtains pulled back and neatly tied up on the sides of the window frame.

The view is breathtaking, being up on the hill allows him to see almost everything, the sea, the shore, the main square with a church and also part of the little flower shop that he was just inside a few minutes ago.

Hyunjin needs to snap a picture. He fishes out his camera and after adjusting it, he takes a few pictures of the beautiful view, zooming in on the flower shop for a second and seeing that the door is still closed and the lights are still off.

You must be on your lunch break as you said.

He looks around the room again, the huge bed looks inviting after traveling for hours but he needs to eat something first.

The room that's warm and lived in, the smell of varnished wood and cinnamon enveloping his senses, the lively art pieces around him, make for a big contrast to Hyunjin's modern apartment, cold steel, black leather, the smell of cleanliness, the perfection of it all, the paintings that he despises from the bottom of his soul.

The ones he made in a state of delirium because Charlie was pressuring him, because people want more, because he needs to meet the deadline, because he's obligated to do them.

A metallic taste spreads inside Hyunjin's mouth and it takes him a few seconds to realize he bit his lip so hard that he drew blood.

He curses under his breath, walking into the adjoining bathroom to wash his mouth and thoughts away.

Lunch break was something you loved to spend in your favorite restaurant unless it was tourist season.

Then, it would get too crowded for your liking so you'd just go back home and eat before re-opening your shop.

Everything is 2-3 minutes of walking distance, your shop and your home, and the restaurant that a young married couple owns.

"The usual?"- Bennet peeked his head from behind the kitchen wall, and you chuckled giving the man a thumbs up.

You took your book out of your bag and looked out the window before little giggles on your left caught your attention and you turn to see Luna, the owner's 6 year old daughter, staring at you with big shiny eyes and holding a makeshift daisy bouquet in her little hands.

"Oh, is that for me?"- you ask slowly, pointing at yourself.

She stares at your lips before giving a little nod and another giggle before she reaches the flowers towards you.

Your hand is placed on your chin, then reached towards her as you mouth a 'thank you'.

She smiles happily, her chubby cheeks rosy before she runs away to play.

Catherine is quick to catch up to the little girl, gently grabbing her shoulders before signing a 'be careful' to which the girl nods and mouths an 'okay'.

"Hey, y/n."- Catherine lets out a sigh and you chuckle.

"Is she giving you a hard time today?"- you ask as she puts your lemonade down on the table.

"Try yelling at a deaf child to watch out from a distance."- she shakes her head, a bead of sweet running down her forehead. "My whole life flashed before my eyes, but luckily it was Delmar and he managed to stop his car just in time."

"Heart attack inducing stuff."- you nod. "But everything ended well and I'm sure she'll be more careful now."

"I hope so too."- Catherine nods with a smile, before turning to go check on her daughter.

You sigh quietly, looking through the window again as you sip on your lemonade when suddenly, the face of the handsome stranger called Hyunjin appears in your mind.

There's something that flickers in your chest at the thought of his smile. Then it clicks.

He's probably the celebrity that Barbara talked about, he must be an actor or a singer with a face like that, you think.

You wonder why he would come here though.

Maybe he got sick of all the glitz and glitter that being famous brings. That's something you could never be, live in the spotlight like that, to be picked at and proded at like you were some kind of test subject, looked at like you were some kind of animal in a cage, existing to entertain other people.

"Here you go, y/n."- a plate is placed on your table, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Oh, thank you."- you smile at Bennet, as the aroma of your favorite meal fills up your space, making your stomach growl again.

It's quiet as you start eating and as always you ask Catherine and Luna to join you, which they usually happily agree to unless there are customers to attend to.

Bennet whips up their favorites quickly and excuses himself because he has a kitchen to clean, as he says, while you learn a few new words that help you communicate with Luna.

The sounds of utensils clinking against plates fill up the room as Hyunjin and Isaac sit in his dining room. It's the most lavish room yet, the table they're eating on feels too precious to even be used so Hyunjin is extra careful with his meal.

The big chandelier hangs above their heads, the sunlight shining through the huge windows that reveal a balcony, reflects in the crystal pendants decorating the chandelier, creating little rainbows scattered around the room.

"My father made this table."- Isaac notices Hyunjin looking at it, as if he's deep in thought.

"It's really exquisite. I feel a little apprehensive using it as a regular dining table."- Hyunjin says and Isaac chuckles.

"We ate on it every day. And then my wife and son too."- Isaac says, the mood shifting suddenly as a sad smile spreads on his face.

"You have a son?"- Hyunjin asks, taking another bite of the meat.

"I had a son."- Isaac nods and Hyunjin feels bad that he pried.

"I'm sorry."- he didn't want to dig into someone's wound so he looked down at his plate, feeling remorseful for asking.

"It's okay, it's been years. He was probably around your age when he left us."- Isaac reminisces.

"Was he sick?"- Hyunjin asks, seeing that Isaac wanted to talk about his son, maybe it brought him some kind of comfort to keep the memory of him alive.

"He was... sad. Very sad. We tried everything. But nothing could light the spark in his eyes."- Isaac shivers with a sad smile.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have asked anything."- Hyunjin quickly says, feeling embarassed for himself and sad for the kind man sitting across from him.

"No, it's okay, you didn't know."- Isaac shakes his head. "I like talking about my son. He was also great with woodwork. I learned from my father and he learned from me. Guess it runs in the family."- he nods with a small smile.

"If you'd like, I could teach you some woodworking too."- Isaac suggests before Hyunjin can say anything.

He can see the turmoil on Hyunjin's face, the cogs turning behind his eyes as he struggles with whether to love or hate that suggestion.

"I'll be in my studio later if you want to join me."- Isaac intervenes quickly, pointing to the hall.

"What was his name, if you don't mind me asking?"- Hyunjin asks after a few moments of silence, referring to Isaac's son.

"Leo."- Isaac says with a kind of pain in his voice.

Hyunjin finds those three letters etched into the windowsill in the room he booked, his fingertips tracing the chipped wood, realizing quickly that this room once belonged to him.

Hyunjin doesn't join Isaac in his studio, he can't bear to even think about painting or woodwork at this moment, all he wants is to feel free from the confines he created for himself.

After lunch, he took a much needed nap and then an even more needed warm shower. He walks out into the room with only a towel wrapped around his waist, using another one to dry his hair.

Being up on the hill probably caught some signal on his phone as it buzzes next to the bed. Hyunjin frowns, making his way to it and grabbing it.

Charlie. Of course.

In the heat of the moment, he doesn't think, he just chucks the phone on the bed and it bounces up and smacks into the closet and then lands down on the floor with a loud thud, the battery falling out.

"That oughta do it."- he says quietly, leaving the device where it landed.

Hyunjin gets dressed quickly, grabbing his backpack and camera before he makes his way downstairs. He glances shortly at the big door leading to Isaac's studio, something heavy weighing on his chest before he turns away and walks out of the house.

There's nothing like watching the sunset while sitting on the beach. The beautiful golden rays mixing with the orange and pink hues, reflecting on the water as the sun itself drowns in it.

You're sitting with your little diary in your hands, well one of many you have, one that still has empty pages you have to fill up.

Most of them consist of dried up flowers and even a few little sketches you did, sometimes you write something you found funny in it, sometimes you pour your soul out on the pages, your tears blurring your vision and smearing the ink of your pen.

Today, the page is blank but your mind isn't.

For some reason, it's filled with Hyunjin and you wish you were better at drawing people so that your hand could capture the face that was already etched in your brain even after you only saw him once.

A twig snaps behind you, and you quickly turn around, jolting a little.

He appears in your view like he was summoned, like he was there to help you see his face again so that you could maybe try to capture the beauty on paper.

"Oh..."- he also jolts a little like he got frightened by your presence. "Y/n, right?"- he licks his lips and swallows, as his feet come to a halt.

"Yeah."- you nod.

"Sorry if I scared you. Kinda scared myself too."- Hyunjin says with a timid smile, still keeping a good distance away from you.

"It's okay. Usually, no one comes here at this time so I was surprised."- you say and he slowly makes his way to you.

"Mind if I join you?"- he asks, almost timidly and you have to wonder what kind of celebrity is shy like that.

"Sure."- you nod and he comes closer, slowly sitting down on the rock next to yours.

"I decided to explore the island a little. And you were right, I saw everything in one evening."- he chuckles as he looks at you, then at the notebook in your hands curiously.

"Are you sure you saw everything? There are a few hidden spots here that only the locals know about."- you eye the camera in his hands.

Such pretty hands.

"Oh really? Is there a guide who could show me some of those hidden spots?"- he asks and you let out a small chuckle.

"Depends on how much you pay up."- you say and he looks at you before you start chuckling, making him chuckle too.

"I'm joking, of course. I mean, I'm free tomorrow if you want me to give you the real tour of the island."- you suggest, wiggling your eyebrows.

"I would love that."- Hyunjin nods, a smile spreading on his face that makes his eyes crinkle.

When was the last time he smiled like that?

Hyunjin lifts up his camera to snap a few pictures of the sunset and you can't help but look at his features more closely while he's distracted.

Beneath the smile and the obviously expensive attire, something inside him seems sad and tired, you can feel it meandering between your bodies.

"Is that a sketchbook?"- Hyunjin asks curiously, as you play with the cover of your notebook.

"Kind of. It's a sliver of my thoughts, if you will."- you say as you stare at it.

"Can I see?"- he asks and you look up at him, genuine interest painted on his face.

"Sure, I'll show you some sketches, just not the things I write."

"Yeah, of course, I don't want to invade your privacy."- he says and you nod, finding a page where you sketched a few tulips from different angles.

"Oh, that's really pretty. I like your shading."- Hyunjin leans in closer and you get a whiff of his shampoo that gets you feeling entranced for a moment.

"Ah, thank you. I'm not the best at drawing at all, it's just that I'm good with anything that has to do with flowers."- you smile, somewhat sadly, Hyunjin notices and something pulls him to you.

He wants to know everything, he wants to tell you everything.

But he's afraid.

He's afraid of revealing the truth, afraid of bursting the little bubble appearing around the two of you, he's frightened to open his soul up, only to find it was rotten, only to see you turn away.

Hyunjin is someone who believes, well, used to believe in love at first sight but that was before he destroyed everything gentle and pure inside him, creating another person out of the broken shards, a fake person, a disgusting and cold person who fades away into other darkened souls, lost in the abyss of eternal nothingness.

"You're an expert in your field. That's admirable."- Hyunjin manages to dig up anything that feels gentle, even for a split second.

"What about you? What is your field of expertise?"- you ask and Hyunjin dreads answering and talking about that which he despises right now.

"Art, I guess. Painting to be exact. I'm a painter?"

"You say that like you're unsure of it."- you give him an inquisitive smile.

"Sometimes you forget who you are and why you even do what you do. Sometimes, something you always knew and loved gets further away from you the more you try to reach out for it."- Hyunjin talks and you giggle, putting your notebook aside.

"Are you sure you're not a poet?"- you tease and Hyunjin chuckles nervously, his cheeks becoming rosy like the cotton candy clouds in the sunset before you.

"I'm better with colors than words, or at least I was."- he says, scratching his head as he purses his lips.

"You talk so nicely so I'm sure your art is even nicer."- you conclude.

It hasn't even been a day since he first laid his eyes upon you, but Hyunjin feels like you set his mind at ease with little effort, with just a few words and a sweet smile.

"Thank you."- he smiles. "I'll show you another time. I don't have my phone on me."- he adds.

"Looking forward to that."- you say. "And what you said earlier, I relate to it. Sometimes I feel like that with my flowers. But they're all I really know."- you shrug. "I always come back to them."

"Yeah, I find myself sitting in front of a blank canvas many times without even painting anything. I guess it's etched into my bones by now."

"Like part of your DNA."- you follow up and Hyunjin agrees.

"Is it okay if I take a picture of you?"- he asks after a few moments of comfortable silence.

The sun has almost completely immersed itself into the water and the last light of the day illuminates your facial features perfectly, the sparkle prominent in your eyes.

Hyunjin wants to capture what you talked about, how you looked and how you smiled at him and keep it in his heart forever.

"Sure."- you nod, chuckling a little.

You turn towards the sea, the last of the sun's rays reflecting off of the surface and almost hypnotizing you as you hear the click of the camera.

Hyunjin thinks this is the best picture he ever took.

And as he walks back to his current home, he feels like destiny intertwined her hands into his life, bringing the two of you together, like this is a start to something he can't even begin to fathom yet, like whatever he searched for, he found in you.

Maybe he just met you, but deep inside his wounded soul Hyunjin knows, you will become the most important person that touched his heart.

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @kaysungshine @nchhuhi @1810cl @chartrucewhore @babigriin @jisuperboard @alisonyus @minluvly

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 8 months ago

Text

Forsaking All Others II

Part 12 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series!

Warnings: Kidnapping, TW: claustrophobia, restraints, gunfire, offscreen violence, blood, murder, smut, biting, a little bit of rough play.

A/N: woof

It takes a moment for your mind to catch up to what’s going on.

You’d just been tossed into the trunk of a car, the darkness almost too suffocating.

Your brain spins slowly, reaching down, you fight your dress to tug off your heels, placing them beside you to use as weapons the next time the trunk opens.

The small dark space starts getting to you, and you’re forced to close your eyes and imagine that you’re in an open area, when you’re really not.

You know that you have to act quickly, tugging at the lining of the trunk, searching for the spot behind the brake light so that you can signal for help, but in the stifling dark, it's hard to see anything and you have no idea what you're looking for.

You pause, wondering if this car had a lever to release the door from the inside, and you begin searching for that instead, fingers skittering blindly for something you weren't familiar with.

You keep trying to imagine you're anywhere else but where you are, that you're just under the covers, or you're in your living room and the lights have just gone out, that you're under your sheets, waiting for Billy to come find you.

All of it helps keep you calm, stops the mindless panic from setting in, you know if you think too much about where you are, you'd hyperventilate, pass out, and who knows how long you'd be out for.

Another comfort you had, was that Billy was obsessed with you, he'd find you-

-Unless they'd killed him.

Your fingers paused their search.

No, that intrusive thought was false, if they'd killed him, they wouldn't have been so worried about him.

What if he'd been hurt? The last time you'd seen him was when he'd stepped away to get you something to drink.

Actually, you'd chased him away, you wanted alone time from him and this was the consequence. What would have happened if you hadn't made him leave? You would probably be safe in his arms right now.

You choke on your breath, fingers slipping from their search to rest beside your head.

You let a few tears slip free, and more follow. You wanted your husband.

The car comes to a stop and you lift your head, you hear the doors slam shut, and you wonder what's coming next.

Oh god, what if they leave you in here?

Just as your stomach twists, the trunk lever clicks, and you squint as light hits your eyes.

The masked man extends his hand to you, and you take it, guessing that this must be the nice-ish one from earlier.

You struggle to get your feet out of the car, and everything hurts when you move.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers as you stand on the cold floor before him, “We were just supposed to take someone as leverage. It shouldn't have been you.”

You sigh, looking around the room, realising that you're in a garage with an automatic door, big enough to hold two vehicles.

It sort of feels like someone's house, maybe the suburbs, you spot a bike hanging on the wall.

“I'm the worst person to have kidnapped. My husband won't stop until he finds me.”

“I know.” Is all the man responds with.

You reach into the trunk to grab your green velvet heels, too in love with them to leave them behind.

He takes you into the house, you stiffen in fear as you realise you're trapped in here with a bunch of strange men.

“Please let me go.” You say calmly, trying to be the voice of reason, “You don't want the trouble of keeping me here.”

You want to add that Billy was trained in hostage retrieval, that he was basically an expert in infiltration, but you didn't want to scare them. Scared men were dangerous men.

The men stand in the living room of the small house and begin speaking in hushed tones to each other. You can't make out exactly what's being said but it seems like one of the men is sympathetic to you, but the other two are not.

“Take her upstairs and tie her up in one of the bedrooms.”

You feel your heart jump in your chest. You turn to the man behind you, who'd released you from the trunk, in hopes that he challenges the order.

He wraps his hand around your arm.

“You heard the man.” He says in acceptance.

There's no winning here, you're overpowered and you know it. You don't want to give them any excuse to hurt you further than they already have.

You move quietly up the wooden staircase and you wait for the man to pick a bedroom.

“I'm not… trying to scare you,” you say softly, hoping to reduce the amount your voice carries in this small house.

“But my husband… he won't take kindly to this, he'll do whatever it takes to get me back.”

“I don't doubt it,” the man responds, tugging you into a room with a large window overlooking the street at the front of the house, “I'm sure he probably has a location device installed in that ring we took from you. He probably always knows where you are.”

You blink, scrunching your eyebrows at his tone.

“What are you trying to say?”

He grabs the metal chair at the vanity and points to it for you to sit.

“Not trying to say anything. Powerful men don't trust their wives. That's all.”

You swallow, looking up at this stranger, unable to form a response.

“He tracks me because he loves me- in case something like this happens.” You finally manage to say.

His shoulders shake as he laughs.

“You're more delusional than I expected.” He pulls a pair of handcuffs out of his back pocket and uses it to secure your wrists, “You think he'll kill us because he loves you? Or maybe he just likes killing?”

You feel your heart sink.

“You'll get what you deserve.” You whisper bitterly.

“Yeah? And what will you get?” He shoots back.

You clench your jaw, turning your head away, indicating to him that this conversation was finished.

He humphs in satisfaction, walking out of the room, closing the door and locking it.

Leaving you here, in mostly darkness, to think about what he said.

The words hurt in a familiar way, that perhaps Billy's obsession with you was not because it was you, but because he’d been craving something to be obsessed with.

What if… you weren't the first woman that he'd done this to? What if there was someone else out there, living, or perhaps dead, that he'd found a way to trap as well?

Why were you thinking this way? Billy wasn't some evil mastermind, he was just a lonely boy that wanted someone to love.

Was he?

You shake your head, gritting your teeth.

Now more than ever, you needed to find the good in him, you needed to remind yourself of seeing that lonely, scared boy when you looked into his eyes.

It was proof that he wasn't what everyone else said he was. He wasn't some monster, he was human, and he just needed support.

You sigh, heart yearning for him, to be held, to be kissed.

Sure, you clearly had some issues and doubts, but you could fix that on your own time, after he saved you from this situation.

You close your eyes. There was a high chance he'd kill the men who'd kidnapped you. It was an eventuality you had to be prepared for.

Would he kill for you because he liked killing? Did it matter? Was that the stockholm syndrome talking?

You frown, tipping your head back, trying to relax in the uncomfortable chair.

Did you love him?

You wanted to so badly, but was it real?

How far would he go to keep you by his side?

How far did you want him to go?

It was frustrating. You really needed to find a way to bring this up with him. It would destroy any relationship you had if you kept bottling this.

You sigh, opening your eyes. You can’t believe you’re actually thinking about solving your relationship issues while handcuffed to a chair after being kidnapped. You might be just as insane as him.

In the darkness of the room, with only the outside street lamp illuminating the bed, the flash of red catches your eye easily.

You blink in surprise, studying it, the single red dot of a laser, watching as it glides over the walls and moves behind you.

When it appears on your thigh, you drop your head to keep looking at it.

A laser? Was someone just shining a laser pointer at you?

The laser moves up, over your stomach, and you swallow, realising that this might very well be a gun being pointed at you.

You angle your head to keep your eyes on it, the red dot stops in the center of your chest for a moment, before it moves to the spot just above your left breast.

Were you gonna get shot?

The glowing dot makes a circle, and then works its way over your left shoulder, and toward your elbow before stopping and retracing its path, stopping at your chest once more.

Billy.

It was him, telling you he was here by tracing his tattoo on your skin.

You sigh in relief, tears threatening to fall, you try to blink fast to chase them away.

Your husband was here, and he was going to punish the people that would dare hurt you.

It brings a little smile to your face, and then you watch the laser move, circling on the lamp sitting on the bedside table, an indication that he needs something from you.

You study it for a moment, and you figure he must want you to find a way to drop it, the crash would probably make a small distraction.

Looking out the window, you nod, unsure if he can see you or not, but the laser disappears soon after.

The house is mostly quiet, you can hear the muffled sounds of the men below talking, and you wonder how well a diversion like this would work.

Like in the movies, you lean forward, and try to stand up with your wrists trapped behind the chair.

It was one of those light metal chairs with a simple curling design on the back. The masked man had handcuffed you between the woven design so that anywhere you went, the chair went.

The movies definitely made it look easier, and you almost want to laugh at how ridiculous you felt, hunched over, your wrists hurting where you have to drag the chair along behind you.

You make it though, and you sit on the chair, carefully lifting a leg, impeded by your dress a little, and you tug the lamp off the nightstand with your foot.

It crashes spectacularly, and you hear the voices pause, before absolutely nothing.

They're moving quietly, you guess, but no one makes it to the door before a loud bang goes off below you.

It's almost deafening, even from where you are, your ears ring, your heart races as you hear the gunfire start, but you don't hear any answering rounds.

The house goes dead silent, and you can't hear anything over the ringing in your ears, it's a few moments before it subsides, just in time for the door to open.

It's slow, and in the darkness your breath stops in your chest before you catch sight of his familiar face.

Billy.

Your heart accelerates, elation fills your chest as he spots you after scanning the room for threats.

“Took you long enough.” You say impulsively as he approaches, sheathing his gun into the waistband of his fancy suit, wearing leather gloves and a bulletproof vest over his gala attire.

By the gods, you didn’t think he could look hotter, but the mix of combat gear and fine clothing has you clenching around nothing.

His mouth curves up into a small smile at your words, hair falling into his eyes as he fishes keys out of his pocket to unlock your cuffs.

He seems a little off, still tense, he moves behind you to set you free.

You stand as soon as you’re released, turning, you fling yourself into his arms as fast as you possibly could.

He returns the vigour just as swiftly, his arms coming tightly around your body, squeezing you.

It’s relief like no other, the knowledge that you were going to be okay, that he was, however bruised you both were, you were both okay now.

You feel him press his face to the top of your head, you eagerly breathe in his scent, mixed in with gunpowder, blood and sweat, your stomach twisting in pleasure.

There’s still so much darkness in his eyes when you draw away from each other, and you’re not too sure why, but maybe it’s something you can deal with later.

You open your mouth to ask him something, but he grips your jaw gently, dropping his head to press his lips to yours.

Every thought flies right out of your head. Your fingers curl against his bulletproof vest, pulling him closer, sparks going off in your head as you rise up onto your toes to keep kissing him.

You sigh into his mouth, and he hums in response, need curling inside of you, his hand moving slowly to cup the back of your neck.

So many things are said in those few moments when no words are spoken. I’m glad you’re okay, I was so worried about you, I love you, I just realised I can’t live without you.

He pulls back a little, nose brushing yours, forehead to forehead and you swear you can feel him like he’s just an extension of yourself.

“Let’s go.” He finally whispers, and you nod, reaching to grab your shoes once more, that you’d placed on the floor next to the spot the masked man had originally restrained you.

The house is smoky, you cough, frowning as you follow him down the steps, waving your hand to fan the irritant away.

He stops at the bottom, and turns to you, picking you up with ease, and continues moving. The floor is covered in glass and wooden splinters that crunch under his shoes as he walks.

You finally spot the four men, on their knees with their hands behind their heads. Their masks have been pulled off, finally revealing their faces to you.

You feel a little bad for them at first, the hopelessness in their eyes turns you nauseous. You wonder if he’s going to kill them.

“Sweetheart.” Billy murmurs into your ear, catching your attention. You turn to look at him.

“Show me the man that hit you.”

How would you know? You definitely couldn’t identify them by their looks. You swallow, trying to figure out how you knew earlier.

The eyes, you realise. Aside from the mannerisms and their voice, the man that had hit you, had so much anger, and so little soul.

You glance at the men, finding him easily, he stares back at you evenly, furiously, and you know it’s him without a doubt.

“Him.” You whisper, looking back at Billy.

He nods, moving to the garage before placing you down gently.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Something’s still off in his eyes. There’s an anger he’s trying to shield you from, and you realise without a doubt, that he’s going to kill someone.

He closes the door between the house and the garage. It doesn’t stop you from stepping up close to the door in an attempt to hear what was going on.

You try the door- locked.

Behind you, someone clears their throat.

You spin in surprise, breath halting, but quickly restarting when you realise it’s Frank.

He’s dressed in full tactical gear, looking at you with an eyebrow raised.

“Trust me. You don’t want to see what he’s about to do.” Frank says gruffly.

You turn back to the door.

“He’s really going to kill them?” You ask.

“Eventually. First he needs to get a message across.”

You gasp, when on cue, you hear a scream from inside.

Stepping back in shock, your eyes widen.

“Is he doing this for me, Frank? I didn’t ask for this.”

“You don’t have to ask.”

You turn to Frank, mouth open to protest.

“This- I know he’s killed before- but, I don’t think I want him killing for me.”

Frank lets out a slow breath, crossing his arms.

“You have to understand, men like Billy and me- family life doesn’t come easily to us, we have to fight hard to keep it. And if someone comes along and thinks they can take it away, we show them, exactly why we have the reputations we do.”

You swallow, turning back to the door when you hear another shout. You wonder if his words are related to the scar on Maria’s face.

“They think you make him weak, they think they can come after him now because he has someone he’ll bend for. You don’t make him weak. You make him deadly.”

Your heart warms at the thought, you turn to look at Frank helplessly.

“What can I do?” You whisper.

“Remind him that he’s not the monster everyone sees him as. He’s going to need that from you.” Frank answers.

You let out a slow sigh, nodding in acceptance.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d take this so well. I thought you’d run screaming for the hills when you finally saw the real him.”

You smile sadly. He’d never really hid himself from you in the first place.

If only Frank knew that- you wonder if his words would be different.

“I guess… maybe there’s something wrong with me too.”

“It’s a good thing,” You look up in surprise at his words, “Means you understand each other.”

You hum, deep in thought about his words, worried about the cataclysmic fallout that could happen if Billy ever found out about those divorce papers you have hidden.

After a few more minutes of muffled screaming, the door finally opens.

Billy, blood splashed beautifully against his face, steps through, a paper towel in his clean hands.

“You okay with cleanup, Frankie?” He says, barely looking at you.

“Yeah,” Frank answers, “Get your girl home. I’ve got it from here.”

“Thanks.” He finally turns to you, pulling something out of his pocket and holding it up for you. The silver glints in the light.

Your ring.

You extend your hand bashfully letting him slide it on, heart pounding in your chest. He’d done all of this for you.

Your fingers link with his right after, following as he moves to open the large garage door. It slides open to reveal a matte black car waiting just outside.

It’s an audi, you recognise by the four rings, but it’s not one of his you’d seen before.

He wraps a hand around your body, lifting you easily and carrying you the short distance to the car, helping you in, before making his way around.

You tug your seatbelt on, watching in surprise as he reaches under the steering wheel, manipulating something before the car purrs to life.

Good lord, he stole this car? You want to verify your thoughts but you decide against it, instead, you watch him put the car into gear, and begin reversing.

It’s peaceful to watch him drive, you want to smooth the lines between his eyebrows, you want to reach over and take his hand, but you’re worried for some reason.

This isn’t the man you’re used to. The darkness in his eyes make you concerned about setting him off- not that he’d take any anger out on you- but that he might grow tired of your pestering.

So instead, like the usual coward you are, you simply look at him as he drives.

“I didn’t see you during the robbery. Where did you go?” You ask softly.

He takes a deep breath, glancing over at you.

“I had some guys there as backup. They found some of the Phoenix guys knocked out in the basement. I went down to check it out. They locked us in. When I got out, you were gone.”

You nod, the pieces fitting into place.

“I never should have left your side.” He finally says, squeezing the steering wheel tighter.

You reach for him, placing your hand on his thigh.

“It’s not your fault.” You soothe.

He lets out another breath, shaking his head.

“I… didn’t realise what losing you would feel like. For a moment, I didn’t know where you were, if you were alive- I would have torn everything down to find you.”

“I’m right here.” You answer, and you watch him take another pained breath.

He’s distant in the elevator, and you think you understand now. He doesn’t know how to process this- almost losing you- you don’t think he’s ever felt this way before. He’s angry that this happened maybe, and that darkness is slowly festering inside of him.

When you finally see yourself in the bathroom mirror, you realise that your appearance had only been adding to his distress. You look properly thrown about, your hair sticks up and your face and arms are bruised from the mishandling.

You hear a knock on the bathroom door, finding him there, staring at you.

Splashed in blood, his gloves and bulletproof vest gone, he looks at you with concerned eyes.

“Need any help?” he asks.

“Yes,” You say almost instantly, turning your back to him so that he can get the zipper of your dress down.

You don’t hear him approach, but you feel a tug on the back of your dress, and you pull the garment off your shoulders.

You’d been wearing boob tape, and you raise your hands to cover it, a little shy about him seeing you in something like this.

“Don’t.” He murmurs, taking the little bottle of oil from your hands just as you reach for it.

“Show me what to do.”

You swallow, guiding him into carefully using the oil to remove the tape. Even though his hands are on your almost bare form, there’s nothing sexual about this, all there is, is care and attention to taking care of you.

His thumb massages the oil into your skin, and when all the tape is removed, he hesitates for a moment before withdrawing his hands.

Your hip and knee is bruised too, you discover, as he gets the dress down your legs. You’re no doubt going to be in a lot of pain tomorrow.

“Shower with me.” You say, ready to beg if he says no.

He doesn’t, he smiles, nods, reaches for the buttons on his shirt.

You step into the shower, finding the right temperature, reaching up to begin unravelling your hair.

You feel his hands take over, tugging out the bobby pins, the way he did on your wedding night, letting your hair fall freely under the warm water.

You turn to look at him, blood washing from his skin in pink rivulets, you watch each other, amazed at the beauty of him in every state. You glance at the tattoo on his shoulder, the snake, with its fangs bared, ready to strike.

You touch it gently, he drops his head to watch your fingers roam his skin.

There isn’t anything that needs to be said, even after all this carnage, you know you still want him.

Or so you think.

You withdraw at that thought, but he doesn’t let you, he grasps your wrist, pulling your palm back to his chest. When you can’t meet his eyes, he holds your jaw with his other hand and forces you to look at him.

“Don’t pull away from me.” He grits out.

You sigh.

“Or what?” You challenge.

He leans in, pressing his mouth to yours harshly, you moan, eyes fluttering shut, your nails curling into his chest.

He hisses, biting on your bottom lip in response, you smile into his mouth, your other hand moving behind his neck to tug harshly on his hair.

He grunts, presses you back until you bump the wall of the shower, you look up at him, with pleading eyes, begging him to fix all the things going wrong in your head.

He pins your wrists beside your head, the darkness in his eyes shifting from internalised anger and fear, into something sweeter.

“Do you want this?” he asks lowly, releasing your wrist for a moment to push his hair back, out of his face before finding your hand again.

“Yes.” You answer confidently, wriggling a little so that he holds you tighter.

His mouth meets your neck, kissing softly, tongue darting wetly across your skin before bites down on your shoulder.

The moan you let out comes from a primal place deep inside of you, angling your neck to give him space to continue tormenting your skin.

Though his moves are firm, and his bites are rough, he’s especially gentle when handling you. When he trails his hands down to touch your clit, he softly traces over your bruises along the way.

You gasp when his fingers meet your clit, gliding softly at first, before he traps your swollen bud between his index and middle fingers and squeezes gently.

You stutter out a moan, reaching out to grip his shoulder, pressing your nails in to show him just how wicked it feels.

He chuckles, a lone finger slipping into your cunt as his other hand cups your cheek, thumb hooking into your mouth and settling between your teeth.

You bite down a little as he begins pumping his long finger into you, pressing against just the right spots, making your shudder eagerly in response.

“You think you can leave me?” He asks calmly, “You think you can get this feeling anywhere else?”

You shake your head, knowing the answer without a doubt.

He lets out a groaning breath, the sound coming from a place deep in his chest.

Your eyes roll back in your head when he curls his finger, pressing that delectable spot deep inside of you, rubbing it harshly for a moment before withdrawing his fingers.

He grabs some shampoo, kissing you softly while he works it into your hair, smoothing it away before using conditioner. He makes sure to clean you both, before he turns the water off, picking you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steps out.

He holds you firmly to his wet body, grabbing a towel for you and your hair, before picking you up once more and placing you gently on your bed.

He doesn’t give you a chance to speak, or think, kissing his way over your body, before spreading your thighs open for his mouth.

He groans into your cunt as he licks it slowly, encouraging you to reach down and tug on his hair.

Your nails dig into his shoulder, his tongue working magic on your swollen clit, licking eagerly at your bundle of nerves until your toes are curling and your back arches.

“Billy- oh god-” You moan, your orgasm hitting you swiftly in the moments right after. It’s so powerful, you can’t stop the noises that leave you with each wave of bliss that hits.

He kisses your thighs when he’s done, straightening his body, hovering over you, guiding your thighs around his hips.

His cock brushes your entrance. You gasp, the sensation making you shiver needily.

“That’s it, little wife. Say my fucking name.” He grunts, rubbing the head of his cock over your entrance teasingly.

Your nails claw at his biceps, trying to get your desperation for him under control.

“Please, Billy.” You say, almost in tears at how badly you need him.

One of his hands grip your jaw as he leans in to kiss you harshly, pressing his cock in at the same time.

You claw at his back, pulling him in, reaching down to grip his hip, to pull him in deeper.

He groans into your mouth, he moves to press his mouth in close to your ear.

You hear his breathing stutter, a small keen as he fills you to the brim.

“I love you.” He gasps out, shuddering as he draws back a little to press into you again.

His cock fills you just right like it always does, and you feel your walls clench around him the more you hear how hard it is for him to breathe when he’s inside of you.

The power you have over him doesn’t go unnoticed, he groans loudly the next time you tilt your hips upward.

He takes it slow, easing himself in, before withdrawing. You don’t like that, wrapping your legs tighter around him to keep him where he is.

“Fuck, sweetheart, fuck. You feel-” He groans, “You feel so fucking good I’m not gonna last long.”

You know the sentiment, even with his hips rocking slowly, you already feel like you’re on edge, mind hazy, your body ready to reach that peak at any moment.

He kisses you more, moaning into your mouth, slowly beginning to rock his hips more, his thrusts growing more forceful as time goes on.

“So good for me baby.” He murmurs, biting down on your shoulder again.

You gasp, tears slipping down your cheeks as you feel your body burn, the heat you feel for him growing more and more intense until you can’t take it any more, cunt squeezing his cock tightly as you come, trembling uncontrollably.

He groans above you, and you feel him come too, emptying himself into you, filling you up just the way you need.

He kisses any part of you he can reach, waiting for you to calm down, stroking over your damp hair, making sure you feel every ounce of love he holds for you.

When you’re calm, and your eyes are half-lidded with exhaustion, he kisses you on the forehead and tells you he’ll be right back, grabbing a warm damp cloth to clean you up with, before tucking you into bed.

You can feel the exhaustion in him as well, the way his body sags in relief when he finally settles into the space beside you, your hand smoothing gently over his back and neck, and delving into his hair.

There’s nothing you want more than this moment, nothing you crave more than the feeling of being beside him.

You tell him you love him too, just before you fall asleep. You know your body will hurt lots in the morning, but at least for right now, you’re safe.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #my writings #the punisher #billy russo smut #dark!billy russo #accidentally on purpose

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sweatervest-obsessed · 1 year ago

Note

hello !! rn i'm in the mood for some angst with a happy ending so can i request something where reader's got really bad abandonment issues? 🥹 maybe they fight over something which makes r leave ++ spence is confused bc it's so sudden n unlike them but it's all bc theyre scared he'll leave first n then it's just lots n lots of reassurance🥹🥹 thank you!!

Obsessed.

Thank you for the ask!!

So I wrote you this gorgeous 1k fic. I was so fucking proud of it. And then my computer deleted the WHOLE THING (which is why I am so behind on responding to this lmao). But. I rewrote as much of it as possible, and then changed and added a few things. So now it's better than before.

I really enjoy this version ,and I hope you do too!! so please enjoy!!!!!

WC: 1.5k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

TW: Anxiety, depression, intrusive thoughts, self-destructive tendencies, swearing, abandonment issues lmao

“What do you mean….”

You couldn’t look at him. How could you? I mean, leaving the love of your life because you know he could never love you back in the way you love him. He’d just leave anyways.

They all do.

You’re just trying to minimize the pain.

But why did it hurt so fucking much.

Which was why you kept your gaze anywhere but him.

“I-I-I—“ You kept your gaze on the ground. “I can’t do t-this anymore Spencer.”

“Can’t do what. Y/n you aren’t making any sense. What’s going on?”

You should you head. “It’s over. Spencer.”

"Y/n what are you..."

Looking at the ground, you began to fidget, something about his gaze on you was making he whole situation worse. Originally you were going to just send him a text and disappear for the rest of your life, but he came home early. He wasn't supposed to be home for another day.

"Spencer I-I." You flexed your hands, trying to find the right words. "It's done Spence. I can't.."

"You can't what?" His voice was a whisper. You could hear the heartbreak in his voice, but you wouldn't dare look at him. If you looked at him, you would cave and stay and he would take your heart in his hands and crush it to dust.

But why did this hurt so much?

"What is going on Y/n. Talk to me."

You couldn't understand why he was being so caring. Why was he so fucking perfect. It felt like a sick joke that the universe gave you this perfect man, and then put the sinking feeling in your gut when it got too good. Like something was going to go wrong.

And you wanted to be ahead of it. Start the grieving process now before you got too deep.

It's too late for that anyways.

His voice was soft. He didn't move towards you. He didn't want to 'spook' you---he knew you so well.

You know him so well.

Clearly, whatever tactic you had tried to employ when he came home, wasn't working, so you decided to shift. You shifted to the anger resting in your gut. The hot and heavy coals that burned through your skin and made you seeth with anger.

"Y/n, please, look at me."

You couldn't. And he fucking knew that too. You stormed past him and towards the bedroom.

Spencer was speechless, completely unsure as to what was going on.

When he arrived home you had been shoving things into your suitcase, but then when you saw him you froze up and started to try and break up with him.

"Talk to me. What is going on?"

You ignored him and started to pull clothes out of their respective drawers and onto the bed you two shared. It was hectic, and aggressive. You were slamming things, stomping--anything to hide the slight tremor in your hands, and make you seem bigger than you were.

"Y/n!"

His voice made you jump but it didn't stop you. You took the pang of guilt in your stomach and tried to twist it into the anger you so desperately tried to justify.

Spencer slowly moved over to you and tried to take you hand.

"NO." You threw the small pile of clothes you had just taken from the closet on to the ground and pulled away quickly. "No Spencer god. Wh-what don't you fucking get. We're done. It's over."

Spencer rarely heard you raise your voice, let alone yell, and definitely never at him. But you weren't even looking at him.

You fucking hated it when he profiled you. It made your skin crawl when you felt his eyes roaming over you. "Look at me."

His voice wasn't hateful. It wasn't angry. It was soft, understanding.

God why did he have to make this so fucking hard.

"Y/n..."

"Spencer. Stop."

You felt the moment he realized what was happening in your brain., You weren't the easiest to read, but you weren't exactly a closed book either.

"Look at me."

You looked up and made eye contact with him, hoping that the last part of your will would hold strong, and get you through this.

Spencer's eyes were filled with worry and disbelief. You saw the swarm of emotions as he locked eyes with you. But behind all of the disbelief and concern and love and pain was fear. You could see the pain he was so desperately trying to hide from you.

You know him so well.

Spencer could see the straight fire in yours. They were lit with a facade of anger and pain and hatred. But you could never hate Spencer. Never. And he saw right through it. He could see the panic in your eyes. The pure terror and pain.

You hated that he knew you so well.

"Y/n..."

He took one step forward, not trying to corner you, but trying to get closer to you. You took one step back.

"No." You shook your head.

"Please just talk to me."

Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid wonderful voice and his kind eyes and his love and the way he knows exactly how you take your tea in the morning and all of your favorite books and why you love the 2005 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice so much and what animals you wanted to have one day and why you hated spiders and the ocean so much and which museums and monuments you had on your bucket list. Fuck this man for loving you so hard, and making you want to spend every single moment of your life with him.

"I-I--" and fuck him for making your voice crack. You took another small step backwards.

"Please." Another step forward.

This time, all you could do was shake your head and break eye contact. You were tensing up the closer he got to you.

"Y/n."

"N-No" You chooked on your own voice. A single tear broke through and slide down your cheek.

"Baby please..." Another step. "Just talk to me. What's going on?"

That was the final straw for you.

The dam broke, and tears poured down your face. You let out the most heartbreaking sob that Spencer could have never imagined.

His arms were quickly around you, catching you and bringing you both down to the floor, where he held you against his chest.

You shook your head and tried to escape from his grasp, but he just held on tighter to you, not letting you go. Spencer could never let you go, he just didn't know how to tell you that.

Through your tears, you started to hyper ventilate. Spencer wouldn't let you leave his arms. It felt like a boa constrictor. You couldn't breathe.

You started to panic, not taking in as much air as you should, causing your head to get dizzy. You tugged on Spencer's arms as he tightened his grip on you, determined to keep you safe in his arms while you got whatever it was out of your system.

You screamed at him to let you go. He didn't respond, only holding you against his chest and you angrily slammed your hands against it.

Why was he so fucking perfect. Why couldn't he just let you leave and walk away.

Fuck.

Once your breathing had started to even out a bit, Spencer adjusted the two of you, still on the ground, so that you were straddling his lap with your arms around his neck.

Surrounding you was all of your clothes thrown about, and your suit case barely filled with anything.

He didn't say anything, just continued to rub his thumb against your hip, letting you come down from whatever sort of panic you just went through.

He held you close to his body, deciding in that moment to never let you go, ever.

You felt the world slow down. Time melted beneath you as the sun rose and set, the moon waxed and waned, The leaves browned and fell of the trees, and the earth stopped spinning at the end of time and all of the stars had died out. The world had stopped but you were still in Spencer's arms.

"I don't know..." He whispered in your ear, and the world started to turn again. "What just happened in your head--"

You tried to speak up but he just shushed you gently. "But we don't have to talk about it until you're ready."

You nodded.

What did you do in this world to deserve this man?

"Why don't we make some tea?" He whispered, and you just nodded again, holding onto Spencer as if the floor was going to give out and cause you to fall through the pits of hell and judgment, away from one another.

Neither of you went to move, finding peace in one another's arms.

While Spencer truly had no idea what just occurred, or why it occurred, he was still sitting here with you. And while you owed Spencer an apology and an explanation, he was still sitting here with his arms wrapped around you, kissing your shoulders.

Spencer Reid was going to stay with you for as long as you'd let him, and he would do anything to get you to see that, even if it meant sitting on the floor of your shared bedroom, holding you until the stars burned out and the world stopped spinning.

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feroshgirlsims · 8 months ago

Text

Chapter 5.2 - Conspiracies of the Nether Regions

MIKO

There’s no pain when Miko wakes up, so maybe the doctor was right; she just needed rest. After dressing, she wanders downstairs, intending to grab a snack, when a sim knocks into her.

“Sorry! I was just rushing,” he flashes a smile that’s all wrong, “Although you always tell me to stop running in the halls.”

Miko hesitates. His statement sounds wrong, even though a memory plays as he says it. “Who are you?”

“You know me,” he grins, but it still seems off. “I’m Walsh. I live across the hall.”

Again, her brain supplies the memory, but it feels false. “N-no, I don’t think I know you.”

“You do.” He takes a step forward.

Adrenaline surges through Miko’s system. The voice, which had been blessedly quiet since she left the doctor’s office, flares to life: "Get away from him!"

Miko backs up, stumbling, until she crashes into another sim and feels hands grip her shoulders.

“Are you alright?”

She whirls around to see Emmett. Relief floods her system, washing the adrenaline away. “I’m okay,” she manages.

“You don’t look okay.” He touches her arm briefly, “I mean, you look good. You always look good; it's just that you seem rattled.”

Miko glances back over her shoulder, but Walsh is gone. She wills herself to relax.

Emmett steps back, “I was kind of being a creeper waiting around the dorm until you woke up.” He chuckles, seemingly at himself. “If you were feeling better, I thought you might want to grab some coffee.”

“Uh yeah,” Miko tucks a lock of hair back behind her ear. She waits for the voice in her head to say something snarky, but it’s quiet and seemingly pleased. Maybe losing her mind was something she could deal with later, after coffee. “Lead the way.”

PREV | NEXT

(Part 3 of 5)

#ts4 #simblr #The Save File Chronicles #Season 1 #POV: Miko Ojo #when a fae shows up in your dorm #you should probably run #like very fast if you can #TW: voice that seems like intrusive thoughts

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pookalicious-hq · 7 months ago

Text

blue velvet... jinx x reader

| 1.3. find me. | prev | next | masterlist

synopsis: two girls trapped within a world full of hate would do anything for each other. too bad they're both crazy. tags/tws: mentions of mental health illnesses, mention of suicide, blood and gore, mc has split personalities, violence word count: 4.8k

six years ago - age 15 …

It was an intrusion, the weightless breath spreading through your polluted lungs like an unwelcome guest—too pure, too sharp to belong in a body accustomed to decay. Breathing it in was instinctual, but it felt like a crime, as though you were stealing their air—their pure, crisp air that had been theirs to enjoy every second of their lives.

The streets were spotless compared to Zaun, lined with polished stone and framed by buildings that, while modest by Piltover's standards, gleamed with care and affluence. The faint hum of machinery filled the air, not the grinding, screeching chaos of Zaun’s factories but a calm, rhythmic thrum that hinted at efficiency and progress. Even the light felt different here—clear and golden, untouched by the murky haze of shimmer-fueled smoke that stained the skies below.

The weight of your large cloak was a constant reminder of the disguise you both wore to avoid attention. It hung heavy around your shoulders, its fabric thick enough to hide your wings, but it was a constant reminder of what you couldn’t reveal—what you couldn’t be in this place. The scent of the clean air felt almost like an accusation against your every breath, too flawless for someone like you.

Jinx sniffed theatrically, tilting her head back as if savouring the difference. “Betcha we could bottle this stuff up. Maybe even make it ourselves or somethin’—”

[“We breathe in what the plants breathe out,” came the soft, echoing voice of someone who had once mattered to you—someone important. “They’re yours to protect, child.”

Grey eyes, warm yet serious, locked onto yours, the deep wisdom in them cutting through time and space. The towering giants around you—the trees—groaned softly in the wind, their presence ancient and enduring, as if the very breeze carried with it an age-old greeting, a promise of life.]

“—and sell it for hundreds!”

You blinked, her voice snapping you back to the present, and your eyes found hers, an old thought settling in your chest. “It’s the trees, Jay... all the plants up here.”

Jinx raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful grin. “The trees, huh? Fancy trees makin’ fancy air for these rich folks. Real nice of ‘em.” She shrugged and bounced on her heels, the sharp contrast of her energy and the stillness of the city making her seem even more out of place. “Think we could swipe a few and set up our own little tree factory? Might be fun.”

The memory of the voice from the past clung to you, heavy, suffocating. It felt like a lifetime ago, but the words never left. “Never take them for granted.”

You pressed your lips together, stepping forward with an unsteady breath. The trees, the plants—they were a gift, but the people of Piltover had no idea what it meant to need them. To breathe without poison in the air. To survive.

Jinx noticed the shift in your expression, her playful tone turning sharper. “Hey, what’s up?” She nudged you, catching the distant look in your eyes. “What, you gettin’ all sentimental on me now, Birdie?”

A small frown found its place on your features, the thought of Piltover's so-called prosperity making a bitter taste rise in your throat. The air here felt too clean, almost sharp against the remnants of the smog that clung to your lungs from years spent in Zaun. “They don’t even know what they have,” you hummed, your voice thick with confusion. The words came out colder than you intended, laced with something darker—something sharp, like the sudden burn of a raw wound.

Jinx frowned, her sharp eyes catching the change in you but not probing too deeply. She gave you a side glance before turning back to the street ahead. Her voice was lighter, teasing. “C’mon, let’s get to work. We’re not here to admire the trees, right?”

Before you could respond, Jinx dropped to a crouch, her fingers brushing against the ground as she plucked a small flower, the only violet among a primrose patch. Its petals were a delicate purple, soft as silk, the colour so vivid it seemed to hum with life. With a sly smile tugging at her lips, she tucked it behind your ear, the coolness of the flower sending a brief shiver down your neck.

The flower’s chill lingered on your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of her breath against your cheek as she stepped back, eyeing you as if she’d just won some silent victory. “Perfect,” she said with a grin, her voice playful and rich with satisfaction. “You look all fancy now, Birdie.”

Before you could protest, she spun on her heel and darted off, her footsteps a quick staccato against the cobblestones, the sound light and almost musical. Her laughter cut through the air like the tinkling of distant bells, a sound so pure and untainted it almost made you forget about the city around you.

“Hey!” You scowled, but it was too late—she was already a few paces ahead, her figure melting into the flow of the crowd. Your pulse quickened, a rush of adrenaline pushing through your veins. Your feet hit the pavement, the rough stones biting at the soles of your boots as you surged forward, chasing after her.

“Jay, slow down!”

But she only giggled louder, a mischievous ring to the sound, her voice slipping through the throngs of people with that impossible speed of hers. You gritted your teeth, the clamour of voices and the sharp scent of perfume filling your senses as you wove through the crowd, pushing yourself harder, faster.

The violet, still perched behind your ear, seemed to pulse with every step you took, the faint scent of its petals mingling with the crisp, clean air. For a brief moment, as you chased her, it was as if the world paused—everything except you and Jinx. The chase felt alive, a raw, frantic pulse of energy that seemed to tether you to something you could barely grasp.

In that fleeting second, the weight of Piltover's wealth, the bitter air, and the city’s polished facade faded just enough for you to remember what was real. The strange warmth in your chest as you ran—that was real. And for a moment, it was enough to make everything else seem distant, irrelevant.

The chase was worth it.

Up until the world’s cruel reminder of everything you once had came crashing down harder.

You pushed yourself harder to catch up with Jinx, but something pulled at you—an odd, gnawing sensation crawling up your spine. The polished stone beneath your feet seemed to shimmer too brightly, the golden light from the street lamps cutting through the twilight like sharp edges. It reminded you of things you had long since locked away, memories you’d buried deep in the dark corners of your mind.

The clean, fresh air here, so different from the murky fumes of Zaun, should’ve felt like a relief, but instead, it felt almost suffocating. It brought with it flashes of sterile white walls, the cold bite of glass pressed too tightly against your skin. The sharp clink of metal. Hands that weren’t kind.

You felt the corners of your lips twitch into a smile, but it was empty, distant. It didn’t quite reach your eyes.

"Feels so empty, doesn’t it?" You said almost peacefully, voice soft enough to be drowned out by the steady hum of conversation and distant street vendors calling out to passersby.

Jinx glanced back, a brow raised at you. "Why’d’ya have that cute-scary-pretty smile on, Birdie?"

You sighed, the sound dreamlike but almost hollow. "Ugh, topsiders' got it all," you said, keeping your voice light but with a hint of resentment simmering underneath. "The air, the trees, the people. They think it’s all just there for them like they deserve it. But what do they really know about it?” You giggled, the sound alone bringing a smile to Jinx’s features, “What do they know about breathing without poison in the air, or surviving in a world that doesn’t care if you live or die?"

Jinx stopped and turned to face you, her playful grin faltering slightly as she read the shift in your tone. She tilted her head, not pushing but curious. "What’s up? You getting all deep on me, Birdie?"

You shrugged, still smirking, but your gaze turned darker, more focused. "What’s there to be scared of?" you said, the words coming out smooth, as though you were stating a simple fact. "They can’t break what’s already broken."

Your laugh followed, soft and light, cutting through the steady chatter and clinking of nearby street vendors setting up for the night. The laughter was brief, sharp—a flash of something unsettling.

The buzz of the street lamps overhead shifted the familiar hum faltering, followed by a sharp crackling sound. Without warning, every lamp along the block sputtered, their light flickering like a dying breath, and the air around you seemed to pulse with a strange, static energy. You felt it before you saw it—the telltale jolt of power rippling through the air, like a spark on the edge of something dangerous.

The lights buzzed and flickered again, a chorus of crackling static that grew louder, more erratic, until a loud crack sounded.

One lamp shattered, its glass scattering onto the street below with a deafening pop. In quick succession, the others followed suit—a soft crackle left behind until the entire block was plunged into darkness. The light from the nearby windows spilled out onto the cobblestones, casting eerie, shifting shadows across the street, but the lamps were gone, their fragile bulbs shattered by some invisible force.

A few pedestrians screamed, scrambling to avoid the broken glass, while others froze in place, uncertain of what just happened. A nearby vendor let out a nervous laugh, trying to calm the frightened crowd, but the air was thick with tension.

Jinx’s eyes flickered from the broken lamps to you, her grin widening as she took in the chaos. "Well, guess we just have that effect on the city, huh?" she teased, her voice light with amusement.

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you studied the shattered glass scattered on the ground, the last remnants of the once-glowing lamps gleaming eerily in the dim light. The electric hum of the atmosphere still lingered, crackling around you like the residue of a storm.

With a dark, knowing smirk curling at the edges of your lips, you turned to Jinx. "Guess so. Piltover’s perfect little world just... cracks."

For a moment, the usual hum of the city—the noise, the voices, the movement—faded into a distant background. It was just you and Jinx in the silence like the world had stopped to take a breath. But then, as quickly as it had all gone quiet, the sounds of the street came rushing back. People were talking again, rushing away from the mess, and the vendors were scrambling to get their goods undercover.

And yet, in that moment, the tension in the air still lingered, like everything around you had just shifted. You and Jinx shared a glance, and then, without a word, you both broke into laughter—wild, unrestrained, and full of that familiar, dangerous joy.

The city continued to pulse with life, the laughter ringing out through the noise, blending with the chaos that followed. But for just a moment, in the midst of it all, you felt lighter. Almost like you were breathing again.

present - age 21

"Stay still," you chirped, your tone light and sweet, as if offering a friendly suggestion rather than holding a man captive with a knife at his throat. Your knees dug into his ribs, the coarse fabric of his uniform scraping against your skin. The blade in your hand hovered mere millimetres above his clammy neck, sparks of electricity dancing along the edge like restless fireflies. Each flicker sent faint, ghostly reflections darting across his wide, terrified eyes.

The guard beneath you trembled, his breath hitching with every erratic rise and fall of his chest. He smelled faintly of sweat and grease, his fear mixing with the sharper metallic tang of blood from a small cut on his cheek. His hands twitched at his sides, his fingers curling into fists before loosening again as if trying to will himself into stillness.

"Don’t squirm," you added, your voice soft but teasing, like you were sharing a private joke. "It’d be such a shame if my hand slipped. So messy. Though, your uniform would pair nicely with a deep red..."

The hum of electricity grew louder, its faint, crackling buzz cutting through the heavy stillness of the warehouse. Overhead, a flickering bulb swung gently on its chain, casting jittery light and warped shadows across the walls. Dust motes swirled in the air, catching the sporadic gleam of your blade. The faint scent of ozone tinged the space, sharp and electric, mingling with the musty aroma of rotting wood, old crates, and spilled oil pooling in uneven puddles on the floor.

“Birdie!” Jinx’s voice rang out suddenly, sing-song and teasing, shattering the tense quiet. She leaned lazily against a stack of precariously balanced boxes, her rocket launcher resting casually against her shoulder. The dull green glow of her goggles glinted in the dim light as her wild grin widened. "You flirtin’ again? C’mon, you’re makin’ me jealous."

You giggled, glancing back at her over your shoulder, your cheeky grin as sharp as the blade in your hand. "Jealous? Bluejay, you know you’re my favourite."

Jinx snorted, spinning her zapper in her hand like a toy. The movement sent a faint whine through the air, a sound like a dying firework. "Good, now hurry it up! We don’t have all night."

You returned your attention to the guard, his pale face glistening with a sheen of cold sweat. His pupils darted nervously between your crackling blade and the manic girl in the corner. The sour stench of his fear was almost tangible.

"You heard her," you said brightly, your smile unwavering, even as the electricity crackled with menacing energy. "So, here’s the deal—stay quiet, stay still, and I won’t have to test how conductive you are. Sound good?"

He nodded frantically, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, a visible tremor rippling through his body.

"Good boy," you cooed, your voice dripping with mock affection as you tapped his cheek lightly, the gesture more unnerving than comforting. When you stood, the blade still sparking faintly in your hand, he wasted no time scrambling away. His boots scuffed loudly against the concrete, the sharp sound echoing in the cavernous space as he disappeared into the shadows.

Jinx sidled up to you, her grin a crooked mirror of your own. “You’re way too nice, y’know that?”

You tilted your head, shrugging with an exaggerated pout, your tone playful. “What can I say? I’m a people person.”

Her laughter rang out, sharp and unhinged, ricocheting off the warehouse's cold metal walls. The sound seemed to echo in your chest, mingling with the electric hum that still crackled faintly at your fingertips. Together, you turned toward the rows of crates stacked like soldiers in rigid formation, their weathered surfaces bearing the scars of countless journeys. Each crate seemed to whisper promises of power and chaos, daring you to uncover their secrets.

“Just gotta find the blue stuff, right?” you asked, stretching your arms lazily, the faint shimmer of your wings catching the flickering light as you unfurled them. The motion sent a harmless ruffle through the air—harmless until the feathery edge of your wing smacked Jinx square in the head.

“Hey!” she squawked, rubbing her temple with a mock glare. “Watch your chicken wings!”

You stifled a giggle, glancing at her sheepishly. “Thought you said you loved them, Jay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, though her grin betrayed her annoyance. “How could I not?” She flicked her fingers, a few sparks crackling into the air.

As the two of you turned, a banner hung on the far wall caught your eye—bright, regal, and emblazoned with the unmistakable insignia of the Kiramman family. The same gold crest that once adorned the halls of the Piltover mansion where you had spent so many days locked away, trembling in fear under the watchful eyes of their cruel experiments. The familiar scent of polished wood and sterile, bitter air flooded your senses in an instant, the haunting weight of it pulling at your chest like an old wound that had never quite healed.

You froze for a moment, eyes locked on the banner, your breath catching in your throat.

“Birdie?” Jinx’s voice cut through the haze of your memories, her brow furrowed. “You good?”

Your hands twitched involuntarily, a sharp jolt of electricity crackling from your fingertips before you reined it back in with a forced calm. You swallowed hard, shaking your head, and forced a smile.

“Yeah, just... hate these fucking topsiders,” you said, the words feeling thin, like a mask you had to put on to cover the shadows beneath. "Nothing more nothing less."

Jinx didn’t push, though she gave you a long look, her playful energy dampening just for a moment. She turned back to the task at hand with a sigh. "You and me both."

You nodded, though your eyes lingered on the banner for a second longer. You could feel the knot in your stomach tightening, the memory of those days—the dark, cold rooms, the smell of iron and sterilization—swarming back. You’d never forgotten who had bought you, who had taken you from Ixtal and twisted you into something they could control. But this was different. You weren’t powerless anymore. You had your revenge waiting.

“Let’s find the blue stuff,” you echoed, voice steady as you forced yourself forward.

The crates loomed ahead, stacked high and heavy, filled with Piltover’s precious tech and the hextech secrets you were here to claim. The whole warehouse was suffused with the dusty, metallic scent of industry, but there was something different about the air today. It felt heavier, charged with anticipation. And maybe a little darker than usual, especially now that you were back on familiar ground.

Jinx gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Right. And we’ll make sure it’s nice and... safe for our use.”

She flashed that gleam in her eye, the one that always meant a mess was coming. You couldn’t help but smile back, your mind momentarily distracted from the past as you focused on what lay ahead. It wasn’t just the blue tech anymore; it was the chance to prove you could be more than just a weapon.

The warehouse stretched out before you, the low hum of electricity growing louder with each step, as if the very walls were alive, ready to react to whatever you brought with you. You ran a hand along the rough edge of a crate, the splintered wood prickling your fingertips, before Jinx’s voice broke through the silence.

“Alright, Birdie, new stakes,” she announced, spinning her zapper in one hand. “Whoever finds it first gets the fluffy blanket tonight.”

You stopped in your tracks, tilting your head to the side in a silent question. “ The fluffy blanket?”

“Yeah,” she said, her grin widening. “Y’know the one. The soft, cozy, ‘wrap-yourself-like-a-burrito’ blanket. The one you always steal from me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and genuine. “You mean the one you keep kicking me for in your sleep?”

“Details,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Point is, it’s mine if I win. Got it?”

You shrugged with a giggle, feigning indifference. “Fine by me. But don’t cry when I’m the one burrito-wrapped tonight.”

Jinx snorted, bounding ahead to a row of crates with her usual reckless energy. “Whatever you say, Dove.”

You followed at a slower pace, your wings brushing against the edges of the narrow aisles. Each crate you passed felt heavier, their secrets pressing against your mind like a whisper you couldn’t quite catch. You knelt by a smaller one, prying it open with a grunt. Inside, rows of gears and wires glinted under the dim light—fascinating, but not what you were looking for.

From the other side of the warehouse, you heard Jinx’s frustrated groan. “Ugh, more boring junk. Where’s the good stuff?”

You smirked, moving to the next crate. This one was different—smaller, heavier, with strange markings etched into the wood. As you cracked it open, a faint, pulsing glow spilled out, bathing your face in soft blue light.

Your breath caught in your throat as the hexstone came into view, nestled within layers of protective fabric. The gem pulsed faintly, its energy radiating out in waves that seemed to seep into your skin.

“Hey, Jay,” you called out, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Nooo, did you find it?” Jinx’s voice echoed from across the room, followed by the sound of her hurried footsteps.

But you barely heard her. The hexstone’s glow had grown brighter, more insistent, and the faint hum in the air had risen to a sharp, almost deafening pitch. Your wings twitched involuntarily, the metal plates inside vibrating in rhythm with the stone.

“Birdie?” Jinx’s voice was closer now, tinged with confusion. “What’s wrong?”

You tried to answer, but the words stuck in your throat. The gem pulsed again, and the edges of the world began to blur—not in an unsettling way, but with a dreamlike softness, as though reality itself was exhaling.

Warmth enveloped you, spreading from your fingertips to your chest like the first rays of dawn filtering through a thick canopy of trees. It wasn’t just a sensation—it was a presence, familiar and inviting, almost as if it recognized you. The faint blue glow of the hexstone intensified, casting the warehouse in a gentle light that rippled like water, its rhythm almost imperceptibly aligning with the beat of your heart.

You smiled without meaning to, your breath catching in wonder. The energy wrapped around you like a silken embrace, weaving through the cracks in your soul and filling them with something you hadn’t felt in years: peace. Your wings stirred, their metal plates shifting smoothly for once, no longer scraping or grinding. They felt lighter, freer—almost as if the stone had erased the weight of their existence.

The hum of the hexstone resonated through the air, low and soothing, like the distant rumble of a summer storm. It curled around you, a siren’s call that tugged at the edges of your mind, drawing you deeper into its glow.

But then, the warmth shifted.

The soothing heat became sharper, hotter, prickling against your skin like embers scattering across bare flesh. The pulse of the hexstone grew erratic, its rhythm no longer in harmony with yours but forcing itself into your veins. The soft hum rose into a shrill whine, scraping against your eardrums like nails on glass.

Your wings spasmed violently, the once-smooth plates locking up as sparks crackled along their edges. The metal groaned, the sound jarring against the memory of that fleeting lightness. You tried to release the stone, your fingers trembling with effort, but they wouldn’t obey. The warmth had turned suffocating, a crushing heat that coiled around your chest and throat.

It wasn’t just holding you anymore—it was taking you.

The air grew heavy, and dense with the acrid tang of burning ozone and the metallic bite of blood. Your lungs burned with every breath, as though the stone’s energy had leeched the oxygen from the room. Shadows rippled at the edges of your vision, and the once-gentle glow twisted into jagged streaks of light that lashed out like living things, searing patterns onto your retinas.

The whispers started then.

“Leave.”“Close your eyes—let us in.”“We’ve been looking for you, (y/n).”

They weren’t real, but they felt real, the voices sharp and clinical, each word slicing through your mind like a scalpel. The pulse of the hexstone matched the rhythm of the words, each beat a hammer driving the memories deeper into your skull.

“Birdie!” Jinx’s shout was distant, muffled by the storm raging in your head. Her footsteps echoed faintly, distorted like a sound underwater.

Your wings unfurled uncontrollably, slamming into nearby crates with a deafening crash. Splinters rained down, scattering across the floor as electricity arced along your feathers. The air sizzled with the sharp tang of ionized metal, and every nerve in your body screamed for release.

“Snap out of it!” Jinx was closer now, her voice raw and frantic. Her hands gripped your shoulders, shaking you hard enough to make your head snap back. “It’s just a rock, Birdie!”

But the hexstone wasn’t just a rock.

It was a trap, a cage, an anchor to everything they had done to you.

Then came the crack—a gunshot, sharp and deafening.

Pain exploded through your wing, the metal plates seizing as agony rippled through your body. The hexstone tumbled from your grip, its glow dimming as it hit the floor with a hollow clink . The oppressive heat vanished in an instant, leaving you shivering in its absence.

You stumbled back, clutching your injured wing as blood and sparks seeped from the torn metal seams. The acrid stench of burned feathers filled your nose, and the distant voices finally fell silent.

“Birdie!” Jinx’s hands were on you again, her grip trembling but firm. Her voice was closer now, desperate. “Hey, are you with me? Come on, say something!”

The world around you swam, blurring at the edges as you blinked against the blinding warehouse lights. Jinx’s wide, frantic eyes came into focus, her face streaked with dirt and panic.

“...Fuck—yeah,” you rasped, the words scraping out of your throat like shattered glass.

Jinx exhaled a shaky breath, relief flashing across her face. But the reprieve was short-lived.

“Shit,” she hissed, her head whipping toward the far end of the warehouse. Flashlight beams sliced through the dark, followed by the heavy clang of enforcer boots and the sharp bark of orders.

She grabbed your arm, yanking you toward the nearest exit. “Forget the blue stuff,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically low and serious. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Still dazed, you stumbled forward, every step sending jolts of pain through your damaged wing. But as you moved, your eyes caught the faint, flickering glow of the hexstone, still lying on the floor where you’d dropped it. Its light pulsed weakly, no longer suffocating but still insistent, calling to you like a whisper at the edge of your mind.

It had nearly destroyed you.

But you couldn’t leave it behind.

Your hand darted out, snatching the stone before shoving it into your pocket. It sent a sharp, biting shock up your arm, but you ignored it, your focus narrowing to the approaching voices and the faint glint of enforcer rifles.

Jinx tugged you forward, her grip grounding you as your legs struggled to keep up. The glowing hexstone in your pocket throbbed against your hip, each pulse faint but insistent, like a warning you couldn’t ignore.

"Okay, shake it off!" Jinx urged, her voice a strange mix of panic and forced cheer. “We’ve got company, and I don’t feel like sticking around to meet 'em!”

The clang of enforcer boots grew louder, the sound slicing through the eerie hum still buzzing faintly in your ears. Your body felt heavy, the aftershock of the hexstone’s grip making every step feel like trudging through quicksand.

As you reached the warehouse doors, a blinding spotlight flooded the room, casting long, stark shadows against the rows of crates.

“Hold it right there!” a voice barked, the sound amplified by a speaker and distorted by authority.

Jinx’s grin returned, wide and wild. “Oh, great! A party crasher, I really don’t remember inviting you guys here…” she quipped, letting go of your arm and reaching for her gun.

“Jay—” you started, but she was already bounding away, her laughter echoing through the cavernous space as she dove behind a stack of crates.

"Stay low, Birdie!" she called, her voice fading as the first gunshot rang out.

The sound snapped you out of your haze, adrenaline flooding your veins as you ducked behind a crate. The sharp scent of gunpowder mingled with the faint metallic tang still clinging to your senses.

You pressed your back against the cold metal, breathing hard as the chaos unfolded around you. Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted off the crates, the enforcers’ shouts mixing with Jinx’s delighted cackles.

But even as you moved to grab a weapon, your fingers brushed against your pocket, where the hexstone pulsed faintly. A shiver ran through you, your stomach twisting as its warmth seeped through the fabric again, teasing, beckoning.

The fight raged on around you, but the hexstone’s pull was undeniable. It wasn’t just a weapon. It wasn’t just a tool. It was alive , and it wanted something—something only you could give.

You clenched your jaw, shoving the thought aside. Not now. Whatever power it held, you couldn’t afford to lose yourself again.

With a deep breath, you unfurled your wings, ignoring the sharp sting in the injured one as you launched yourself into the fray.

a/n: aye chapter 3 im so glad that ppl are liking this so far! you can probably expect an update every 2-3 days (or not cuz school's kicking my ass and november burnout is real)

taglist: @deathvidal , @stupendousbananasharkcop , @titusmouser , @itosh1teru , @0sunnyside0 , @pulcen , @chuucanchuucan , @fluffygreatness , @pebble-peddle

#arcane x reader #jinx x reader #arcane jinx #isha arcane

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yandere-daydreams · 2 years ago

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tw - stalking, unhealthy relationships, mentions of masturbation, obsessive behavior, and medical malpractice galore.

Harper is the kind of man who can't help but study what he loves.

It's a bad habit - an unfortunate combination of natural curiosity and burning academic passion that always seems to end with a mess and a few broken toys. A childhood fascination with insects might lead to shoeboxes full of tattered wings and twitching bodies. A passing interest in hemogobular coagulation would be poured into a university internship that gave him access to more pints of blood than he knew what to do with, despite his best attempts to put it all to good use. A lasting fondness for hypnosis could, theoretically, earn him a small collection of pocket watches, a soothing timbre that often played underneath his passive speaking voice, and a few asylum patients too far gone to ever truly recover.

His research wasn't always destructive, but it could be. His love tended to veer towards obsession; the kind of burning infatuations that could leave more than a little devastation in its wake, if he wasn't careful. A measured amount of collateral damage was acceptable, compared to the alternative.

He studies you, too. Idly, at first - nothing more than an intrusive thought allowed to fester during your all-too-infrequent appointments, a quick jolt of excitement when he noticed your name on his schedule - then more consciously, in the form of an extra question asked at the very end of his time with you, a note tacked onto your file that doesn't strictly have to do with your health. His chances for observation are limited. You rarely make it to your therapy sessions, no matter how often he insists you should see him, and you're sturdier than he'd like, too used to being thrown around and mistreated to come running to him every time you scrape your knees. That's something he decides he doesn't like about you fairly early on. Part of a case study is deciding which parts of your subject will need to be adapted, and even you aren't beyond correction.

He records your reactions to his mis-prescribed medication with a religious sort of zealousness, reviews your symptoms and lab results while fucking his fist in-time with your pulse. He makes sure to visit your bedside personally whenever you find your way into his emergency room, and you're rewarded for your newfound attentiveness with a healthy supply of shots that leave you too removed from reality to remember your time on his examination table. Harper's always preferred the written word, but he find himself with a budding appreciation for film during his nightly evaluation of your records. His memory is keen enough, but there's nothing quite like being able to study your body detail by detail whenever he isn't fortunate enough to have access to the real thing.

He thinks, as he watches a pair of his nurses drag you through the asylum doors, that it might be time to start the next leg of his study. Studying is useful, but you've always benefited from more proactive measures, more personal attention. It'd be a discredit to his occupation if he was too preoccupied with his own little pleasures to see to the needs of his favorite patient.

It's far past time he moved on to more hands-on research methods, when it comes to you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere prompts #yandere degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity #degrees of lewdity x reader #dol #harper the doctor #harper x reader #yandere harper the doctor #dol imagines #degrees of lewdity imagines #yanderecore #yancore

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lilacxquartz · 17 days ago

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THE LIFE YOU LIVED;

kenjaku x future vessel f!reader

plot: being the daughter of an important public figure, you were already used to unwanted attention. however, nothing could have prepared you for this.

summary: you can’t help but feel like there’s something off about the person you’re supposed to be with — tw: violence, body horror, kenjaku being kenjaku

part 6 of 7 • previous chapter • final chapter • chapter directory • masterlist • on ao3

Chapter 6. Isolation

As you got ready for the fundraiser, you stood in front of the mirror, taking in your appearance. You went with a ruby red dress which looked nice enough, but you just couldn’t, for the life of you, reach for the zipper. Behind you, your fiancé had already taken the liberty to approach, brushing his fingers along the exposed window of your back.

Kenjaku wore his new face without any suspicion in mind, but he couldn’t help but let slip the facade when around you. It was as if just by being around you, he wanted to explore you on his terms—not the role that he forced himself to play.

“Allow me,” he murmured, his voice soft and low. His fingers were careful as they pinched along the tag, gliding smoothly along your spine into a close. Another intrusive thought crept in once he buckled the clasp in, though. He lingered for longer than he should have, and then he leaned in, pressing his lips against the nape of your neck and slid his arms slowly around your waist, as if he had done this all before.

You froze and then took a step back. “No,” you reminded him in a firm tone. “We’re not in that kind of arrangement, remember? This is all for show. You’ll have your side pieces and I’ll have mine, but we won’t make it more complicated than it has to be.”

Kenjaku’s face—your fiancé’s face—didn’t flinch, but whatever light that glinted in his eyes just moments before had gone.

“My mistake,” he said, although not apologising.

You scoffed and walked away, taking out a pair of black heels from your walk-in closet without looking back at him again. He followed quietly after you, letting himself go down the stairs, step by step, with a comfortable measure of distance behind.

Despite the reality of things, Kenjaku couldn’t shake the rejection. Or rather, the implication. After everything that he had risked to get close to you—there was still someone else. He sighed as he tried to push it back down, but the tight clench of his jaw made it increasingly obvious that this bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

~~~

Upon arriving at the fundraiser, it was a loud and bright venue that greeted him. It wasn’t too different from any of the flashy events that he found himself attending on occasion if he had to. It was something that he knew his way around, at least.

He hadn’t touched you since you were at home last, but you could feel the way he looked at you all the same. Something about the irritable, spoiled man that you once knew seemed different, in a way that you couldn’t connect. It was as if his personality had shifted overnight, and he now acted like someone else. Such an idea made you shudder, but you quickly dismissed it. It was likely another woman who probably made him feel alive, or something similar, which made it none of your concern.

As you left him to his own devices, you slipped away from the guy in search of a name that flashed across you on the attendee’s list. These sorts of places were ripe for these sorts of things; people would detach from their loyalties and laugh a little too much at the jokes spoken by others, and you weren’t any different.

Just then, the voice you were holding out for cut through the murmur of the crowd, your name sounding familiar as he held it on his lips.

You whipped around and lit up. “Masato?”

Your childhood friend was indeed here, and you only ever got to talk to him during events like this one. He lived on the other side of the country and often travelled to China for his business ventures, but he would on occasion reunite with you, just like this.

Kenjaku watched from afar, finally understanding why you were so keen to attend something as benign as a charity fundraiser. These things were exhausting—at least to him—but you didn’t seem to be the type to care that much either.

“It’s been so long,” you greeted your friend, connecting him with a tight hug that lingered for a moment too long. “How have you been?”

“It has,” Masato spoke, leading you a little away from the crowd, replying to you as he helped lead you away. You weren’t using crutches for this event, but your slight limp made it obvious to some.

Kenjaku tilted his head as he watched you from across the room. His head tilted in intrigue, his posture eerily still, and against his better judgment, he followed quietly after you both. He stalked not too far behind the whole time, but remained just out of sight. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the way your hand slipped into his and the way you leaned into him in the cover of a dark hallway. The way your lips crashed against his. The way that Masato reciprocated.

The rejection from before started to have more weight now.

He wouldn’t usually care so much, because he rarely ever did for such instances, but then again, he was watching from the body of your fiancé, wasn’t he? So while his mind remained sharp on the matter—even if the reality was the complete opposite—these vessels had memories etched into the flesh, and sometimes, those memories reacted.

The anger surfaced before he could bury it, quickly bridging the distance from the unseen corner from where he spied to the wall where Masato had been pressed up against. Without thinking, his hand clamped down against the other man’s throat and lifted him from his feet, crushing and squeezing the life out of his neck.

You were quick to react. “What are you doing?!” you screamed.

Kenjaku didn’t stop, though. His fist curled tighter and tighter as his knuckles paled from the sheer force. He was breathing heavily, feeling nothing like himself.

“Let him go,” you spoke up again, but your voice trembled that time.

He took a deep breath and let go, taking a step back, watching with dead eyes as Masato fell into a gasping heap right where he stood. His head tilted, regarding him with slight disdain before smoothing his features to such an extent that the violent demonstration that had been exhibited just seconds before could have been imagined.

You blinked at him, fixing him a wary glare. Something was wrong with this man. That odd feeling that you got before of him not being the person you’ve known before was starting to come to light again.

“What’s wrong with you?” you asked, keeping your voice a whisper. Your hands trembled, and you had to curl them into fists to prevent your obvious discomfort from showing.

He turned to face you, seeing that accusatory look in your eyes.

Masato sat up quickly, feeling his tenderly bruised flesh with his fingers. He chimed in, too, his voice thick with worry—not for his sake—but for yours, “You’re fucking crazy. What the hell was that?”

Kenjaku remained quiet and blinked down at the man, twitching his fingers in warning. Without needing to be told at all, your childhood friend picked himself up and limped away as if hearing the unspoken command to leave. Somehow, he knew if he stayed, it might mean the end for him.

(And it would be, just another night, without you to witness it.)

When it was just you two remaining, Kenjaku didn’t say anything either. He simply leaned back against the wall, tilting his head slightly to look at you. A faint smile curled on his lips, but he didn’t commit to it.

You gulped, taking a step back, struggling to make eye contact. You kept flicking your gaze onto the floor and then back to him, unable to hold it for very long.

“What exactly are you?” you warily asked.

He didn’t reply.

“Because,” you continued anyway, “people don’t act like this.”

“People don’t lose their temper when their lover is kissing someone else right in front of them?” he calmly asked you. “Are you sure about that?”

“No, no, no,” you backpedalled, however not denying what you had done, “this is different—you’re different,” you tried to deflect, “it’s like you’re someone else completely.”

He blinked at you, retaining his calm tone, “I’m the same person I have always been. Are you feeling alright?”

You shook your head again. There was something about the way he talked that struck you as familiar, as if you had met with him before, but as someone else. That much was impossible, though, even if the way he spoke and the words he chose didn’t match the erratic demeanour of the man you were scheduled to wed.

“Are you a demon or something?” you carefully asked, unable to take yourself so seriously upon asking him that, but you couldn’t figure him out at all. The lack of spark in the depths of his eyes confirmed it somewhat to you, though.

“I’m not a demon,” he replied softly, “but you’re not the first one to ask me that.”

“Then what are you?” you spat the question out, demanding to know.

Kenjaku allowed his lips to melt into a fully stretched out grin, which told you everything that you needed to know. This was a different look from the shallow smile your fiancé used to wear, but something rehearsed and, more importantly, something that didn’t belong to him.

“Are you familiar with sorcery?” he simply asked, choosing to go down that route. He hadn’t revealed his true form yet to just regular people, but you could be the first. The thought excited him.

You squinted at him. “Like witches and wizards?”

He stepped closer, walking you back until he had you wedged between the other side of the wall and his body. He held his smile as he continued. “Not quite, but, there’s a whole different world around you that’s hiding in plain sight.”

You tried to step away from him, but he didn’t let you.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you replied.

He let out a half-laugh, half scoff. “It’s not supposed to make sen—”

“—Because that’s impossible,” you cut in.

Kenjaku didn’t flinch, but his expression softened as if he pitied you. “Have you ever wondered why so many people go missing in this country as opposed to other places? Why other people see things that others can’t? Why some people like me seem a little more out of place than anyone else?”

You blinked, letting out a scoff. “You’re saying witches and wizards are the cause for that?”

“I didn’t say that witches and wizards are the cause,” he corrected you, releasing a light laugh at the idea, “I’m saying that this world you’re ignorantly living in has much more to it than what you know.”

“That’s bullshit,” you spat. “Are you on drugs?”

Kenjaku’s smile faltered for a second before shooting back up again. “Want me to show you the truth of who’s really inside your late fiancé?”

You gulped again, the way he described your husband-to-be didn’t go unnoticed. He said late. He implied that he was dead, despite being right in front of you. A part of you wanted to shift the blame onto something logical but—

“What?” you could only ask, your voice barely heard. “Show me?”

Kenjaku nodded calmly as he stepped aside, parting his hair to reveal the barely closed line that made up his forehead. His control of his reverse-cursed technique wasn’t the greatest in this vessel, so at times, his technique was rejected. Even when he patched himself up, the incision still split open. This was also recent, so he had no time to adjust. Stitches, therefore, were always the easiest route to go, and he was about to unravel them.

“Think of sorcerers having powers that are like unique magic abilities, we call them cursed techniques,” he revealed, choosing not to prattle on about the fundamentals of cursed energy because otherwise you wouldn’t understand at all. “Although it isn’t flashy, mine, for instance, allows me to move my brain from one body to another to prolong my life.”

A thought passed through you, but it seemed impossible. You asked it anyway.

“Are you that creepy man from the rooftop?”

Kenjaku laughed. “So clever,” he praised. “It’s truly a shame that you’re ordinary.”

You squinted at him, dismissing his insult. “If I’m so ordinary then why do you need me exactly?”

“Because,” he started, “I need you for a plan that surpasses your understanding.”

He left out the part where it was your body that he needed the most; your name, your face and also, that your use also had an expiration date.

“So… your brain is inside…?” you asked, your words falling short as you tried to process what he was telling you. Everything he said was impossible. “How does that even work? Do you transfer your brain and become a different person? Or?”

Kenjaku smoothed his tone to talk down to you slightly, but only in an educational sense. It was not a decision that was meant to be perceived as rude, but if you had never been exposed to such a life before, then he had to use simpler terms. “I transfer my brain into other hosts, but I stay the same. Think of it like… downloading a piece of software. The application will be read the same way, no matter the computer that ends up reading it.”

“But that’s not how bodies work,” you pouted. “If transferring a consciousness was that easy, then mind transfers would be a thing by now. What you’re talking about is unrealistic science fiction.”

He blinked, trying not to cover too much at once. It was a little frustrating. “It’s not possible for non-sorcerers, no, because you don’t have an alternative power source. Sorcerers have their foundation of power that can be harnessed to fit their cursed technique. Most don’t have a technique that allows them to explore immortality, as most techniques are combative, so that’s where the energy focus goes. My technique is within my brain, so it has learned to adapt.”

You let out a heavy sigh, your mind hurting as it tried to keep up with what he was saying. It sounded so unbelievable, so made up, and yet you also knew the body that this thing was wearing. You knew for a fact that he lacked the creativity to explain something so bizarre so cohesively.

Kenjaku let your thoughts simmer away as he proceeded with unravelling his stitches, revealing the glistening meaty rim of his forehead. Blood still seeped through, but so did other fluids as he lifted the top part of his skull; the bone popping off to reveal his brain. Such a thing looked wrong. Somehow firmer, somehow darker than you’d expect it to be and with teeth, of all things.

Your next reaction was involuntary. You backed off to the side—to which he let you—and twisted your body away to vomit in some unseen corner. He watched you all the while as his face betrayed no emotion other than an unsettling impassiveness.

“I don’t feel so good,” you weakly spoke, “so you’re not…”

“Not the man you know,” Kenjaku calmly confirmed, finishing your sentence for you. He was quick to notice the suddenly rigid posture on your person, the way your hands twitched, the way that your legs widened in a cautious stance, ready to bolt at any moment’s notice.

When you tried to shoot forward, he was quick, grabbing onto you tightly before you could get very far, if anywhere at all. Your mobility wasn’t fully restored yet, which made it easier. His arms wrapped around your body, holding you tight against his chest, shooting one palm up to meet at your lips, silencing you before you could scream.

“I come from a world,” he whispered into your ear, his breath hot, “that is far beyond your understanding, and in that world, ordinary people like you are weak. You’re helpless against me. Disposable, to an extent.”

You trembled in his grip, unable to even squirm from the sheer terror of what you were feeling.

“And you don’t get to run away from me.”

He held onto you a bit tighter, hard enough for the entire gesture to be a warning, or rather, a demonstration. “You’re scared,” he continued to murmur into your shuddering skin, “I understand. People tend to fear things that they don’t know. But…” he trailed off, a darker idea creeping into mind, “I’ll take care of you, though. Hell, I’ll even nurse your broken leg back to health.”

You froze. “My leg isn’t—” you started, but then you stilled entirely. You heard the sound of the crack before the pain could even register. An unuttered scream locked itself in your throat as a seething, immobilising pain shot through your entire body, enveloping you from within in a sharp and curdling ache.

Kenjaku spoke again. “I didn’t want to do that, but you left me no choice. Now, you want me to fix it, don’t you? So you’ll be good now, won’t you? You’ll play along and listen.”

You were too busy weeping into his palm, but you managed to nod.

“Good,” he cooed, “I knew you’d come around.”

this has been part 5 of lilac’s bite sized jjk yandere nightmares

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gothic-aesthetic-gal · 5 months ago

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Old Scars (Part 15)

Ledger!joker x reader

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️

Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence, mentions of minor characters (not J) being misogynist/threatening SA, reference to past traumatic injury. This chapter's pretty soft actually, no violence for once 😂 Beyond this i'm not sure, i'll update these when I write more.

Chapter 15 -

The next thing I was aware of was somebody else entering the room, though some time later. Their footsteps rounded the bed to the side I was curled up on and the sudden intrusion of the sound woke me up with a jolt. I looked up to see the familiar tall figure of a man in dress pants and a dishevelled shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked recently showered; his hair was still wet and his bare face still had some traces of shaving foam on it. He clumsily replaced the errant strap of his suspenders as they slid off of his shoulder and crouched down beside me. As I realised who he was, I struggled to untangle the knotted threads of reality and the dream.

"Hello there," he said, with a voice like dry leaves on asphalt.

"I saw you," I murmured shakily.

He sat down beside me on the bed with a hum which suggested he was intrigued.

"And you were afraid."

I pulled myself upright so that I was seated with my legs crossed, and much to my alarm quickly realised how few clothes I was wearing. I hurriedly clutched the bedsheets to me, feeling very exposed but trying (and failling) to play it off like I wasn't. Oh god, there was no way he and Tony hadn't already seen too much.

"Afraid of you? A little, yes, but everything in that place was terrifying. You were just part of the landscape," I said as nonchalantly as I could.

He seemed a little surprised by my candid answer and highly amused by my attempt to preserve some kind of modesty. He handed me a cold glass of water with a tablet fizzing away inside it.

"Drink that."

"What is it?"

"Just drink it."

I sighed, for once not having the energy to argue and began to sip it quickly, not liking the taste. When it was half empty, I put it on the bedside dresser. He stayed sat beside me, fingers pressed together into a steeple as he seemed to drift somewhere far away in his mind. I watched the muscles and tendons of his forearms flex as his fingers moved in repetetive shapes and sequences.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I asked in my hoarse voice, recalling that he had used this particular turn of phrase on me before.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in the faintest hint of a smile, recognition of how i'd passed his own words back to him. He didn't share, of course. He never liked to show his hand, no matter what game we were playing.

"What happened to me?" I asked instead.

"You don't remember your little, uh, scuffle with the Russian?"

"Don't be difficult, you know what I mean. What did he stick me with?" I grumbled.

He turned to look me up and down, measuring the depth of my frustration and finding it to be fairly shallow.

"A kind of fear toxin, courtesy of disgraced Arkham psychiatrist Jonathan Crane. I hear it's causing all sorts of trouble in the Narrows since the dealers got hold of it."

"Why would that ever be sold as a recreational drug?" I scoffed in disbelief.

"To be fair," he said, flicking his tongue against his lower lip, "I think it's deliberately mis-sold."

"False advertising," I echoed as I wondered if he'd always had such an unusual tic, or if he'd developed it over time. I still found it unnerving.

"Yes. Maybe he wants to hold people to ransom and grind out a little profit selling the antidote," J added.

"You think that's Crane's M.O.?" I asked.

His tongue clicked against his teeth as he let out a kind of exasperated sigh.

"How should I know? He's crazy."

I failed to stifle a grin at the irony of such a dismissal coming from him, of all people.

"What's so amusing to you?" He asked, his voice slithering back into a slightly more sinister register.

His face took on a serious expression and he flexed his jaw. I realised I might be treading dangerous ground.

"I just find it a little hypocritical. I bet people call you crazy too," I answered earnestly, not wanting his unpredicatable moods to mold my own behaviour.

"I'm not crazy. I'm not," he muttered, though whether he was talking to himself or me was unclear.

"I didn't say you were -".

"Ah but you were thinking it. You were about to," he pointed a finger in my direction as his eyes narrowed.

"I only meant that people would say it, I've no idea whether you actually are. Besides, I wouldn't know what counts as crazy anymore, not after that bad trip," I muttered with a roll of my eyes.

He seemed to ease off a little.

"So how long was I out?" I changed track.

He paused, like he was at an intersection deciding whether to follow me down this new road in conversation, eventually he did.

"A couple of days. We got the antitoxin in you within three hours but you had a highly concentrated dose."

I thought about what the whole syringe might have done to me. Vladislav had clearly meant to kill me, or drive me permanently out of my mind. I shuddered just as Tony reappeared with a bundle of clothes in hand and my duffle bag.

"Here, I washed these for you."

There was something so unexpected about this enormous, fierce man, handing me my clothes like a mother getting a child ready for school. He set down the bag and clothes on the unoccupied side of the bed

"You can go now, I'll call when I need you. You know the drill by now," J said, tossing him a set of jangling keys.

I wondered how long Tony had been away from his family, and tried to remember what having people waiting at home for you felt like. I heard his footsteps fade, a door open and close, and finally, the rumble of a car engine as it pulled away. In his absence, the silence that fell over us was deafening.

"What happened to them?" I finally asked in my desperation to end the quiet.

"Are you sure you'd like to know that?" J asked, his tone dancing between seriousness and playfulness.

"Nicky shot Trigger, and you shot Nicky, but what happened to Vlad?"

Even without the paint, I watched a growing darkness twist the features of the man beside me. I hurriedly turned my eyes away from his face, instead settling on the peeling yellow wall paper in the corner of the room.

"I wasn't sure what to do with him at first. I considered killing him, but he just seemed to go deeper and deeper into madness. It was fascinating to watch."

Unable to stop myself, I turned back towards him, and watched the growing fire in his eyes as he spoke; he was becoming increasingly animated with each word.

"Tony dropped him downtown. Most likely he'll be picked up and carted off to Arkham. His fate is an excellent warning against any of the other men who might be tempted back into Maroni's deep pockets."

"He's stuck in a living nightmare. Yeah, I'd heed that warning," I said dryly.

"Exactly! This is so much better than just shooting him and dumping him in the harbour: the mob are desensetised to that. It's basically a regular tuesday for them, but this? No, no, this is much more of a powerful threat..."

His piercing gaze met my own.

"Still, I suppose you disapprove..." he said with a smirk.

"Are you kidding me? He tried to kill me and nearly had me stuck in some kind of endless hell."

I laughed a little at the idea I was going to be reproachful and I had his intensely undivided attention as I continued:

"It's satisfying to know that he's stuck like that. He set those wheels in motion. Let him suffer like I did."

He made a kind of sound under his breath, like he was pleased with my outburst and I moved to drink the rest of the water, still clutching the blankets to my chest. I still felt like I was nursing the worst hangover of my entire life, like I'd suffered an electric shock. One time I had forgot to unplug the toaster when I was cleaning it with a damp cloth and it felt like someone tied a housebrick with a string connected to each of my fingers and thrown it off of a cliff. The way all of my muscles had snapped taught and suddenly cramped - it was one of the worst pains I had ever experienced. This felt like that but all over, somehow worse. I grasped a tshirt from the fresh pile, and looked pointedly at him.

When he didn't move, I was forced to use words.

"Turn around already," I grumbled.

Both his eyebrows pulled up into a knowing look as he laughed.

"I hate to break it to you doll, but you tore off your clothes whilst screaming like a banshee yesterday evening. It might be a little late for that."

My cheeks flushed red as I felt the sting of embarasment. Still I hurriedly stuffed the t-shirt over my head and pulled it on the moment he made a big scene of turning to face the wall for me.

"You can turn back," I groaned and laid my head back down against the cool pillow, feeling terrible.

The next time I woke up, J was sat on the empty side of the bed, his long legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankle and he was holding out a plate. His face paint had reappeared by now and he wordlessly gestured for me to take the food he'd brought. I sluggishly propped myself up enough to take one, and instead he forcibly shoved the plate into my hands.

"You need to eat these," he said sternly.

Wordlessly and methodically I worked my way through the crackers as he watched me intently. They had a layer of peanut butter and jelly haphazardly slapped on top of them, I assumed for the purpose of giving me some sugar intake.

"It's a good thing i'm not allergic to peanuts, huh? Did you think of that?" I jabbed an elbow into his ribs playfully, somehow forgetting the many reasons not to do that kind of thing.

He looked baffled, which made me laugh a little.

"What's so funny?" He said sounding almost hurt.

"Your face; you just looked so confused."

"People don't tend to touch me," he muttered, rattling over the t sounds..

"Yeah, well people will give you a wide berth if you go around blowing up half the city. Who'd have guessed?" I rolled my eyes.

Suddenly, he produced something from his pocket. It was a brilliant red apple, almost as vibrant as his painted smile. He rubbed it against his waistcoat as though he was polishing it. I watched him quizically as he took a bite and then tossed it into my lap. He had a maddening habit of chewing without properly closing his mouth which immediately made my skin crawl.

"What?" He asked, spotting my change in body language.

I gently put my hand over his mouth.

"Don't you have any manners?" I said as playfully as I could manage.

His eyes locked with my own and he slowly pulled my hand down.

"Define manners... I find that most of them are a waste of time. An unwritten social contract we're all just dragged into."

"Yes, but -" I tried to argue. He cut me off.

"Do you know, what happens if you get lacerations from here, to here? He asked, following the red line of paint which almost went from ear to ear.

"No," I answered, anxiety rising in my chest.

"Well, about here, is something called the parotid duct. It's basically the tube that carries your saliva, from where it is produced further back, into your mouth. If that gets cut, a surgeon will have to try reconstructing it. Even if they are successful, you'll probably have issues with it for life."

He gestured to a point on his cheek about two thirds of the way from his mouth to his ear, right at the top of his longer scar. Instantly, I realised what an asshat I had been and felt a burning shame spreading throughout my body.

"Not to mention, there's all kinds of nerves in here..." he pressed further, tracing the forked outline of some of them against my cheek with a finger.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't think -"

He waved a hand to shut me up, but I ignored him.

"No, I am. That was me being a prick. I of all people should have thought about that."

He placed a finger to my lips in a shushing motion and my words finally came to a halt.

"Don't waste your time, doll. I don't care. Not about manners and not about what you just said." He said, nodding his head affirmatively in a frantic way.

I was sure that I felt a rogue tear slip out and roll down my cheek, despite my attempts to suppress the overwhelming feeling of regret that was welling up inside me. How had I missed the obvious and said something so careless, like so many people had done to me? Before I could wipe it away, he spotted it and pulled his body closer to mine. He cupped my face in his hands with a look of childlike fascination in his features.

"What's this, a tear? For me?" He mused.

I tried to turn my head away, but he tightened his grip in resistance against me. I was then suddenly afraid of what he would do next. He swept the tear away with his thumb and released me from his grasp. Not knowing what had taken over me, I folded my arms around his waist and I laid back down.

He remained sat with his back to the headboard, and surprisingly didn't try to remove my clinging grasp on him as he stayed uncharacteristically still. I felt him rest a hand against the side of my face. Normally I would have recoiled even at the idea of anyone touching my broken skin, but there was something about his touch that felt like it was white hot and purifying. It was the opposite to the feeling of disgust and corruption that my attacker in the alley had left lingering on me.

"Sometimes, when its about to rain, espescially if theres a storm coming, it feels like the plate in my head starts to vibrate."

"So they turned you into a human barometer? That's unfortunate..."

"I mean it's a pretty shit power, it fucking hurts, but I can tell you if it's about to rain really heavily," I smiled weakly.

I felt his hand smooth the hair over the location of my titanium plate.

"You know, I applied for a specialist plastic surgeon to help me heal better," I began, seeing an opportunity for a little dark humour; "to stop me looking like I lost a fight to someone wielding a cheese grater..."

I felt him chuckle at my ridiculous image which was at odds with the emotional weight of what I was sharing.

"but my insurance provider denied me everything except the most basic stitch-up and a permanent plate."

He gave a hum which indicated he was listening intently.

"I can't help thinking maybe I wouldn't have a lifetime of headaches if they hadn't put the cheapest thing possible in there. And, of course, the scars could have been much less noticeable," I sighed, running my hand over the valleys and ridges travelling down from my temple.

"The whole system - It's a bad joke," he muttered.

I nodded with a sigh.

"But it will never change. It's so utterly depressing. I hate it."

"We live in a cruel world, it's true."

I felt his fingers clumsily tracing over my face again.

"Are you wondering how it happened?" I whispered.

"No. The past is the past. When you live in the world we do, the only way to stay sane is to live in the present."

A smile crept its way onto my face.

"If you'd asked, I would've lied to you any way. Even to you, I wouldn't give that away," I admitted, looking up at his face.

He seemed struck by this, looking down at me with a renewed kind of fascination.

"What?"

"Nothing," he answered, patting me on the head.

Unlike him, my thoughts drifted to the future. Whatever this was could not end well: It couldn't last. Reality was always chasing me down.

"Lie to me," I said suddenly.

"What?"

"Tell me we have a future, that there's hope. That whatever this is between us, it will all be okay."

"Doll, you know that's really not -" he began with a sigh and shifted within my grasp.

"It doesn't have to be convincing. I just need to hear the words."

He was silent for a while, as I waited to see if he would do what I'd asked. He sighed and grumbled under his breath as he turned closer to me.

"We can leave all of this behind us. We'll run off into the sunset and live happily ever after. No more batman, no more Gotham city, no more police. I'll take you to the mountains - or are you the sort of girl who prefers the ocean? We can do both, all that greenery, and you can swim in the water."

It didn't matter that I knew the words were empty, or that he himself sounded utterly unconvinced. I picked up the apple, which had already started to brown where the missing piece was, and ate some of it myself. It was surprisingly sweet and crisp. I let my eyes drift closed and fashioned myself a strange sort of Eden in my imagination. I found myself falling back into the dance we had been locked in when I was under Crane's toxin. I was so tired.

I had nearly died a second time, and like the first, it had changed me in ways I didn't yet know...

Link to the masterlist for other chapters:

Tag list:

If I forgot anyone or you want to be removed from the tag list - please let me know! 💕

@dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd

@dance-like-a-clown

@furisodespirit

@heath-ledger-jokers-wife

@sunfyrejoker

@lightsabergirl

@clowning--around

@ruby-da-archangel

@harleenqvinn

@helchronicles

@ostricx

@knoepfl

@jumpingjellyfishhaha

@nicklet94

Dividers by @strangergraphics ✨️

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oporayamm · 4 months ago

Text

since sometimes ao3 would go down i wanted to put my writing here so everyone can read it ^^ (hopefully this time it post because tumblr would sometimes not post--) anyway enjoy the first chapter everyone!

The Beauty in Silence [Chapter 1]

Silco x Fem OC || Boss x Employee || He falls first and fell harder || Yearning, Angst, Slow burn, Acts of service ||

TW: Depiction of violence, Slight gore depiction, Blood, Panic Attack, Intrusive Thought, Graphic depictions of violence: including physical combat, descriptions of injuries, and death.

Summary:

A mute girl in the undercity—it’s practically an open invitation to die. Yet somehow, she survives, thrives even. For most, she might seem like an easy target. But cross her, and the last thing you’ll see is either the shadows closing in or crimson pooling at your feet. She’s lethal, but obedient—a blade sharpened for one purpose. She belongs to the Eye of Zaun.

And he takes good care of his knife

⋆.˚☾.⋅⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆ 𓌜 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆ 𓌜 ⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆☽˚.⋆

Silence is a rare commodity in Zaun—a city defined by its chaos, crudity, and ceaseless noise. Surviving its streets is no small feat; fewer still escape without blood on their hands or a blade to the gut. Zaun is unrelenting, its hardships well-known to both its denizens and the privileged Piltover elites above.

But among the turmoil of the Undercity, one question lingers on every tongue: who is the quiet woman standing at the side of the Eye of Zaun?

She appeared three years ago, seemingly out of nowhere, and swiftly rose to become Silco’s right blade. Not a word escapes her lips, her silence unsettling even to the other Chem-Barons. Her presence is as enigmatic as her appearance—nothing like the rough, augmented Zaunites who call the Undercity home. She remains entirely unmodified, her body untouched by the machinery that so often defines survival in Zaun.

And yet, she is a force to be reckoned with. Her speed surpasses that of any ordinary human, her lethality unquestionable. Whispers abound that she is no mere woman but a miracle born of Silco and Singed’s experiments—a living weapon created in the depths of Zaun.

but no, shes in fact human, and has a title.

The knife of the underground, the right blade of the eye of zaun,

Her name is Nishita, though no one calls her that.

“Knife. Take care of it,” Silco, her boss and owner commands, as usual. Another mess to clean up, another body to dispose of.

“Knife, come and play! I'll beat you this time!” Sevika, the left hand of silco, drags her away from her brief respite, challenging her to another poker game. As always, Nishita wins.

The two had been the bane of her existence—and her blessing—ever since Sevika found her. That night, years ago, was a blur of chaos. A couple of bloody fights and a few well-placed stabs later, Sevika had practically dragged Nishita to Silco’s office. Sevika, bloodied and battered, leaned heavily against the doorway, crimson dripping onto the floorboards.

Silco wasn’t pleased.

The sharp tang of iron filled the air as he looked between them, his mismatched eyes narrowing in disapproval. But Sevika stood her ground, clutching her side where Nishita’s blade had cut a little too close for comfort.

“You need a knife in a fistfight,” Sevika had argued, her voice hoarse but unwavering.

Nishita wasn’t sure that’s how the saying went, but she hadn’t bothered to correct it. She couldn’t, anyway—not with words.

The memory clung to her like the scent of blood, a grim reminder of where she came from. Even now, in the smoky haze of the Last Drop, no one called her by her real name. To them, she was just Knife.

No one really knows her name except—

“Nishyyy!”

Jinx bursts out of the vent in Silco’s office, and Nishita catches her as usual. With a sigh, she ruffles the younger girl’s hair, silently chastising her with a stern look. Then she raises her hand and signs,

[“How many times I told you? Don’t jump.”] her hand point to her nose and flick it, never liking her when she's carefree like that,

Jinx, rubbing her nose and who has made her own rough sense of Nishita’s signing after countless attempts, just giggles. “But I like jumping! And you always catch me!” She beams with her usual unrestrained joy, and despite herself, Nishita smiles back.

“Dad! I’m borrowing Nishita!” Jinx announces loudly as she hopped down and Jinx held her hand, ignoring any objections Silco might have.

Nishita glances at Silco, lifting her hand to sign before remembering—he doesn’t bother with sign language. He never has. Instead, she hands him a note she prepared earlier:

“I’ll be back before noon. I’ll keep her safe.”

Her handwriting, rough but legible, is thanks to Jinx’s patient guidance. Before meeting her, Nishita couldn’t read or write.

Silco grunts his approval, and Jinx gleefully pulls Nishita along, slamming the office door behind them. Nishita tugs at Jinx’s arm, signaling her to slow down so she won’t collide with the bustling crowd in the Last Drop. But Jinx’s teenage energy is a force of nature, and Nishita doesn’t press the issue.

She remembers what it was like to be fourteen—vaguely. Her own memories are a blur of survival and blood. Jinx has her scars too; she’s hinted at a hard childhood, but she’s always quick to add that Silco gave her happiness.

Nishita’s glad she has that.

“Any minute now!”

Jinx’s voice echoes through the cluttered space as she hands Nishita a colorful, crudely painted bomb. It’s nothing dangerous—just a smoke bomb, Jinx assured her. She holds it obediently, waiting for the inevitable explosion, but it never comes.

Frustrated, Jinx leaps from her hiding spot, tosses her helmet to the floor, and growls, “It didn’t work! Again!” She kicks a pile of junk for good measure, it falls echo through the space,

Nishita watches quietly, then gets up while holding the bomb. The bright smile Jinx painted on its surface stares back at her. She carries it to the table, scanning the scattered blueprints while Jinx fumes in the background, muttering, mumbling and swiping at her hair.

“What are you doing?” Jinx asks, her anger momentarily dissipating as she notices Nishita writing. She rarely writes counting—so rarely that Jinx always stops to watch.

Nishita finishes her note, then hands the bomb back, pointing to the spot she’d marked.

Jinx squints at the writing, then grabs the pencil from Nishita’s hand, eager to troubleshoot. She mutters her way through the process, deconstructing the device while Nishita silently gestures to guide her.

They work together, using their secret shorthand scribbled on sticky notes. Words only they understand:

“Backwards and up” means recalibrating everything.

“Dig deep and ponder” signals the need for a longer, more thoughtful plan.

“Bunny skip” marks the least important parts—skippable, but risky.

The bomb won’t be perfect, not yet. But Jinx is laughing now, and Nishita can’t help but feel a quiet warmth watching her. For all the chaos and danger, Jinx is happy—and that’s enough.

“You know—I’m glad Sevika found you.” Jinx’s voice cuts through the sound of scribbling as she finishes jotting down the last of her calculations. A grin spreads across her face, accompanied by her signature cackle. “I even liked it when you kicked her butt!” She breaks into laughter again, and Nishita chuckles softly—a rare, small cough of a laugh that escapes her lips.

Jinx stops mid-laugh and looks at her, smiling. Not her usual manic grin, but something softer, more genuine.

“I do wonder,” Jinx says after a moment, setting her pencil down and swiveling in her seat to fully face Nishita. Her voice holds no malice, only curiosity. “You never told me how you lost your voice. It’s been, what, three years since you started working for Dad? You never told him, or me.”

Nishita blinks, surprised, but stays still. Her confusion is evident, but her body stiffens.

At first, she didn't respond. The silence stretches longer than usual, an unnatural weight settling in the room. Nishita’s hands move to hug herself, her shoulders curling inward as though shielding a hidden wound.

Jinx frowns at the sight, her brows knitting together. She spins her chair away, muttering, “It’s fine if it’s sensitive. I’m sorry I asked—”

But Nishita interrupts, pulling out one of her sticky notes. She scribbles quickly, then holds it out:

“When the time is right.”

Before Jinx can say anything, Nishita hands her another note, the words written with careful deliberation:

“I promise you.”

Jinx stares at the notes for a moment, her expression softening. She looks up at Nishita, who offers a quiet, reassuring smile. Without warning, Jinx lunges forward, wrapping her arms around her.

Nishita stiffens for a brief moment, then relaxes, letting Jinx’s warmth settle around her. They stay like that for a while, the unspoken comfort of their bond filling the silence.

For now, no words are needed.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ☾ ◯ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ☾ ◯ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

She walked back to the Last Drop just past noon. Jinx had fallen asleep in her room, and Nishita had left a note beside her bed before tidying up the mess. She would have stayed longer, but Sevika had a knack for dragging her out to Silco whenever she lingered too long. Restraining the urge to remain, Nishita slipped away and made her way up to Silco’s office.

Passing the guards below, she gave her usual nod before ascending the stairs. Her knocking had become a signature of sorts—a habit born two years ago, shortly after meeting Jinx. Jinx had insisted she leave her own “mark,” something unique, like the eccentricities Jinx herself was known for. Now, Nishita always knocked rhythmically with her index and middle fingers, twice in quick succession.

The response was immediate.

“Come in, Knife,” Silco called from behind the door.

She stepped in, closing the door softly behind her. Moving to her usual spot behind his desk, she took her post, silently observing his every move.

Silco was as much a mystery to her as he was to the rest of Zaun. He could spend hours in silence, his movements slow and deliberate, and yet everyone seemed to understand him perfectly. His eyes and actions spoke volumes even when his mouth didn’t. What fascinated her most, however, was his voice.

She had heard how the Pilties—the topsiders—spoke with their polished tones and forced elegance. Silco spoke with grace too, but it was a different kind. His words were sharp, direct, laced with roughness and the occasional profanity. Yet, there was a calm authority in his tone that she found oddly soothing.

Caught in her thoughts, she didn’t realize a small smile had crept across her face.

“Is there something funny?” Silco asked, his voice breaking through her reverie. His good eye stayed on the papers in front of him, but it had clearly caught her expression.

Startled, she reached for a pencil and scribbled a note on one of her sticky pads.

“Jinx and I did something fun. I’m remembering it. She’s asleep and safe.”

She placed the note on Jinx’s doodled ashtray, sliding it across the desk toward him. Silco picked it up, read it, and turned his chair toward her, a faint smirk on his face.

“I’m glad she has a friend,” he said, his voice low. “You’re a lucky one. The last one didn’t even make it three months.”

His words hung in the air, the weight of his meaning clear. Nishita stood perfectly still, her face calm but her mind racing.

She wanted to raise her hands and sign something cheerful, to reassure him of her loyalty. But instead, she grabbed another sticky note and quickly jotted down a response. Holding it up to him, she nodded as he read it.

“Young Jinx has a lot of potential. I love her dearly, and I’m thankful to be her friend.”

He scoffed, and she caught a faint hint of mockery in the sound. Her stomach sank.

“I may have let you befriend her,” Silco began, leaning back in his chair. His good eye locked onto her, narrowing slightly in that way that made every word feel like a test.

Her figure stood tall in the dim light of his office, cloaked in an aura of mystery that even Zaun’s chaos couldn’t unravel. A black scarf wrapped around her neck and mouth, hiding her expressions as effectively as her silence did. Her long silver hair, tied neatly into a ponytail, gleamed faintly in the hazy light. Her clothes were practical, covering her from head to toe—a stark contrast to the typical fashion of Zaunites, who often reveled in bold displays of skin and style. Nishita stood out, not because she tried to, but because she deliberately chose not to blend in.

“Practically her closest—and only—friend,” Silco continued, his words measured and heavy. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten how little I know about you.”

It wasn’t the first time she had heard this. His tone was deceptively calm, but the underlying threat lingered like the sharp edge of a knife just shy of her throat.

This dance of trust and suspicion was a familiar one—a cycle she had grown accustomed to. Every time she returned from spending time with Jinx, he would bring her here for the same quiet interrogation.

Nishita didn’t flinch. She had heard these words countless times before, and though they carried weight, they no longer fazed her. Still, her mind stayed sharp, reading his tone and body language for anything new—a flicker of anger, a shift of interest. But no, Silco remained the same enigma he always was: calculating, restrained, and endlessly watchful.

She understood his protectiveness over Jinx. She even appreciated it. But the endless repetition was exhausting.

Silco’s eyes lingered on her, waiting for a response. Nishita met his gaze briefly before looking away, her mind settling on the same thought it always did: This is for Jinx. And that’s enough.

She looked at him again, her expression calm as she wrote a response. When she finished, she held the note out for him to see.

“Dig up as much as you want. I have nothing to hide, my Lord.”

She always addressed him that way—My Lord. Never Silco or Boss like the others. She chose the title deliberately, finding it more fitting and distinct from the casual way others referred to him.

As she stood there, she let out a soft sigh, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, her breath caught in her throat. Silco was standing right in front of her, having closed the distance between them without her noticing.

He reached out, taking the note from her hand, his movements deliberate. He scanned the words before retreating back to his seat, settling into it with his usual composed demeanor.

Her heart pounded, the brief shock making her think, for a split second, that he might have moved to stab her or seize her in some way. But she quickly reminded herself—Silco wasn’t so crude. That wasn’t his style.

“You’re a hard one to find, really,” he said, his voice low and measured. “janna knows what past you have.” He paused, his sharp eyes lifting to meet hers. Onyx-gray met his own piercing gaze, and for a moment, she thought she saw curiosity more than anger in his expression.

“But,” he continued, leaning back slightly, “I’ll keep looking. And when I find something I don’t like... consider yourself fired.”

There was a pause, heavy with expectation, but she wasn’t surprised. She’d anticipated something like this and simply nodded. Her hand rose to her chest as she gave him a small, respectful bow before presenting another note she had prepared earlier:

“As you told, my Lord.”

Her response was as obedient and straightforward as ever. She didn’t protest, didn’t argue. It wasn’t submission—it was loyalty. She followed him and his orders with quiet devotion. Not because she feared him, but because she chose to.

Her unwavering gaze remained on him, and she noticed his brows furrow slightly. He turned his seat back toward the desk, his attention returning to his papers. The room fell into silence once more, the only sounds the soft rustling of parchment and the faint hum of Zaun’s undercity beyond the walls.

She stood behind him as always, ready for his next command, whatever it might be. Not that she had much of a choice.

It's either this or the lowered grounds again.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ☾ ◯ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ☾ ◯ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Once her shift ended and the bar began closing up, Nishita made her way to the counter. The bartender didn’t miss a beat when he spotted her.

“Let me guess, the usual?” Theo, the bartender said in his usual smug tone.

She nodded, a small but genuine smile forming beneath her scarf as she took a seat. He chuckled softly, disappearing into the back to prepare her meal.

Getting food wasn’t always easy for her. Jinx often accompanied her to shop or grab a bite, but since Jinx was still asleep, Nishita hadn’t wanted to disturb her. Besides, Theo made a killer sandwich—one of the few things she truly enjoyed. Ham and cheese with a side of fries, paired with her usual strawberry soda. Alcohol had never appealed to her. She’d tried it once with Sevika, only to immediately despise it. Sevika had laughed when she grimaced, sticking out her tongue and handing the glass back to her. That’s when Sevika noticed the small hole in her tongue. After that, Sevika never pushed her to do things she didn’t want, something Nishita quietly appreciated.

Theo returned with the plate, setting it down in front of her.

“Here you are. Ham and cheese sandwich, fries, and your strawberry soda.”

Her eyes lit up as she stared at the simple meal. She dug in immediately, eating with her hands.

Theo watched her, his gaze drifting to her scarred hands, remnants of old wounds long healed. She ate happily, savoring each bite as though it was a feast. For him, it was just a cold sandwich and soda, but for her, it seemed like something much more.

“You’re eating like it’s your first meal of the day,” he joked, leaning against the bar.

She nodded without pausing, continuing to eat. Theo’s playful demeanor shifted.

“Are you serious? Knife, you need to eat at least twice a day,” he said, his tone growing stern. “I’m pretty sure Silco pays you enough to survive—probably as much as Sevika. You don’t have a shimmer addiction, you don’t gamble, and I know you’re not spending it at brothels.”

She scrunched her nose at that last comment, visibly cringing.

“See?” He smirked, crossing his arms.

She pulled down her scarf just enough to flash a small, amused smile at him. Theo sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re living in luxury now,” he said, his voice softening. “You could get whatever you want. Do whatever you want.”

She finished her sandwich, wiping her hands together before pointing at her mouth and neck. Pulling her scarf down again showing her mouth area full of old scars, she tried to speak. All that came out was a faint, breathy exhale.

Theo immediately understood, nodding solemnly.

“I know,” he murmured. “You can’t talk. Hell, everyone in the Lanes knows about the mute girl Silco keeps around like a lap dog. But—” He cut himself off, realizing too late how harsh his words sounded.

Nishita didn’t flinch. She calmly wrote on a note and slid it across to him.

“Theo, I could care less what people say about me. Silco treats me well, despite what anyone thinks. I’m just glad I’m not clawing my way out of the under levels anymore. I like to eat your meals and find something to do.”

She returned to finishing her meal while Theo read the note, his face twisting with guilt. Without warning, he slapped himself across the face, startling her.

Nishita leaned forward, her brows furrowing in concern.

[“Theo?”] Her hand move worriedly, but forgotten he can't understand sign as well.

He raised a hand to stop her, shaking his head before slamming his palm onto the counter.

“Where do you live?” he asked suddenly.

She hesitated, then wrote her answer on another note.

“A small place nearby. Its worn and dirty but it's the only home I have, I'm used to sleeping on the floor for now. The bed is…unhabitable”

Theo fell silent again, imaging the area nearby and it isn't pretty too, his thoughts clearly racing. Nishita scribbled quickly on another note and held it up,

“Please don’t hit yourself. Why are you hitting yourself?”

Her concern was written all over her face, her brows knitted as her dark eyes searched his for answers.

He sighed heavily, leaning forward.

“Come live with me,” he blurted out.

Nishita blinked, taken aback. She stood abruptly, inching away as suspicion etched itself onto her face, her hand was near her knives just by her hips. He had only work here for a year and talk to her a handful of times, only a matter of time before she or sevika kill him off just like the last couple of bartenders that tried to play around with them or silco.

“No, not like that,” Theo clarified, his hands raised in surrender. “I mean as my roommate. I’m not going to do anything to you– Knife. I’m just saying... I’ve got space. You’d have your own room, your own privacy. I’ll even cook for you.”

She squinted, her nose scrunching in skepticism.

Theo stifled a laugh. She reminded him of a wary cat, eyeing him, like she might suddenly lunge and kill him.

“Look,” he continued, “my apartment’s big enough for two. I haven't had any luck finding a special someone to share it with, so... I’m offering it to you. You’d get a proper bed, a decent bathroom, and I’d only charge you half the rent.”

She considers it at first, the offer hanging in the air. The thought of going another day or two without eating properly, as she often did, weighs heavily on her. Tired of the cycle, she finally nods, giving him a thumbs up in agreement.

Theo smiles warmly, extending his hand toward her.

"A deal, then?" he asks, his voice light with humor.

She glances at his outstretched hand, tilts her head, and instead scribbles on a note before passing it to him with a grin.

"A deal!"

She even adds an exaggerated smiley face at the end, clapping her hands together in excitement.

Theo reads the note, chuckling as he tucks it into his pocket. "You’re a strange one," he mutters under his breath with a small smile before picking up her empty plate and glass.

"Tomorrow, you’ll come home with me. I’ll clean the space tonight. Just bring whatever you need from your place so I can make some room," he says casually, though his tone holds an undercurrent of sincerity.

Her response is pure joy. She claps her hands again, hopping in place like a child who just received an unexpected treat. It’s a rare sight, this unguarded happiness, and Theo can’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm.

"See you tomorrow, Knife,"

he says softly, his voice tinged with affection, as he disappears into the back.

She didn't catch the softness of his voice when she's too happy to think,

She leaves some money and a small thank-you note on the counter before slipping out the door, her steps light and quick as she heads toward her humble home. The excitement of finally having someone she trusts and a real place to stay fuels her movements.

What she doesn’t notice, however, is the shadowy figure watching from a hidden vantage point. Silco’s presence is like an oppressive weight, but she’s so accustomed to it that it no longer stirs any suspicion within her. His piercing gaze follows her every movement, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he retreats into the night.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ☾ ◯ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ☾ ◯ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The next day found Nishita and Jinx holed up in Jinx's chaotic hideout. Jinx had just finished testing a modified bomb from yesterday, her handiwork detonating against the wall in a riot of colors. Nishita, mimicking Jinx’s aim, threw her own bomb in tandem, her brow furrowing slightly as Jinx muttered to herself.

"That's odd," Jinx said, her tone sharp with curiosity.

Nishita tilted her head, her expression questioning as she signed, ["What’s odd?”]

“Dad had Theo up at his office this morning,” Jinx said, tossing another bomb casually and watching it detonate in the abyss below. “I was gonna finish snooping, but then I heard they were talking about you.”

Nishita froze mid-motion, startled by the revelation. Confused, she turned toward Jinx and signed shakily, ["Why would Silco call Theo? Did something happen?"]

Jinx shrugged nonchalantly, twirling a strand of her blue hair as she wandered back to her worktable. “Something, something about you moving in with Theo. You like him or something? You two barely talk! No offense.”

A chuckle escaped Nishita as she followed Jinx to the table. She began signing again, her movements calm. ["None taken. But you’re right, we rarely talk. I only go to him for food. He offered me a place to stay, though, and I accepted."]

Jinx whipped around, grabbing Nishita by the hands and staring straight into her eyes. “Are you dumb?”

Nishita blinked, tilting her head, her confusion evident.

“Nishi, seriously! He’s trying to get in your pants!” Jinx exclaimed, flailing her arms.

Nishita sighed, gently swatting Jinx on the head before signing firmly with one hand, ["Language. And no." ]

Jinx scowled but pressed on, “Then why did you accept? What if he—well-”

She let go of Nishita’s hands, leaning back into her chair as her thoughts ran wild. “If he does try anything, he’s as good as dead, I guess. Your knives are faster than bullets. And people, really…”

Nishita stared at her patiently, shaking her head. "I need a new place," she signed. ["I don’t like where I live."]

Jinx wrinkled her nose, visibly remembering Nishita’s dingy apartment. “To be honest, me neither. Your place stinks,” she said, shuddering exaggeratedly.

Nishita couldn’t help but laugh silently, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement.

[“So, what happened to Theo? Is he alive?”] she asked with her hands, her brow furrowing.

Jinx nodded, her expression thoughtful. “He’s alive. For now. Dad’s sending some of his men to patrol around his place, though. Which is just… weird.”

Nishita tilted her head, waiting for Jinx to continue.

“You’re not weak,” Jinx added, her arms crossing as her brow furrowed. “Dad knows it. Sevika knows it. Hell, I think the whole underground knows it. So why would he bother being protective? You’re the one who protects him if anything.”

Nishita shrugged, her fingers fidgeting before moving gently to form her response. "Maybe he’s just worried about his people?"

Jinx stared at her, the look on her face somewhere between disbelief and amusement. Worried? Really? Is what's on her face right now,

Nishita sighed silently, her hands moving again in exasperation. ["If it’s not you, he wouldn’t worry at all."]

Jinx snorted, leaning back against the table, but her grin faded quickly. “Still, sending patrols just because you’re moving in with Theo feels… off. He doesn’t do that for anyone else.”

Nishita paused, her expression calm but thoughtful. ["Do you think it’s something more? Or just him being… him?"]

Jinx shrugged, a trace of unease in her usual bravado. “Who knows? With Dad, it could be anything. Maybe he’s just testing Theo, or maybe he’s got some big master plan in that brain of his. Whatever it is, just… watch your back, okay?”

Nishita nodded firmly, her hand signing back, ["Always."] Nishita hesitated, her hands moving again. ["Do you think I should thank him? Or question him? What if he gets mad if I ask?"]

Jinx tilted her head, thinking for a moment before smirking. “Why not both? You’ve got nothing to lose. I’ll be there watching if you need backup.”

Nishita shook her head, signing quickly. ["My problem. My resolve."]

Jinx leaned back in her chair, her lips pursed. “If you say so. Oh, wait—you said you had something for me?”

Nishita nodded, rummaging through her bag before pulling out a stitched-together bunny-like doll. It was worn and patched with duct tape, but it was clean. She handed it to Jinx,

[“I found this and wanted to give it to you for a while, but I didn’t have the time until now. Sorry if it’s horrible—”]

Before she could finish signing, Jinx went completely still. Nishita tilted her head in concern.

“Jinx?” she signed, but before she could react further, Jinx tackled her in a fierce hug, her legs wrapping around Nishita’s waist.

“I don’t think I deserve you,” Jinx murmured, her voice shaky. “I treat you horribly—I use you as a guinea pig! But you… you just let me.”

Nishita didn’t push her away. She simply patted Jinx’s back, her other hand gently caressing her hair. Her expression was calm, understanding. She knew about Jinx’s past, knew her struggles. Judging wasn’t her way; being there was.

And for Jinx, that was enough.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ☾ ◯ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ☾ ◯ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Coming back from Jinx's hideout, Nishita entered the Last Drop. She barely stepped through the door when Sevika spotted her, waving her hand to get her attention. Nishita made her way over, and Sevika gestured for her to sit. Without hesitation, she complied, watching as Sevika continued her poker game with some of the locals. She sat next to her bionic arm, watching her as she played.

“Heard you and bartender boy are hanging out,” Sevika remarked, not taking her eyes off the game as she raised the bet.

Nishita tilted her head, pulling out a note and writing quickly before showing it to Sevika.

"I'm just moving in with him as he offered. We're not dating."

Sevika glanced at the note, then back to her cards, letting out a heavy sigh. Her bionic arm rested in Nishita's lap, the weight of it familiar now.

“You really are an idiot,” Sevika muttered, half-smiling but mostly focused on her hand.

Nishita rolled her eyes, treating it as the compliment it had become. She then turned her attention to Sevika's arm, inspecting it carefully. Pulling out another note, she jotted down a few things—what was wrong with it and what needed fixing—before slipping it into Sevika's pocket.

“I fold,” Sevika finally said, revealing her cards. The other players groaned, and Sevika’s grin widened—of course she won.

Nishita stood up, slipping a note into Sevika's free hand. "I'm going up. See you later." She patted Sevika’s bionic shoulder, but as she turned to leave, Sevika caught her hand gently with her bionic arm.

“Don’t piss him off again,” she warned, her tone unusually serious. Nishita nodded, though she didn’t fully understand what Sevika meant. She gently pulled her hand away and made her way toward Silco’s office.

Her thoughts lingered as she walked. What did Sevika mean? Theo hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? Was there something suspicious about his offer? She couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at her. Could this be another assassination attempt on Silco? She hoped not—she really did need a new place to sleep.

When she reached Silco’s office, she knocked as usual: two knocks, two fingers. There was a brief silence before Silco’s low voice called out.

“Come in, Nishita.”

⋆.˚☾.⋅⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆ 𓌜 ⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆ 𓌜 ⋆༺𓆩🗡𓆪༻⋆☽˚.⋆

[Pre-quel || Next Chapter || AO3 ]

#arcane #arcane fanfiction #arcane fanfic #arcane oc #fanfiction #oc #archive of our own #arcane silco #silco x arcane oc #silco and jinx #silco and jinx are just dad and daughter in a good way #arcane jinx #jinx and sevika #jinx and sevika are still the same tired drunk aunt and hyper kid #jinx and arcane oc #arcane oc is jinx mother figure #oc is mute #opor_fanfictions

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