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marvel-snape-writes · 1 year

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Grab yourself a toothbrush and enjoy this toothachingly sweet Palmerstrange Christmas drabble... ♥️🎄

Stephen Strange has never been the biggest fan of Christmas since losing so many members of his family early on in his life, but Christine has one last present for him to open up once everyone else has gone home...

Hey, Mr Scrooge...

Being the host on Christmas Day is hard, being the host on Christmas Day when you have the likes of Tony Stark and Steve Rogers to impress was harder, and having to deal with The Grinch in a sorcerer’s body while being the host on Christmas Day was borderline impossible.

Once waving the final guests off, Christine went into their bedroom to get changed into her nightclothes instead and pulling a robe on over the top, tying the ties around it to keep it closed. She switched the light off and stood in the hallway of the apartment, gazing through the doorway at the sight of Stephen only lit up through the glow of the Christmas lights. She leaned against the doorframe for a few moments, watching him slouched on the couch as he rested his cheek on his hand from the arm that was bent against the arm of the couch, trying not to allow himself to doze off as he watched the TV.

“Hey, Mr Scrooge…” Christine spoke softly as she walked into the room, immediately met with a smile and a half-hearted singular chuckle as Stephen gazed up at her with his hand still resting against his palm.

“Hey, baby…” He stretched his free arm out, gesturing for her to come over, “Come here.”

Christine immediately accepted his invite and walked over to him, sitting down in his lap sideways and setting her legs over the rest of the couch as she rested her cheek against his shoulder. She sighed softly as he wrapped his arms around her, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her temple.

“I got us something…” Christine reached into her robe pocket, gazing up at him.

“Oh, yeah?” Stephen gazed down at her, raising his eyebrows, “What is it?”

“This.” She giggled, pulling out a plastic mistletoe from her pocket and holding it above their heads.

“I don’t need a plastic leaf to kiss the woman I love.” Stephen squinted his eyes playfully, glancing up at it.

“Oh, don’t be such a Scrooge!” Christine rolled her eyes jokingly and placed her hand on his cheek, playfully pouting her lips as their eyes met.

“I’m kissing you because I want to, not because it’s Christmas and you’ve got this plastic leaf over my head.” He mumbled before placing his hand upon her cheek, bringing her into a gentle kiss.

“Kissing me because you want to is enough for me.” She giggled against his lips, kissing him back sweetly. She attempted to move her head back to his shoulder but found herself sighing happily as he brought her into another kiss, his thumb now gently caressing her cheek.

“Thank you for making today bearable.” He spoke against her lips, brushing them together again.

“Please don’t thank me, Stephen.” She whispered softly, squeezing an arm around him, “You did so well today. I know how hard you find it at this time of year.”

“Have I ever told you you’re the best thing that ever happened to me?” Stephen gazed down at her with a soft smile.

“It wouldn’t hurt to hear it one more time…” Christine lifted her head up to tickle their lips together again, grinning.

“You…” Stephen cupped her face in both hands, “You, Christine Palmer…” He spoke against her lips, caressing his thumbs across her cheeks as he leaned down to press their lips together, “You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“What happened to Mr Scrooge, hm?” Christine teased, kissing him back and hoping he couldn't feel the heat radiating from her cheeks against his thumbs.

“Oh, he’s still in there… just a little deeper down now.” Stephen chuckled against her lips, “Go searching for him if you really want. He might be a bit grumpy, though.”

“That’s okay,” Christine shrugged, pushing her hands into his hair, “I’ll still love him.”

Stephen grinned against her lips and slouched a little further into the couch, pulling Christine with him and making a soft noise when she began to kiss him with slightly more parted lips. Christine placed both of her hands against his chest and gently bit down on his bottom lip, pulling at it gently as his arms remained wrapped around her.

“You got changed…” He mumbled against her lips as his fingers swept over the fabric of her robe.

“I did. Something a little more comfortable.” Christine nodded, pushing his hair off his forehead before pressing a gentle kiss to it.

“Something still beautiful.” Stephen smiled softly, gazing up at her.

“Oh, stop it…” Christine rolled her eyes playfully, blushing.

“The food, the party, the entire day and especially the woman behind it all…” Stephen brought her into another kiss, “Beautiful.”

“Mm, Stephen…” Christine lost her breath from the tender way he kissed her mixed with his words, placing her hands against his cheeks to kiss him back slightly harder.

“Yes, baby?” Stephen whispered, pulling at her robe a little in an attempt to undo it.

“Wait, wait…” She practically tore her lips from his, hesitantly pulling back.

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart, I—” Stephen swallowed hard, laying his hands flat against her back this time.

“Shh,” She shook her head, leaning down to speak against his lips, “Take me to bed.”

“Whatever you want, princess.” Stephen secured his arms around her a little tighter, standing up from the couch and holding her around his waist.

“There’s one more present for you to unwrap.” Christine grinned, planting sweet kisses against his lips as he walked them toward their bedroom.

“Oh, yeah?” Stephen smirked, gazing down at her, “I hope its what I'm holding.”

“It might have something to do with it…” Christine giggled, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he carried her.

“You’re my favourite gift everyday.” Stephen spoke as he placed her on the edge of the bed.

“Unwrap what’s yours, Stephen.” Christine bit her lip, leaning back on her elbows but not taking her eyes off him for even a moment.

Stephen had to stop himself from stumbling backward as he gazed down at Christine, swallowing hard as even the sight of her alone overwhelmed him. After a few long moments of briefly pulling himself together, he leaned over her on the bed and immediately pressed their lips together. Christine tangled her hands in his hair as the kiss deepened for a few long moments before gasping softly as he started to kiss his way down her throat, gradually parting her robe and kissing each bare inch of skin on his way down. Christine’s legs parted a little wider to make it easier for Stephen to make his way further down her body. She bit her lip when she felt him take hold of the ties of her robe, gradually undoing it and parting either side. Her hands pushed into his hair again as he continued to kiss his way down her body with his eyes closed. Stephen began to make a soft noise with each kiss, his breathing getting heavier the further down he got.

“H—Huh?” He scowled slightly when he felt something cold and plastic against his lips once he got to the waistband of her underwear. He thought nothing of it for a moment and leaned down again until his lips were met with the same thing, opening his eyes this time.

Christine remained silent as she leaned up on her elbows to watch while Stephen pulled his head back to look down at the obstacle properly. He reached down and pulled the long plastic ‘thing’ out from the waistband of her underwear, his eyes widening immediately when he realised what it was. He held it between his finger and thumb, hardly able to even read what it said from the amount his hand was shaking. His jaw was dropped all the way to the floor as his breath hitched in his throat, gripping onto the edge of the bed with his free hand to try and stabilise himself.

“Y—You mean… We— You…?” He could barely even string a sentence together, alternating looking at what was between his finger and thumb and Christine’s wide grin, “Seriously?!”

“Yes…” Christine couldn't wipe the excitement off her face, sitting up properly and holding his face in both of her hands, “We’re having a baby, Stephen. You’re going to be a dad.”

“Oh, baby…” Stephen tried to blink back the tears in his eyes, wrapping his arms around her properly and holding her tightly there for a few moments before speaking in between kisses, “Baby, baby, baby…”

“Hey, shh!” Christine giggled against his lips, kissing him back each time, “You’re shaking.”

“We’re having a baby!” Stephen exclaimed, pressing several kisses on each of her cheeks.

“We are!” Christine nodded enthusiastically, holding the pregnancy test that had fallen from his hand onto the bed with a proud smile.

“When… How long…” Stephen forced himself to stop and think about how he wanted to word the sentence through all of his excitement, “Wh—When did you do the test?”

“This morning.” Christine bit her lip, “Just before everyone arrived.”

“Why didn't you tell me then?” Stephen narrowed his eyebrows.

“Because everyone was here, Stephen.” Christine pursed her lips, “I wanted it to be just you and me. Our thing. Our baby.”

“Our baby…” Stephen repeated her words, shaking his head in disbelief with widened eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn't tell you straight away.” She frowned, taking both of his hands and squeezing them gently.

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, Christine.” Stephen shook his head, raising both of her hands to his lips and gently brushing his lips over her knuckles, “This is the best present I could have wished for.”

“Well, you did contribute to 50% of the process.” Christine giggled, “So, I suppose its a Christmas present to each other.”

“God, I love you.” Stephen scooped her up into his arms as he leaned back against the headboard, “I love you so fucking much.”

“Mm, I love you, too…” Christine crinkled her nose and lifted her head up to press a gentle kiss to his lips, “But less of the swearing, please…” She teased, taking one of his hands and placing it over her stomach as her eyes met his, “Not in front of the baby.”

“Sorry, sorry…” Stephen chuckled, lightly rubbing his fingertips against her stomach.

“We’re going to be a little family, Stephen.” Christine grinned, watching his fingers.

“You’ve made the most difficult time of year into the best time of year.” Stephen sighed softly and pressed a final kiss to her lips before carefully laying her down next to him and leaning over her with a grin.

“That’s I ever wanted.” Christine gazed ip at him, reaching up with one of her hands to gently touch his cheek, “You, me, and happiness.”

“Is this that so called ‘Christmas magic’ you always talk about?” Stephen teased, leaning down to kiss her.

“You could say that.” Christine giggled, kissing him back and burying her fingers in his hair as he trailed his kisses down the front of her body.

“You do realise I've gone from nothing before meeting you to you now giving me everything, right?” He gazed up at her, “I find this time of year hard because I don't have that ‘family’ to spend it with and each year reminds me of what I’ve lost, but now…” He shook his head with a grin, “Ever since you, and now this…” He gazed back down at her stomach, pressing a gentle kiss to it before whispering against her skin, “You don't know how you’re saving my life tonight.”

“Merry Christmas, Stephen…” Christine sighed softly, playing with his hair soothingly and feeling her grin widen as he laid his cheek flat against her stomach and nuzzling it lightly.

“Merry Christmas, baby. Both of you.”

Merry Christmas!!! ♥️

Who knew I could write fluff without it turning into a smut-fest! 🤣 I hope you enjoyed the toothachingly sweetness, please let me know what you think!

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lastoneout · 8 months

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CW: weight loss, medical fatphobia, medical stuff in general, diet culture, disordered eating, brief mention of suicidal thoughts

Honestly, as much as I hate finding any joy in losing weight bcs it gives me like, really bad disordered eating thoughts, I'm actually feeling kinda validated that I've lost weight despite not changing much about the way I live outside of getting enough sleep and not eating stuff that I'm probably allergic to bcs it proves to me that my doctors were fucking idiots and it has NEVER been about how much "junk" food I've been eating or how often I've been exercising.

Like I was looking back on it to try to figure out if anything has changed that would make me lose weight like this and I'm pretty sure it's legit JUST bcs I finally found something that helps me get enough sleep at night. That's basically the only thing that's fundamentally changed in the last two months. And none of my doctors even THOUGHT to bring that up when they were giving me horrid weight loss advice like "don't eat fruit bcs it's sweet" and "you don't really need three meals a day" and "have your food on smaller plates to trick your brain into thinking you're full" and "intermittent fasting is totally fine and good actually" like NONE of that would have, or did, do fucking anything for me. All I really needed was to finally get enough sleep and stop eating gluten. That was it.

It's just like, I have been screaming at every single one of my doctors all fucking year that I have debilitating insomnia that I am 100% sure is making ALL of my health problems WAY fucking worse, and if they want me to actually put in the effort to exercise and "eat better" and all that shit then I need something to help me sleep, but it was like talking to a brick fucking wall!! No matter how much I insisted not sleeping was destroying my life and body they were like "well sleeping meds are bad for you actually :/" and "you just gotta go to therapy" and "exercise will help" and "don't take naps" while I was borderline suicidal bcs of how little sleep I was getting and the migraines it caused and ending up in the ER constantly and shit, like FUCK. And wow, now that I've taken matters into my own hands and found something to help me sleep I'm actually seeing a drastic improvement in my overall health and wellbeing!! WHO COULD HAVE THOUGHT???

Legit it makes me so angry I could scream.

I also don't think that weight loss has completely fixed my actual health issues like they said it would, it's sleeping that's helping and all that's doing is making life more bearable, I know it can't fix me, so like, feeling REALLY fucking vindicated rn. And pissed. Mostly pissed.

Anyway I'm gonna go play a violent video game and hope that makes me feel better.

#medical fatphobia #cw medical #disordered eating #ed mention #diet culture #ask to tag #cw fatphobia #cw disordered eating #cw ed mention #cw diet culture #vent #personal #negative #cw suicide mention #suicide mention

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fishstyx · 3 years

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featuring. college au!gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru

wc. 9.2k

genre. dark/taboo, smut, angst

tw. 18+ nsfw, non/dubcon, toxic/abusive relationships, manipulation, victim blaming, dry humping, penetration, masturbation, irresponsible practice of bdsm, hair pulling, mild exhibitionism, size kink (both 6’3”, gojo can lift you), implied corruption kink, degradation, creampie, intoxication/alcohol, incel behavior, misogyny, dacryphilia

synopsis.

“Parading around as my personal fucktoy get you that excited?” he starts with a smirk, wide eyes drinking up your sharp inhale as if it were his own, inspiring pinpricks of heat to rise to your cheeks.

He hooks the hem of your skirt with his thumbs when he’s met with silence, pulls you from the doorframe just far away that he can release the elastic with a snap, silent snigger on his lips when it elicits a small sound of surprise from you. You nod in response, frantic bob of your head drawing a low growl from his chest and a “that’s right, I know what’s best for my pet,” as he lifts you off your feet and carries you to the bedroom.

notes. title inspo: love the way you lie (eminem, rihanna). you’re dating gojo, a charming, manipulative, self-entitled bastard. geto is, of course, his best friend, written as an aloof, self-righteous, bitter incel. please stay safe, read all the warnings, and enjoy. this is the most personal fic i have to offer. it draws from not-so-savory past relationships... i hope it remains the only testament to them. <3

links. broken toys. (sequel)

You were stunned into silence when he first suggested it.

And how couldn’t you be? Any sane person would, or at least should, have recoiled at the proposition. Isn’t that right?

But he makes it seem so harmless, so innocent, somehow. Like it’s no big deal, far from uncharacteristic for either of you—just a walk around campus, nothing new there. He tells you this like you’re overreacting, slow on the uptake, taking far too long to reach a final decision. The rational part of your mind says it’s out of the option. But the irrational part is louder, all-consuming, domineering.

The irrational part says, out of all your options, it’s the only viable one.

“Come on, babygirl. What’s the harm of trying it out once?”

It’s always this way, always has been. He takes your hands in his with a dramatic swell, the sparkle in his eyes big and bright and gleaming, and you bite back the urge to pull away. You would break your gaze if you could, if he didn’t look so determined, if that twinkling blue galaxy wasn’t sweltering with hope and adoration. But you can’t, and he does, and it just about swallows you whole.

The fact of the matter is, Gojo Satoru wants to take you out on a leash today.

Never mind today; he wanted this yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that, never one to shy away from his desires as you deliberated the entire time. By now he’s asked you to do this one, single thing for him far more times than you can count—initially playing it off as a joke, slowly feeling you out, gradually seeing how far he could push and pull until you explicitly told him no.

Except it’s never just one, single thing with him, and you—with the way you dance around the topic, hoping to give him the illusion that you might give in, or perhaps yourself the illusion of control—you never say no.

A simple line of defense, yes. Even you agree with that. But its execution? Around Gojo, it seems anything but.

Geto would beg to differ.

Geto.

The only other person privy to your latest concerns. The only other person you can bear knowing. And he’d be disappointed if only he could see you now.

Who are you kidding? He’s already disappointed.

A vague outline was all you gave him. A vague outline, you knew, not-so-deep down in your heart, was all you dare tell him—or anyone at all, really.

Because, sure, you’ve adopted a rather experimental lifestyle around Gojo, but that was supposed to be private. Reserved for behind closed doors, you thought, until now.

You were right in that the brooding brunette didn’t need every last grueling detail of Gojo’s newest request. He’s his best friend; he’s seen you at every single step of your whirlwind relationship together. The fervid beginnings, when the two of you couldn’t be physically separated, let alone in different rooms from each other. The ups and the downs, each one more intense than the last, each one blowing up in your faces before you ran back into each other’s arms and kissed and made up. You knew that much.

What you didn’t foresee, however, even as you recounted your latest grievance to him, was that nothing you were saying was new. To Geto it was regurgitated rhetoric, distorted and distressed, yesterday’s news—whereas you saw it as a unique conquest, a new hurdle to overcome.

“It almost amazes me how you can come up with so many new ways to say the same old thing,” he said, slanted eyes dull with apathy as they panned away from yours. “Almost.”

You could only choke on your words in response.

What Geto told you next is now a hushed murmur in the back of your head. It reverberates against your skull, pinballing against the walls of all that empty space and showing no signs of slowing down. It tells you to just say the magic word and it’ll be over, every last bit of Gojo’s borderline demands, washing away all of that white noise if only you’d breathe some life into it. That one word, the one that plagues your mind night and day, it begins to materialize upon your lips, poised and ready to spring into action, flexing on the tip of your tongue as if it were a wind-up toy.

Just say it already.

Just say no.

But you’re always holding your tongue around the both of them, together or alone, whether on the bony roof of your mouth or its flexible, fleshy floor, biting your words back for an eternity and more. Perhaps you were only faking yourself out, simply going through—no, barely feinting at the motions so you can come back to this chapter of your life and say that you tried. The moment passes, the pause your boyfriend gave at the sight of your mouth ajar long over, his words beginning to bleed into your reality once more.

And he’s saying, “I bought such a cute collar for you, too,” voice rising and falling with lovelorn disappointment. You can’t help but wince at his gentle timbre, all too painfully aware that such a small investment is far from the root of Gojo’s displeasure. You can hear it in his tone, too, how his carefree singsong runs steely as his thoughts begin to wander, settling on a resigned indifference.

So you wander, too. Tear your eyes from his in search of something, anything that might lend a reason to divert your gaze. Your fingers encircle white leather before you realize it, turning the thin strip over in absentminded idle, silver o-ring jingling in place. The metallic clank doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You should at least try it on before I return it, don’t you think?”

And you can’t find it in your heart to disagree, stiff choker tightening around your neck as he fumbles with the clasp. You trace the sanded edges before latching a finger—two fingers—beneath the leather material.

Perfect.

Perfectly irritating. Irritatingly perfect. It sits in the center of your neck without slipping, just snug enough that you can still breathe easy, comfortable and almost disturbingly so.

“Well?”

White lashes flutter idly as he considers your reflection as if studying it. And with the hint of a smile behind you, large hands on your waist in the mirror’s image, you start to think for the first time that the collar really is a pretty number, and a shame and a waste to throw away.

Because he looks so pleased now, creased cheeks and crinkled eyelids as he smooths his palms over your hips, like maybe you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever held. Because instead of the pouting you’ve come to expect, the declarations that you’re “no fun,” or that you’re “overreacting,” or that you need to “relax” you’ve come to accept, he simply brushes your hair to the side and rests his cheek against yours, warm breath just about tickling your chin.

It begs the question.

“Will you love me more if I do this for you?”

And it sends his eyes into a frenzied state, hungry void for pupils swallowing crystal irises with unabating greed, all frisky lashes and overeager ridges.

Ideally, he’d take your hands in his, tell you that that wasn’t his intention at all and beg for your forgiveness. Ideally, he’d hold you close, say that he loves you no matter what and promise to never push you this far again. You know all of these self-evident truths and more, yet you still can’t stop your heart from skipping a beat when he tells you, voice hushed in awe, triumph washing over you in spite of yourself:

“Of course I will.”

It’s different when you actually go through with it.

You try not to regret your decision immediately when you’re chained to Gojo’s hand in public, dog leash swinging in the wind as you round the campus loop. What a waste of a beautiful day for you to be hanging your head low, tips of your ears burning with shame. You don’t even believe that you’ve agreed to this yourself as you search the faces ahead of you for a trace of anyone you might know, pushing down the urge to cross your fingers behind your back.

But Gojo himself? He loves the lingering stares to tiny little pieces, practically basks in the attention as he pushes his sunglasses back so they rest above his hairline. Airy tufts of white spill over the tinted lenses, billowy strands coming to rest upon his forehead. When you think of it as your gorgeous boyfriend showing you off, it makes it all a little more bearable, has you standing up a little straighter. But your heart nearly stops every time you think you recognize the passerby, and eventually you dread the sight of absolutely anyone in the distance, for fear they will finally be a person who knows and calls you by name.

Gojo takes quick notice, realizes you hardly want to take another step in this undignified manner, and thinks to himself that there must be a better way to go about the arrangement.

His solution is to turn your walk of shame into a crawl of shame.

“On your fours,” he says, delighted when you actually crouch to the pavement, thankful for an excuse to hide your face. He ruffles your hair and slaps your hand away when you try to pull your skirt down, enamored by the way it rides up and reveals the lacy material below. You suppose it’s a trade-off you’ll just have to take, and in a confession that gets caught up your throat, you don’t wholly mind it: the pairs of eyes you can feel burning through you, though real or imagined you can’t be entirely sure. It makes you wonder if anyone wishes they were Gojo. It makes you wonder if anyone wishes they were you.

In the corner of your eye, you think you see someone sneaking a picture, but you don’t dare lift your head for a closer look. Instead you track the ground for rubble, hoping you’ll get away without scraping your knees, shaky line for a pair of lips as micro cuts come to crisscross your legs.

The rest of the walk is spent with you crawling the ground, light breeze tickling your backside, every part of you flaunted as if you’re Gojo’s most prized possession. You had better be, you think to yourself as you circle back to his building, and luckily enough, he’s about to make good on that expectation.

Maybe it’s the collar around your neck, or maybe it’s the surge of relief you get from returning, but by the time you meet the first glass door, you’re aching for whatever Gojo’s planned next.

He’s moving on predatory instinct the second you’ve set foot in his apartment, flushed lips curling around your own as soon as he pulls you up from all fours. A hollow knock sounds behind you as your heels strike the door, lower lip traced with a wet warmth until you’re gracious enough to grant him full access. He easily cages you with his entire frame, pressing that cute pink muscle in your mouth flat before writhing his own to the rhythm of his heartbeat, booming and ricocheting and alive.

It’s not nearly enough for either of you, of course, his hands beginning to roam all over your pliable form, all over his property, skirting along your outline and creeping closer still to the innermost curves of your contour cutout. Flitting fingers brush against your navel, dancing lower as you suck your tummy in by reflex, stopping right before the tingling bundle of nerves that just might explode as soon as he touches them.

But he takes pause instead, presses his forehead flush against yours, jewel colored eyes waiting on you with intent. You swear they can see right through you, even sheathed behind a cluster of wild white lashes, gauge everything there is to know about you faster than you can say “blue.” The moment freezes over, two bodies still and unmoving until you suddenly remember your need for air, gasping when you realize you’ve been holding your breath.

Your body bounces back from the force with which he tosses you into the mattress, giggles erupting from your throat when he climbs atop of you, tugging at your leash. A thin stripe of saliva trails up and down the column of your neck, laving intermittently over the leather that encases your flesh. A coppery taste, of earth and salt and smoke, dances on his tongue as his front teeth sink into the stretch of your collarbone, nipping and sucking at the delicate flesh. You sink into the bed as you ease into his touch, but he doesn’t give you much time to get comfortable.

“Touch yourself, then,” he says, “if you like to be watched that much.”

It almost sounds like a suggestion, especially with the way in which he uses the lightest touch to brush the stray hairs from your forehead, but you know better than that. Your fingers fly to the wet patch on your panties, thin material almost see-through with your slick, working the fiber flat against dampened skin. An echo of a chuckle reverberates throughout the room as he watches you, undoubtedly pleased by the way in which the fabric clings to your already dripping folds.

Large hands have your legs spread wide open by the time you’ve traced the outline of your clit, your little show put on full display for him. They stay pressed against your thighs as you venture loose, round motions around your sensitive nub. Too timid. You tighten the circles into a coiled spiral, mustering the courage to go harder, faster, the friction of cotton against delicate skin drawing small mewls and sputters out of your trembling form. The delayed relief is sweet, your arousal crying into the pads of your fingers as you pick up the speed. The image burns itself into his brain, watchful eye unfaltering as you play yourself to your heart’s content.

The very air itself seems to buzz as you hold the other end of his gaze, thick fingers running along your sides as you start to roll your hips into the palm of your hand. He’s bent over you with the twitch of his pants, too worked up to remain a bystander any longer as he blows and sucks up your neck. The open-mouthed kisses only hasten the buildup, sensation shotgunning down your body from the surface of your nape.

But the coil in your core knots itself far too early for your taste, and you reel your hand back right before you can realize your peak. You opt to drag a lone finger down your slit instead, afraid that with too much pressure, you’ll come undone before Gojo has the chance to get his fill.

Too late, too slow; he takes notice of your negligence immediately, eyes darkening at the pitiful way your hand skitters with abashment. He pulls away from the crook of your neck to get a good look at your dwindling handiwork, smirking to himself when you shrink in response.

“Having a little trouble there?”

His voice is deceptively singsong as he takes your sluggish hand in his, guiding your knuckles back to that aching button that has you arching your back and curling your toes. He repeats the motion, half a mind to force an orgasm out of you right then and there when suddenly, a whimper—yours—sends his eyes darting back towards your own.

“No, not like this,” you say with strained breath, and he quirks an eyebrow in response, working your fingers into the fabric despite the interruption. “I want more, I need…” your voice trails off, a sorry attempt at stalling.

“Need what?” he asks as he catches on, shit-eating grin somehow audible without you even looking. You don’t know how he does it, how he locks his desires up as you squirm underneath him, waiting ever so innocently for a proper response.

“Need, need you,” you say under your breath, and he cocks an eyebrow, a clear sign of an underwhelming response.

“Oh? I couldn’t quite catch that, princess.”

As if.

“I need you inside of me. Please, claim this filthy cunt,” you whine, determined to play, determined to win. Your hips buck into your interlaced fingers, searching desperately for the one word that’ll send him over the edge and finding it as the leather accessory rides up your neck—as if to remind you of its existence—“Master.”

And it does, it sends a jolt of heat to his groin, has him kicking his pants off and pinning your wrists into the sheets. It’s got him surging with primal need, tugging the pathetic mess of your soaked panties to the side with limitless hunger.

Because even though he’s drawn many names from your lips before, they’ve always been ones he’s insisted on, ones he’s downright pestered you about. Even the simplest “Satoru” was, admittedly, a struggle to pry out of you the very first time you got tangled in his sheets; you shielded your eyes then, cheeks burning and voice low as you whispered it in his ear. And look at you now, sprawled out beneath him as you edge yourself with a hand steeped in your own concoction, begging for his cock with that delicious nickname of your own admission, and it rings throughout his head like an addictive melody.

Master.

You can hardly recognize the noises he fucks out of you for the remainder of the night. He showers you with an unsavory slew of awful names, phrases you’ve never even heard aloud before, tells you that you’re his “freaky cocksleeve” and a “bitch in heat” as he jerks your leash without warning. And that’s exactly what you are, twitching for him like an animal as he screws you senseless, the most guttural of responses rising from your throat as he asks:

“Who do you belong to?”

And of course you respond, between labored pants, “You, master,” muscles taut as you fight for air, fingernails scrambling for purchase on his back but finding absolutely none.

It’s not until you’re entangled in a breathless mass that he pulls your head into his lap, strokes your cheeks and coos that you’ve been a good fucking girl, a thick mixture of his seed seeping from your gaping hole.

Morning always comes when you least expect it, sneaking up on you and peeking through the blinds before you’re ready to get going.

Gojo’s still passed out cold when you creep out of bed, only the most languid of movements used to pry yourself out of the mattress as your arms and legs ache for need of rest. The dull pain humbles you, delayed post-nut clarity finally hitting as you rub into your bleary eyes.

It feels like you’ve been struck by a train.

Your gait is but a tiptoe as you stalk towards his dresser, trembling hands slowly rummaging for something, anything that can provide you some cover. Your classes are starting soon, and whether his are, too, or whether he’s simply skipping out today, you know better than to rouse him from his toil-induced slumber.

It’s nearly inaudible, the sound of the door closing behind you, clank of metal but a whisper as the soles of your shoes kiss up carpeted floor. You’ve left it unlocked, just the way your boyfriend likes it, a small assembly of what you hope he’ll recognize as breakfast perched upon the kitchen table—the last traces of your visit left behind in a neat and tidy little package.

Your eyes find Geto’s once you turn down the hallway, small black beads peering into yours before taking a lap around the block to assess the damage. He must not like what he sees, this tousled morning-after apparition, faint patches of indigo and violet creeping out from under your—no, Gojo’s—oversized sweatshirt, because it’s a solemn sigh that hits your ears next and not a “good morning” or even a simple “hey” that acknowledges you.

Because he knows your average person wouldn’t notice the marks, too sheltered by all that thick cotton riding up your neck, purposefully pulled up just far enough that you wouldn’t see them unless you were looking. He knows your average person couldn’t have the slightest idea how you really scratched up your knees, pointillistic constellations of reddish purple threatening, however empty that threat is, to inch up your thighs. He scoffs.

“What do you even see in him?”

The words cloud the air before he’s completely aware of them, surprising the both of you as they surface.

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water: for starters he’s charming, engaging, lively and free-spirited. He’s beautiful and he adores you, you want to say, but even though you have all the correct phrases picked out, all strung together in the same time and place, they don’t seem to roll off your tongue quite right.

You seem so tired, forced laugh falling short where it should flutter out of your mouth, the usual cotton candy you spout crystallizing before it can materialize.

“I could ask the same of you.”

It traipses out of your mouth before you can give it permission, easing itself into the atmosphere before sinking like a stone. Truthfully you don’t care to hear an answer, if only to avoid giving your own. You usher yourself out, pushing yourself past the towering wall of a human and stalking down the nearest stairwell.

Gojo knows just how to toy with your pride. But Geto? Geto knows how to slash it down to shreds.

The silence is deafening.

Geto sighs once you’re out of earshot, turning his heel to continue his trajectory. If anything, he didn’t want to run into you today, either. He cringes at the small collection you’ve no doubt assembled yourself, of iced matcha and a granola bar, staring him in the face as he stalks into the apartment. For some reason it only feeds into his mounting dread, the rising unease of what he might find waiting for him in the bedroom.

So he raps the bedroom door with his knuckles instead of barging in like he normally does, hoping in vain that he can get its sole inhabitant to lumber out himself. But of course Gojo doesn’t make it easy, letting out an obnoxiously loud yawn before stretching his lanky limbs with an equally obnoxious groan.

“You said to swing by this morning,” Geto half-yells, half says to himself, already prepared to turn tail and leave. He’s honestly surprised when he gets a legible response instead of the hungover mumbles he’s grown used to.

“Oh, that? Come in, it’s unlocked,” Gojo calls out, each syllable punctuated with tardiness. So Geto braces himself, puffing his chest out before giving the doorknob a firm handshake, stepping deeper into the belly of the beast.

Geto was prepared to see many things when he walked through that door. Something like lipstick stains and flavored condoms, S&M paddles and ribbed dildos. Instead he’s met with something completely other, the evidence already cleared away. Whatever late-night exploits you enjoyed are long gone, not a trace left behind by now, privy only to a grown man slumped over the edge of his mattress, grabbing around under the bedframe.

“Ahh, got it!”

With sleepy eyes Gojo lifts his head and presents to Geto the chrome colored box he’s fished out. It’s small and compact and ridiculously outdated, a conspicuous red button jutting out of its interface. He holds it up to his friend’s face, and the device finally registers.

A voice recorder.

“What, they still make those things?”

Geto schools his features easily, wiping the shock off his face before it can even materialize. It’s not exactly a lie; he knows he shouldn’t be surprised at all that Gojo has kept such an antiquated device for the occasion.

“You act as if you’ve never seen one before.”

It’s a smirk that’s plastered all over their faces now, one that nearly matches the one across from the other, and knowingly so. The two burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all, Gojo slapping his knee and Geto clutching onto his sides. They’re not sure who starts it, but one of them high fives the other.

Girls like you are oh so naïve.

Your wish is granted for about a week total.

Gojo keeps his promise, of loving you more and loving you better, throughout the remaining weekdays.

He takes you out for brunch, picks you up after class, and best of all, doesn’t ask anything more of you, doesn’t ask for anything better.

He opts to shower you with gifts instead, of stuffed animals and chocolates and bite-sized amenities, insisting that you take them all, no strings attached. Your nightstand overflows with his presents, mismatched tokens that remind you of his affection even when you’re not together. And although neither of you explicitly verbalize it, it seems like his way of apologizing. Silently.

You whole-heartedly accept.

This is the Satoru I fell in love with, you think to yourself as he pets your head one sunlit afternoon, grogginess setting in after a particularly big meal. You nuzzle into his lap and relish in the soft filtered light, sprawled out on your side on the living room sofa. He has you gazing upwards at a tap of the shoulder, all softened eyes and unkempt locks of hair, the smell of sandalwood and fresh dry cleaning enveloping you entirely as he leans in for a faint forehead kiss.

“What’s up?” you half ask, half mumble, eyelids heavy with sleep.

“Just wanted to see my princess’s face,” he says, a fleeting grin on his rosy lips. A hollow thud sounds as you play-punch him in the chest, but you roll over from your side to look up at him anyway.

“You happy now?”

“Overjoyed.”

The two of you lock eyes, slivers of white hair undoing themselves from behind his ear as your breath syncs up slowly, gradually. He stares at you with such longing that you would think you weren’t laying right atop of him, and you struggle to hold your ground.

“Are you—”

“Yup.”

You groan, eyes overcome with on demand prickling. “No thank you,” you proclaim as you squeeze them shut, uninterested in indulging him a staring contest. Moments pass and your eyes stay closed, a tide of tiredness washing over you. You loosen up, head rolling back as you allow yourself to relax.

Big mistake. He takes it as an invitation for his hands to descend upon you, attacking your sides in an attempt to tickle, and you jerk away instantly.

“What the—Sato, cut it out!” You bat his arms away, one eye open as uproarious laughter fills your ears.

“If you’re gonna fall asleep then at least let me lay down too,” he says, drawing out the last word as he props your upper half up. He takes your place on the sofa before pulling you on top, and you huff as you fall into a pile.

“Jerk.”

“Your favorite jerk, though.”

Oh, he definitely feels it when you smile into his chest.

The weekend arrives without issue.

Wednesday night you’re watching the sunset over melon sodas.

Thursday night you’re falling asleep on Facetime.

Friday night you’re in the midst of downtown Tokyo, multicolored lights casting your faces in ethereal glow as you work against the hustle and bustle of regulars and tourists. Karaoke songs eat up the most of your visit, Gojo’s voice slowly going scratchy until the crowd finally works the nerve to drag him offstage. You spend the remaining time hopping restaurants, ordering exactly one dish at each location, slowly working your way through a full course meal. The waitress who serves you nothing more than a plate of gyoza gets an especially generous tip.

Dessert is by far his favorite dish: a deluxe parfait, served in a tall, American-style glass and filled to the brim with sorbet. You can still taste the fruit toppings, fresh and fragrant and honeyed on your tongues as you swap saliva in the back of his car. He cups your face with one hand and holds the small of your back with the other, pressing dangerously close against your body. When you finally have the chance to breathe, a thread of spit trails between your lips, in memory of your union. It glistens in the color of the muted city lights, persevering through the window tint in all of their electric might. A mischievous glint reaches his eyes, and all of a sudden he’s pulling you on top of his lap.

“We can get away with this much, can’t we, princess?”

And you oblige, patch of wetness already creeping through your panties as he starts to move, clothed cockhead grinding against the curve of your ass. He’s louder than usual, quivering groans crumbling as they reach your ears, his hips rolling in stuttering motions. You feel as if you’re aflame, pulsating with need, decadent sweetness enveloping your senses every time he pulls in for a kiss, every time he grazes you with his pubic bone. Your clit sings with praises as he pushes you down by the hips, whispering how good you’re being for him, how gorgeous you look in the dress he bought you, and you make a silent wish in the faint moonlight that the moment will never end.

But it seems that good things always meet their end, and come Saturday night, the monster rears its ugly head again.

Because on Saturday night, Gojo’s got you hanging on his arm, the two of you ascending concrete steps to the usual place. Same group of people, different game every week. The two of you are greeted with sweet sighs and boozy smiles, clink of bottles surrounding you as they prepare this week’s drinking game. Gojo’s a lightweight and Geto sticks to designated-driver duty, so it usually works out just fine.

Just not this week.

If Gojo was the sun, then Geto was the moon.

It always seemed to Geto that his best friend had everything in the world he could possibly need: looks, charisma, and status, all readily available to him without much effort of his own. And honestly? He loathed him for that.

As soon as the clock strikes midnight, Geto knows there’s absolutely no way he’s making it to the party. Instead he opts to spend Saturday night alone in the comfort, or perhaps the prison, of his own room.

Because the sun is a star that births brilliance, instilling vitality and inspiring vigor wherever it goes. Whereas the moon only picks up in the after hours, left to guide the lost and the wandering in the nighttime. He feels like he’s always scraping the bottom of the barrel, the pool of women he can choose from limited to the gaggle of bumbling stragglers who lament, still, the absence of the blinding sun. And for the past twenty or so years of his life, those bumbling stragglers have not so much as glanced back at him, too enchanted by the liveliness of day.

Worst of all is that softheaded people, scatterbrains just like you, they think they can fix Gojo, super-fucking-nova Gojo who burns it all up, destroying everything in his course of direction. Part of Geto thinks it’s absolutely deplorable, the way in which pea-brained whores throw themselves at him, hankering for his attention and jumping through all the hoops necessary to get just that. But part of Geto also wants to have his own stake in the fun, and Gojo—pretty boy, genetic-lottery winner Gojo knows this all too well.

The glint of the moonlight taunts Geto as it reflects off the silver-toned box in his hand, bold “STOP,” “REC,” and “PLAY” lettering practically chanting his name in the dim illumination. He was told that the handheld device was safer with him, well out of your reach in the confines of his single dorm, and he supposes that’s the truth, what with the lack of foot traffic in this cramped room that lacks of fresh air and sunlight.

It’d be doubly safer if he’d just tuck the abomination away, stick it deep in the corner of his sock drawer or perhaps somewhere underneath the bed frame, but he’s kept it well in sight ever since he first laid hands on it. He clutches it tightly as if it just might disappear when he lets go; chances like these are rare for him, to be so close in proximity to the wanton whines of someone he knows and sees almost daily. And if it’s anyone’s fault that you’re still fucking an immature bastard, a privileged manchild who gets pretty much everything he wants, it most certainly isn’t his own.

It’s just so exhilarating, to be able to cradle the cool metal in one hand, throbbing cock in the other, drawstring sweats already halfway down as he thumbs at his flushed, pink head. He’s kicking his pants off as he leans into bed, flat of his slicked-up fingers laving over the sopping tip that cries and weep for release. He’s already imagining it, the kinds of o-shaped faces you make with a leash dangling from your neck, bubbling with excitement and intoxication and jealousy at the mere thought. But he doesn’t start the audio yet, fumbling for his stash of lotion before moving to fist his cock in its entirety, twitching creature red with excitement as he jerks it up and down.

It feels so intimate to him, the fact that you’re so close yet so far away, musical mewls available on demand whenever he so pleases. He quickens the pace, palm of his hand practically flattening the vein on the underside of his cock as he starts to buck his hips into his tightening fingers. He’d just love to ram his dick down your throat one day, but for now he’ll have to make do with his hands.

He hits “PLAY” with bitter determination.

The very first sound of crumpling bedsheets has him curling into a full-body tingle. He’s close, so close he can almost taste it, but he keeps his concentration on the audio speaker, waiting for something, anything to heighten his arousal. He sucks in the cold air between his teeth, curses threatening to pour from his lips at how right, how wrong it all feels. The anticipation is short-lived, however, broken by the sound of Gojo’s voice, just barely recognizable in the speaker’s tinny, superficial quality.

“My, my,” the silver-haired deviant says, corners of his mouth undoubtedly upturned as he leans into the microphone.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Geto?”

The voice recorder hits the floor at the sound of his own name, blood pressure rising as his arms and legs tense up in disbelief. His own orgasm slips away and out of reach in an instant, petering out in wretchedly slow motion as his stiff cock throbs with pitiful languor. He wants to laugh, he wants to cry, wants to curse the world for ever thinking you were actually within his reach, wants to chuck the accursed gadget across the room and watch it scatter across the floor in glittering smithereens. Or maybe he just wants to cradle his head and sink into the ground, face his back to the despicable device for the rest of the night as the cold seeps into his sides, but he’s not even sure where the damn thing skittered off to and his head is spinning and his eyelids clench shut and the world just grinds to a halt.

Gojo doesn’t take the news well.

Gojo doesn’t want to take it at all.

You’re chatting up the party’s host, a premed student in the same year as him, when you first notice him glancing at his phone.

“So how are things? Between you two, I mean,” Shoko asks as she follows your gaze.

“Couldn’t be better” is your absentminded answer, and she stifles a laugh—a perfect relationship with the Gojo Satoru? But you’re only half listening as she expresses her disbelief, eyes never quite leaving Gojo’s back as he shifts away from the mass of people and shuffles towards the windows, cell phone in balled-up hand.

The first call is inconspicuous enough—Geto has a habit of running late, after all. But when you excuse yourself to the bathroom and come back find to Gojo still holding the phone to his ear, half crouched with his lips screwed up in a pout, you know something’s off. Part of you doesn’t want to take your place beside him, but he pulls you down by the wrist, grip strong enough to leave dime-sized bruises.

They’re explaining the game of the night before you can ask him what’s up: a pitcher of beer will round the group of players, all sat in a circle on the carpeted floor, each and every one taking turns trying to steal the last drop. It’s a familiar setting, the music but a hum in the background as the participants buzz with idle chatter, but the person beside you feels alien somehow. The woolen material pills underneath your toes as you curl them into little balls, eyeing him with a sideways glance. You know better than to raise the issue when his foot’s tapping the floor with such force, rapid rhythm almost matching the incessant pace with which he thumbs at his phone. He’s calling Geto three, four, five times before changing tack, demanding an explanation through text.

Shallow breaths are all that fill your lungs as you keep as still as possible, trying your best to get a good read on the screen. If the slump in his shoulders is any indicator, you’re sure he’s seething at the words that light it up. But before you can make out a single phrase, he’s slamming the phone down with one hand, clenching the pitcher of freshly poured beer with the other.

His turn to take the first swig.

He ends up gulping until you’re sure he’s out of breath.

“Whoa there, Satoru,” the person next to him says when he sets the pitcher down, nearly emptied. “What the fuck was that?”

His wrist rises to wipe the corner of his mouth and he exhales sharply, as if his simple reply requires strenuous effort.

“DD bailed on us,” he announces, “fucking flake.”

“Maybe we should have you sober up, then,” someone else, likely Shoko, calls out from across the room.

The change in his demeanor is instant.

“Ah, we’ll make it back in one piece, won’t we?” Gojo’s glance darts sideways, playful lilt betraying the ice he has for eyes.

The room hushes, waiting for an answer, and you sit up straight when you realize who he’s asking. You quirk an eyebrow, amused. With his cheeks already flushed, what seems to be a pointed gaze unfocused and glassy, you can’t help but beg to differ. You know the answer he wants to hear with every bone in your body. But every fiber in your being knows the truth.

“Bullshit.”

The entire room erupts and it’s decided, against his will, that you’ll be spending the night.

Everything falls apart from there.

Shoko shows you to a guest room once the others begin to clear out, dark circles carved out by cool white fluorescents that cast shadows behind her puffy eye bags.

“Sorry it’s so small,” she says, gesturing at the lone mattress, creeping moonlight like a spotlight on its linen-lined surface.

“It’s everything we could ask for,” you say as Gojo falls into bed, sprawling out against the twin sized sheets. “Thanks for letting us crash.” She shoots him a tight lipped smile before placing a deft hand on your shoulder, brown locks cascading as she leans into your ear.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

The night is long and never-ending.

Teeny tiny bits of skylight taunt you from above as Gojo proceeds to keep you awake well past twilight. He’s tossing and turning in the guest bed, kicking the blanket off the both of you with spiteful purpose, inviting in the cool night breeze. It nips you from your face to your toes, colder still even as he tightens his hold on you, and you decide to finally break the silence.

“You still mad about that one thing I said?”

He scoffs, huff of breath like a shot to your neck.

“You seriously have to ask?”

You tense up immediately, spine straightening flat against his chest as he continues, edge to his voice swelling as it looms behind you. “Honestly, who do you think you think you are? Always acting like you’re better than me.” Razor thin needles lodge themselves into your scalp as he pulls your hair back, your chin meeting chilled air as you offer up a whimper.

“It’s not like that.”

He only tightens his grip on your hair, pulling it back harder still.

“Think I need to remind you of your fucking place,” he mumbles as he presses into you, something stiff rocking against the fat of your thighs.

“Not here,” you breathe, eyes widening as you realize his intent, the alcohol in your system seeming to swirl in your head. He staggers his hips in response.

“Wasn’t a problem in the car.”

“Satoru, they might hear us,” you say, the steel in your voice cracking as his free arm snakes around your side, searching for the hem of your pants. “Mercy,” you try again, the familiar, agreed upon safe word sounding foreign and unfamiliar when it comes out but a croak. It hurtles from the shelter of your lips, forever lost as the strain in his pants only grows, breath going ragged as he ruts into your hips.

“Just let me have this.”

And he revels in the way in which he easily overpowers you, enamored in how his towering frame nearly swallows you whole. When a particularly loud groan—one you’re sure anyone in a neighboring room can overhear—escapes his lips, you blister with shame, burying your face in the pillow, limbs aching for need of sleep.

And then his breath hitches as he chases after fireworks and explosions, captivated by the way that you squirm in vain. His palms claim your hips as his own, cockhead grinding behind you, servicing himself with feverish concentration. He presses your side into the mattress, ass cheeks squeezing together like a homemade fleshlight, and you arch your back in a sorry attempt at evasion.

He groans in response, knees buckling together as he brushes up against the makeshift curve, and you stop struggling altogether. Your body buzzes from the touch, head swelling like a balloon, skin crawling from the jerky movements as you go limp as a ragdoll.

“God, you’re so good to me,” he says, praise anything but endearing when it hits your ears. It’s the same kind of acclaim he gave up just the night before, but it cheapens as he repeats it, banal phrase playing over and over in your head. He’s still humping your butt when he cums, shaky and delirious as he rides out the high, profanities rolling off his tongue until he’s shuddering himself to sleep. All is still once he’s blacked out from the stimulation, pitter patter of salted frustration the only movement left over as it soaks the pillowcase through and through.

You lay awake, caged by his toned muscle, trapped by his carbon curses, praying for sleep until the birds begin to chirp. They sing a song that they borrowed from the night, a harrowing lullaby that has you in a panic, slipping out of his grasp as you crawl out of bed.

By the crack of dawn you’ve tiptoed into a cab, belongings clutched tight to your chest, apartment complex shrinking in the distance, but it never seems to get further away.

Geto hasn’t breathed a word about the voice recorder.

Geto doesn’t want to think about it all.

He’s paying for it now with a barrage of daily phone calls from none other than Gojo himself, who dials him day and night and morning, no regard for moderation. Geto regards the fallout as both of their instant karma, still miffed by the prank he’d just fallen for, but unwilling to reveal his folly. He fills the role of trusty confidant nonetheless, his betrayal as M.I.A driver long forgotten. It’s a spectacle, the frenzy Gojo is bound in, and he might as well watch from a front row seat.

But he hasn’t made a full recovery yet, forever irked at the pretty privilege Gojo takes for granted, the privilege he downright hoards for himself, barking into the speaker when he feels his blood begin to boil.

“Seriously, what did you do this time?” He wants to tear his hair out at Gojo’s stupidity, his utter lack of tact, wants to pull out his front teeth and pulverize the dental tissue into a fine powder when he’s met with momentary silence.

It’s been a few days since you left the guest bedroom alone in the wee hours of morning, and Gojo hasn’t been able to get ahold of you since. You haven’t been answering his texts, his calls, Christ, he even tried your personal email, and now Geto finds himself shouldering the brunt of his correspondence, trying everything in his power to get him to calm the fuck down, albeit fruitlessly.

“Nothing we haven’t done before,” Gojo insists once he’s found his choice of words, spitting them out one by one, raking stiff fingers through colorless locks. “I got a little handsy, but it was seriously nothing.” Geto shakes his head and rubs his temples; nothing isn’t enough to make you walk out on him.

“If you’re telling the truth, then stop worrying already.” A stray section of his bangs fall forward, sweeping over his eye as he slumps over in his chair. “But if you’re lying—” he starts, cut off by the sound of chaste knocks, an unassuming 1-2-3 kissing up at his door before he can finish.

Saved by the mystery visitor.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d sigh relief, eager to break away from the droning and moaning of the spoiled brat on the other line. Instead he gives pause, as if weighing the cost of answering the door against the merit of staying put on the phone, moment’s hesitation only giving way to a guaranteed getaway.

“Hold on, I need to get this,” is all Geto says as he hangs up the phone, equal parts appreciative and skeptical of the person at his door. He isn’t exactly friendly with anyone on his floor, and few would show up here without asking first, so he peers through the peephole, curiosity getting the better of him.

And lo and behold, speak of the devil, it’s Gojo’s missing girlfriend, standing alone with her hands twisted together.

Amazing. You’re quite literally the very last person he wanted to see right now.

“Do you have any idea how worried he is?” Geto snaps when he answers the door. You have no idea what kind of mess he has on his hands. “Go and make up with your boyfriend already.” He moves to close the door but you react quickly, wedging yourself before the doorframe, eyes wide and pleading.

“I’m in trouble, so please...” You scramble for something half believable. “I can’t turn to anyone else.” He laughs in your face, eyebrows quirked with mirth at how genuine it almost sounds.

Almost.

“Don’t give me that.”

“No, I mean it,” you press on, unwilling to admit that anyone else who’d listen to your cries for help, from trusted family to doe-eyed friends, would undoubtedly have you in a beeline for the authorities. “You—you’re the only other person who can put up with Gojo.”

That gets him stopping in his tracks.

“Barely,” he scoffs, but the pressure on the door lets up. He hates that you have a point there. Hates that he can’t look away from Gojo and his silly antics and his daring ploys and especially hates that he has that in common with you. He wants to turn you away but you look so hopeful, ignoring the dulling pain of the door trying to crush your foot flat.

He bites the bullet.

“You know he’ll be pissed if he finds out you came to me first, right?” You screw your lips together when he cracks the door slightly.

“Well, he doesn’t really have the right at the moment,” you sniff, barging in when he lets go of the door completely.

The room is impossibly smaller than you ever imagined, in direct contrast to all the empty space in Gojo’s rental. It’s a wonder how all his necessities fit in the cramped shelves and tiny drawers, and you almost marvel at the scale of it until the sound of wood on vinyl tiling snaps you back to focus. A few stray articles of clothing are plucked from the ground and chucked to the corner before he’s pulling two chairs up, one for you and one for him. Once he’s sitting, you have his full, unadulterated attention.

Not that you know what to do with it.

It takes a while to find your voice, fiddling with your fingers as you try, unsuccessfully, to hold his gaze. There’s no clock but you swear you can hear the second hand ticking. The curtain’s closed but you’re sure you can feel the heat of the sun disappearing. You’re certain that it ebbs below the curve of the horizon as you watch, timidly, the tap of Geto’s wooden sandal. It remind you of the clack of Gojo’s dress boots, impatience slowly exceeding its carefully drawn bounds.

You time out a moment of silence.

And then another.

And then another, until Geto is staring you down expectantly, pinpricks for eyes. You take the hint.

“I said it.” You look down, fidgeting with your shirt. “I said no.”

His eyes soften immediately, struck by the raw edge of your voice, your inability to look him in the eye.

“And he didn’t respect that?”

“He touched me. When I asked him to stop.” The words have to force themselves out your throat, the little bit of courage you have all that keeps the walls from collapsing in completely. You take as deep of a breath as you can manage when the memory flickers through your mind, clear as yesterday. “He—he fucked me through his clothes.” Your head’s buried in your hands as you fold into yourself completely, rocking in place, and something rages inside of Geto.

“Wait, what?” Geto looks at you incredulously, disbelief scrawled all over his face, eyes narrowing when you keep your head down. “Through his clothes?”

You nod slowly, knowingly, and he feels as though the world is spinning all over again. The ground seems to shift beneath him as your face contorts in pain, saltwater already beading up along your lower lashes. That’s it? That’s what this entire circus is on about? He cards his hands through his hair as he tries to process it, shaking his head when you fail to respond. That’s all it takes for your whole body to quake, hard lumps bubbling up your throat at the bite of his words, breath stuttering irregularly as your windpipe starts to clench up.

And then you’re crying, body wracked with hiccups as you try to quell the chills crawling up your skin. Your chest heaves in a sorry attempt to keep up with the lurch of your lungs, sputtering as you try to suppress your voice.

“God, you’re all so fucking annoying.”

He watches you bubble over, feeling his own emotions swell as they hit a critical mass, stomach churning at the sight. You couldn’t manage a comeback if you wanted to, a blubbering mess as you try to wipe your eyes dry. The small bit of composure that’s kept him whole these past few days finally snaps when the tears trail down your hands, no end in sight in the onslaught of waterworks.

“I bet you wanted it,” he continues, unfazed by the fattening tears, fingertips digging into his thighs as he spots the yellowed bruises he jacks off to at night. He leers at the fading brown and imagines them overlaid with fresh, new marks, gleaming blush and fiery crimson. “I bet sluts like you don’t care what happens as long as they get dicked down in the end.” A quiet sob tumbles out of you and your cheeks tingle with hurt, like you’ve been backhanded once, then twice.

“It’s n-not like that,” you finally manage to say, gasping through choked noises as he creeps closer, cloaking you in shadow. He stares vacantly from his vantage point, as if looking at an ant on the tiles.

“Then why don’t you walk away for real?”

And that’s exactly what you should be doing right now, cornered by a large man in his dark, dingy room, but by the time you think to stand up he’s grabbing you by the wrists. He sends you barreling into the desk, spinning you around so your hands clutch the edge, chest pressing up against the surface. He pins an arm behind you with ease, kicking your legs wide open, and you flail the other in no particular direction.

“You secretly enjoy all of it, don’t you? You secretly get off on the idea of being raped by your boyfriend.” He sneers as you buckle underneath him, grazing his growing erection. “All worked up over a little dry humping? Get over yourself already. You females want to be hurt so bad.”

“Fuck you,” you manage between muffled sobs, chest feeling as if it’s about to break in half. “You’re j-just like Gojo.”

“Just like Gojo?” Geto echoes, free hand coming to snake between your thighs, voice catching as he speaks. “You’re sorely mistaken.”

You fall limp as he draws a single finger under your panties, tracing your hipbone as he muses. He imagines their contents, imagines how easy it would be to take you by force, sighing aloud at the prospect of doing it without.

“I can never be him.”

#gojo smut #geto smut #geto x reader #gojo x reader #jjk smut #tw. dark.#tw. noncon.#tw. dubcon.#tw. influence.#tw. toxic.#tw. penetration.#tw. showoff.#tw. size.#tw. degradation.#tw. corruption.#🍣.food #fishstyx.jjk

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myafterlifeisbetterthenyours · 3 years

Note

Can you do Stolas with an imp and the imp falling for Stolas but hiding it, Stolas eventually finding out and confessing he felt the same? With Stolas being *ahem* himself per say

Stolas with Imp S/O

Youd worked all over Hell, in many occupations. From cooking to cleaning and a wide variety of maintenance.

And with your extensive experience in so many fields, it wasnt difficult to get a job serving in the prestigious Goetia Palace.

You got used to your duties quickly, thoroughly cleaning the east wing when lord Stolas walked by.

Now you'd only had a brief interaction with the owl Demon during your time at the palace, but by all rights he seemed a decent fellow, at least by Demonic Overlord standards.

However, as he passed by he was confronted by his wife. His wife, Lady Stella, went off on him, demanding to know if he'd prepared for a gathering later that day.

You knew about the gathering, and it was very clear Stolas had not prepared for it.

You watched as the owl sputtered and tripped over his words as he desperately tried to explain to his wife why he hadn't prepared for it.

You don't really know why you did it, most Imps would give an arm and a leg to see a noble being given a thrashing by there wives.

But Stolas didn't deserve such a thing, so you stepped forwards, apologising on his behalf.

Telling her you were still new to the job and he was helping you with an urgent matter and that's why he was unable to prepare for the gathering.

Stella stared at you for a long moment and just when you thought she'd say something, she smacked you clean across the face.

Between Stella's inherent strength and your small size, the smack sent you into the nearest wall.

Stella told you coldly to never distract her husband again, and NEVER address her in such an insolent manner ever again.

Stolas was indignant, yelling at her that that was completely unnecessary. Getting her to out of the room he rushed to your side, ensuring you were alright.

Asking if you were alright, you told him It hurt like Hell, but you'd gone through worse. You had a chuckle before the owl thanked you for stepping in like that, asking why you'd do such a thing.

You told him up front, he was probably the best boss you'd had and you couldn't just watch him be chewed out like that.

After that incident, you found yourself with a day off. Although it was explained by a scheduling issue, you always thought of it as a thank you, from Stolas.

After that, however, Stolas seemed to keep you close, personally asking you to attend to tasks he was unable to, and over time you grew to be his go to Imp when he needed something important done.

You quickly made yourself indispensable to the Prince, using your diverse skill set you could handle just about anything he threw your way.

You would organise his day to day, tell him when and were something important was happening, you were basically his personal assistant and as such you were basically attached at the hip, doing everything and anything to support your Prince.

You spent the majority of your waking hours with the Stolas, and much to your growing dread, you found yourself falling for the Prince.

I mean he didn't make it easy on you. The fucking owl seemed to go out of his way to be as adorable as possible, acting like a big child. And it didn't help that he was genuinely kind to you, caring for you as more than just an asset. He treated you like a respected being.

And getting such attention from a noble, was... intoxicating.

A touch, a smile. The Owls harmonious laughter at some stupid joke you made, it was borderline addictive.

But as much as you may... crave~ his attention, you could never reveal these feelings.

You may be his favourite Imp, but you were an Imp none the less. You were so far beneath him there was no chance you could even hope to gain his attention.

And as much as that tore you up inside, you accepted that. Deciding instead to channel that affection in a way that would best serve your prince.

Stolas was quite fond of you.

He was so used to people only helping him in return for something, But you were different. You served him while asking for nothing in return.

His colder, aristocratic side would say you were just doing your duty, just serving like a good little Imp should.

But he could tell. You went above and beyond serving him, helping him in every endeavour he faced.

Over time, he noticed you becoming more affectionate, being more open and light hearted, treating him more like a friend than a Prince, like everyone else did. Something the Owl found intoxicating in its own right.

Of course he had his Owlet for unconditional love and affection, but your affectionate had this strange affect on him. You were kind to him, asking nothing in return, and that made him all fuzzy inside.

But just as he came to enjoy your affection, feeling like he had something to make the cold and cut throat reality of nobility bearable, you pulled back. You became more formal, like all the others in his life that served him.

And while at first he had hoped it was just a temporary hiccup, it quickly got to a point stolas couldn't take it anymore.

The owl ended up using every trick he could think of to figure out just why you'd pulled back.

It was somewhat underhanded, but one night, after you'd said goodnight, Stolas used his Grimoire and observed your unconcious mind. But he never would have expected what he saw.

He got a full view of how you viewed him.

He didn't know if he should be flattered or shocked, as in your eyes he was on parr with a diety.

He was this being of pure mercy and kindness, so far above you, you held your feelings back because you believed there was no way you could get close to him.

Your dream slowly morphed to reveal how terrified you were of admitting it, an all consuming fear that such information would destroy the relationship you held as the most important thing in your life.

Stolas was in shock.

Afterwards he spent the whole night thinking about you.

He couldnt deny he had strong feelings towards you.

After all, you'd always gone above and beyond for him, you were his most trusted and beloved servant, and... he liked to think of you as his friend.

But now that he knew your dedication was fuelled by love, it gave him a whole new perspective to your behaviour.

The way you smiled at him.

The way you laughed at his jokes.

The way you stuck close to him, the way you got defensive on his behalf, so much so you'd started fights with other staff members whom had disrespected him.

All these actions had once seemed so innocent, seemingly coming from your deep sense of loyalty and commitment.

But now, he knew they came from a place of love and devotion.

He spent the whole night thinking it over, pacing his office, deep in thought.

But no matter how hard he thought about it, he always reached the same conclusion.

He loved you.

He knew it was crazy. After all, he had a family. He had a loving- er... Well, he had a wife.

He had a beautiful daughter, and yet here he was, having unknowingly fallen for an Imp.

He went over it a hundred times and every time he thought about it he simply couldn't deny his feelings for you.

You were kind, loving and selfless. Youd always seemed to put his needs above your own And for Stolas, whom had never know selfless love. He realised it was all hed ever wanted.

Now Stolas had to decide what to do with this information.

Unfortunately Stolas couldn't keep a secret from you to save his life, you could simply read him to well.

And it wouldn't take long for him to crack, finding it impossible to keep such a major secret from you.

He'd get you somewhere private, using the excuse of business to get you alone.

Once he was confident you wouldn't be interrupted, he'd basically pin you to a wall, the owl hesitating for a moment before telling you, he knew.

You tried to play it off, telling him you didn't know what he was talking about.

Only for Stolas to snap at you, telling you, you knew exactly what he was talking about.

He leaned in close, whispering he knew you loved him.

You tried to stay composed, but internally you were freaking. Doing your best to keep calm and play it off.

The problem was Stolas was so close, you could smell his morning coffee and he was staring right at you, not giving you any time to calm down and think of a clever excuse.

But you couldn't. You couldn't lie to his face.

So you confessed, you confessed to loving him. You confessed you loved him more than anything, more then you knew how to handle. So you hid it from him.

There was a long silence.

You expected him to drop you, throw you to the side and tell you to get out of his sight, or maybe just kill you then and there.

But he didn't, instead he... he kissed you.

He planted a deep passionate kiss right on the lips, and... and you just couldn't help but return it. You wrapped your smaller arms around his neck, giving him your all.

Breaking the kiss, Stolas cupped your cheek and you were left stunned once again, when he told you... He loved you too.

You were so happy you were almost in tears, holding Stolas so close you almost feared you'd snap him in half, the two of you sharing a moment of joy and warmth.

You pressed your forheads and for the first time in both your lives you held someone you knew loved you for you close.

You held each other close for a long while, Stolas pressing you against his chest. Leaning back, you just smiled at each other.

It was a warm little smile, a smile you gave to someone you cared for deeply.

Scratching your neck, you asked him "What comes next?"

A devious little smile crossed his lips as he stared down at you, a predatory glow to his crimson gaze.

He carried you briskly to the nearest bedroom, carrying you to the bed he dropped you, pressing you against the bed.

Sliding his hands up your shirt, he purred down at you, "After all you've done for me, I think it's only fair..." He licked his lips, "I return the favour."

He stripped you down slowly, trailing kisses across your body.

You spent the night together, wrapped in throws of passion, Stolas doing his very best to bring you as much pleasure as possible.

You went at it long into the night, you pouring all the love and affection you'd repressed for so long.

There being one particular moment where the owl lost his mind when you flipped him over, pinning him down and took control.

You went at it until you collapsed in each other's embrace.

The next morning was like a whole new reality for you two. You held each other close and just relished the new found love you had for each other.

Your relationship would continue in secret, the both of you desperate to keep this new flame alive. Your position as his right hand Imp enabling you to stay close and be with him in private without raising any suspicion.

The two of you had frequent little 'rendezvous', where ever, when ever you wanted too without much issue.

Stolas' favourite was having a quick romp in the car on the way home from a meeting.

As amazing as your romance would be, there would always be a risk hanging over, something you were always cautious of. Although your concerns were dismissed by Stolas and you really found it hard to stay focused around him.

But as perfext as your relationship was, it would all come crashing down when you were discovered by Stella.

Now Stella's reaction could vary drastically depending on the nature of there marriage.

If Stella genuinely loved Stolas, she'd likely loose her shit.

Going off on Stolas while also likely try to kill you.

The family would be divided much like with Blitzø, although this time you would actually be there to support Stolas emotionally, not to mention you'd likely have a decent chance of getting along with Octavia.

But If there union was, say, more business than personal. Well... terms could be reached.

She'd still likely freak out, but Stolas could temper her fury before it could get out of hand.

They could reach an accord, you and him could be together so long as your relationship never sees the light of day.

After that, your relationship went up a notch, Stolas not having to hold back like before, he would basically go feral with you, spending every available second wrapped in a passionate embrace with you.

#helluva boss #headcanon #helluva boss headcanon #x reader #helluva boss x reader #helluva stolas #helluva boss stolas #stolas x reader #stolas #stolas deserves some love #stolas is a big softy

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sylverstorms · 3 years

Text

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity Ch.4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Since you started working in the castle, you’ve experienced many things.

You’ve seen other maids get slashed for nothing. You’ve seen the daughters lick a sickle covered in blood, break into a swarm of insects and then materialize someplace else. You’ve heard of the tormented wailing they cause in the dungeons.

They're things that you thought would haunt you, day and night, until you couldn’t function properly anymore. And yet. You found you could somehow still focus on your work despite it all.

How ironic is it that, in the end, it is a kiss that threatens to break your mind?

You used to think only of your survival before it, of studying routes for a potential escape. Now you can hardly focus on polishing a single goblet without getting distracted. You see her everywhere you turn, even when she’s not there. When you close your eyes at night, you can still feel her sigh against your lips.

It’s driving you crazy. She’s driving you to madness.

You don’t understand it. Any of it. It doesn’t make sense for your mind to be so stuck on someone you fear. Not unless a screw has gotten severely loose in your own head. A very possible scenario and one you don’t want to entertain.

The only semi logical explanation you’ve come up with –actually, the only one that lets you sleep at night– is that you’re subconsciously trying to humanize Cassandra. To see her as something you want rather than someone you despise, turn a negative into a positive, terror into desire. To make your life, what has become of it anyway, more bearable for you.

Yeah. You go with that.

At dinner, you keep your eyes down unless Lady Dimitrescu calls for more wine, but you can feel Cassandra’s piercing gaze on you almost like a physical touch. For two nights in a row you hear her graceful steps approach while you’re doing the dishes, but someone always calls for her before she reaches remotely near you.

And you’re glad for that.

Right?

On the third evening, while you’re tiredly walking back to your room after eight long hours of work, an arm shoots out of the shadows, grabs your wrist and pulls you off your path.

You nearly shout, but something soft, cold and unyielding covers your mouth. Your heart is giving painful kicks in your chest, your eyes are wide, frantically trying to adjust to the dark chamber. You start to calm only when you smell her perfume, but perhaps you shouldn’t.

“Relax, it’s me.” she says, like that's assuring.

You blink several times; your sight adjusts just enough to make out her hooded outline, thanks to the faint moonlight dispersing into the room from behind the nearest closed curtain.

Cassandra removes her hand from your lips once she’s sure you won’t scream.

“Hi.” she greets with what you guess is a smile.

It would perhaps be slightly endearing if she wasn’t your captor, hadn’t just startled you half to death and wasn’t dressed like the grim reaper in the pitch-black.

“H-hi.” you say back. It takes a ton of willpower not to curl in on yourself. You’re not even sure you succeed.

“Oh, come now. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark.” she teases, poking your shoulder. You want to tell her it’s mostly her that scares the shit out of you, but you’re not that courageous nor that stupid. “I thought you a little braver than that.”

Your lips fall open. “Why?” you speak before you think and there’s probably something in your expression that makes her giggle.

Cassandra zooms to the window and pushes the curtain to the side, slightly. “Better now, my scaredy-cat?”

“Yes, thank you.” you reply, trying hard to bypass the possessiveness in her remark and what it does to your stomach.

“Good because you need to stop shaking. I don’t have much time.” Cassandra huffs. Before you can even think to say anything, her gloved fingers tug on your shirt, a tad rough, then shove you into an armchair.

You yelp, the air momentarily knocked out of your lungs, but then her gentle weight settles into your lap and you freeze. A big part of your brain shuts down on the spot. Cassandra leans close and the angle allows the moonlight to caresses her face underneath the shadows of her hood. Its pale grace makes her look softer than usual, the gold of her eyes glowing like twin embers….

“You and I have things to discuss away from prying ears.” A thumb and pointer trap your chin in place. You're all too aware of the fact a squeeze from her is what it takes for you to never be able to talk again.

“Do you know how I wanted to get you alone like this, all to myself?” she husks, lightly biting the shell of your ear. The sting gets your blood rushing faster in your system but you aren’t cut. Yet. “Did you think about me?”

Cassandra, slow and methodical, moves further in. For a moment you think she’s going to kiss you, yet she grazes her lips against your jawline instead –it makes you shiver– until they’re right by your ear. Your knuckles curl white on the cushioned arms. Already you feel the hot caress of arousal pool low in your stomach.

And you hate it.

You don’t want to admit it out loud that you did. To either of you. Your silence seems to irk her, though, because a sharp nip comes at your pulse. “Ah! …I did.” The shameful truth instantly spills from your lips.

“Yes?” She pulls back until you’re eye to eye, lip to lip.

Having her like this on top of you now, eyes gleaming, mouth glistening and oh-so-inviting, you wonder why you ever thought you were strong enough to resist temptation.

“...Yes.”

Cassandra kisses you.

The sensation is every bit as thrilling as you remember. Rousing, like licking a double-edged knife and coming out of it uncut. It is all danger, suspension over fire, without knowing if you’ll end up warmed or burned.

The first kiss was a tiny taste of the forbidden fruit. This one is you delving right into its ripe flesh, accepting you’re already hooked. Yes, you may die. But you weren’t really living since you were brought into the castle, either.

Cassandra is busy sucking on your lower lip when her back tenses under your fingers. Begrudgingly, she pulls herself back, neck turned a tad to the right, listening in for something you cannot hope to hear.

You finally remember what it feels to be alive underneath her slippery lips and breathy little moans, her cold fingers that grip at your throat and clothes like they have yet to decide which of the two they want to rip off. You're sure bruises will be left in the morning.

"Ugh. Daniela is being impatient again." she huffs, borderline irritated. "Gotta go."

You can't exactly stop her. You're not even sure you'd want to, even if you could. "Okay." is about all you can really say.

"Dream of me." she smirks, fingers trailing over your chin as she rises. "I'll see you tomorrow."

She waves, full of charm, a nightmare that somehow shifted into a pleasant dream. Then she's gone, leaving you alone in the dark. Your body laments the loss but your nerves are wiser, finally easing.

For once, however, the prospect of tomorrow doesn't fill you with only dread.

#cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x oc #lady dimitrescu #resident evil village #fanfiction

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sagemusesoutloud · 3 years

Text

Anti-Romantic, Part 1

(credit to the original owner of the image)

Character | Jaehyun x reader Genre | nonidol!au, Mutual Pining, Slowburn, Fluff WordCount | 3.6 K Author'sNote | lmaoooo the fact that I intended this to be a oneshot type of thing oops. Wellllll, I tried. Most likely to be a two part series, but we'll see.

This is part of a series I intend to call "If Songs were Fics" and this particular one was loosely inspired by TXT's Anti-Romantic bc I'm obsessed. I hope you enjoy reading as much I enjoyed writing it!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

I don't know who loves me

And I don't care, It's a waste anyways

A romantic feeling, Kinda scares me

“Any plans for you birthday next week?”

Jaehyun shakes his head at you, “no, not yet, don’t you have that date with that barista?”

“I’m not sure, he’s been acting weird over text lately. Might not be worth it,” you shrug your shoulders. “Besides, it’s your birthday! You only get one of those a year, we should plan something.”

You were on your way to the gym, a ritual you and Jaehyun had ever since you both found out you worked for the same company. You had been childhood friends, but ended up losing touch since you went to separate universities.

It was a nice surprise to see a friendly face on the first day of orientation and throughout the duration of your training for the next six weeks. Although you were both from different departments, you enjoyed taking your lunch breaks together and sharing small gossip about your old class-mates.

“ugh, don’t remind me,” he let’s out a long sigh, “every year, it seems like my family won’t stop pestering me about starting a family.”

“What’s so wrong about that?”

“Nothing, just not for me. Or at least not yet. I don’t think I’m the type to settle down,” he shrugs again as if it were no big deal.

You gasp, “how could you say that? I’ve seen your insta account. It’s got your cousin’s kids all over it!” You stop to take a good look at him as he holds the door of the gym open for you. “Back in school too, you used to tutor those elementary kids for volunteering hours. Even when you didn’t need them. You’ve always liked kids.”

“That’s different…”

“Right. Totally different things. Got it,” you roll your eyes. This wasn’t the first time he mentioned not wanting to settle down. At first, you had thought it was because he liked ‘keeping his options open’ like back in high-school. Or, not that you knew for sure, but if the rumors were true then it meant he slept his way around. Apparently, he never slept with someone twice and despite the cold shoulder the other party would get, all you had ever heard were praises. Not that you paid that much attention or anything.

You and Jaehyun had the same circle of friends, but despite that, he had never made any advances towards you. You’d be lying if that didn’t bother you at least once or twice. You just assumed that he didn’t want to make the friendship awkward or mess with the friend dynamics of your group. Which was why your crush on him in junior high ended as soon as you got to high-school.

You ended up going on dates with other people, but nothing that kept your interest. Nothing that compared to how you felt around him. Not that he seemed to think the same, so you tried your best to stay the good friend you always have been. You didn’t want to push something he clearly didn’t want; not that it didn’t hurt any less. Throughout the years it’s become bearable, at least. Almost like a painful habit.

You check in and head to the locker rooms to change. His nonchalance about the subject had always puzzled you. You’d seen first hand how all the female coworkers seemed to sway their hips as they walked by him, how some would pop a blouse button more than usual when around him, and you swore no one else was getting that much help throughout training more than him. He was handsome and a gentleman, that much was painfully obvious.

You meet him outside by the water fountain, “ready for warm-up?” he guides your way to the treadmills.

“When’s the last time you dated?”

You would have laughed if you weren’t so shocked to see him trip from the corner of your eye. “why the sudden curiosity?” He finally responds.

“Not sudden, I’d always wondered.” You defended. “You’re good looking and you’re very…I mean, you live on your own and have your own car. You have good relations with your family AND you’re good with kids. So, what is it?” You hadn’t realized how troubling you thought it all was. But now that you started digging you couldn’t stop.

“I just—” you pause, “it doesn’t make sense.”

You hear him chuckle, “you might wanna slow down before you pull something.” You look down and realize that your pace had gone from a relaxed jog to a borderline run during your rant. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to psychoanalyze your only friend in the city.

“Well, I just don’t know how to let people in. It’s just that.” He finally responds. “I love kids, but I don’t know or think I’d be a good partner.” He slows down before stopping, ending the conversation. He waves you off with an easy smile as you stay running.

Huh, maybe you pushed him too far. Your eyes can’t help but follow him around the gym.

Sweet and bitter chocolate, The taste at the end is always the same

Like the saddest movies, Only tears in my eyes

Your hands were sweaty the entire morning, anticipating your lunch time. It was his birthday today, and while you hadn’t made any concrete plans you ended up agreeing to go over to his place after work. Your gym bag was ready with snacks and comfy clothes to stay over. You remembered him saying he was excited to watch that new Marvel movie that had recently come out so you had bought it online to stream it at his place as a surprise. But what had you nervous was the small heart shaped box sitting in your purse. You didn’t know what possessed you to buy it but you had immediately thought of Jae when you passed by it at the mall. You remember vaguely mentioning that it was a special occasion to the sales lady (as in, his birthday), but she must have thought it was your significant other rather than friend because she changed the box to the red velvet shaped one while giving you a wink. In her defense, you could have protested but…why didn’t you?

You hear a knock on your door, “hey little miss sunshine.” Ah, Nakamoto, this couldn’t be good news. He was only sickly sweet to you when he needed a favor.

“What do you want?” you deadpan. He only laughs as he makes himself comfortable in your office. “Well, nothing in particular. Can’t stop by and see how you’re doing?” he feigns hurt.

“Right—the last time you ‘came by’ you left me working over-time through the weekend,” You sigh, “so what is it this time? Missed meeting? Late proposal?” To be fair, your supervisor WAS overworked sometimes. And since you were the only worker under him, it was normal for him to sometimes share some of the load with you.

He smiles at you, “nope. Just have a proposal for you. I know you’ve been working hard these past few months and I’ve been really impressed by your work ethic.” He stands and moves closer to your desk, “And I thought some sort of reward was in order, as well as celebration.” Ok, now you’re confused. You were ok with the reward part, it usually came in the form of a gift card to your favorite coffee shop, but celebration?

“Why would we celebrate? Did I miss something?”

“Not yet, but I did recommend you to the partner position with me. And I wanted to be the first to tell you that the boss approved it earlier today. So, what do ya say? Dinner on me?” he extends his hand out to you and wiggles his eyebrows playfully.

Oh.

Shit! You were hoping this would happen eventually, moving up from the entry-level position you had. But you had never thought it would be this fast. “Oh my gosh, are you serious?” You give him your hand and he shakes it in mock salute.

“Of course, some people will come by to move your computer to the office next to mine. You start Monday!” he winks, “So, wanna go to that new rooftop restaurant? This is a once in a life-time ticket, so you best say yes.”

But your dinner with Jae…He’ll understand, right? He has to. It’s not like he seemed that excited about it anyway. And you could always spend the day together tomorrow, too. It would be pretty rude to turn down Yuta after he pulled some strings for you…

You smile at him, “Thank you Mr. Nakamoto, I won’t let you down as a partner. Yeah, dinner sounds great. Wanna meet there?”

You sit down on the small table, now nervous for other reasons.

Jae sits opposite of you, a small smile on his face. “Hey you,” he greets.

“hey…” you start, “I hate to change plans so suddenly, but…” crap, you feel really shitty. But you really were between a rock and a hard place.

“everything ok?”

“yeah, no. I actually just got promoted,” you start.

“You did? That’s awesome! So fast, too. Wow—but shouldn’t you be more enthusiastic about it?” he chuckles.

“I am, just—my old supervisor wanted to go to dinner to celebrate. And I don’t think I could say no after helping me out like that.”

“I mean, did you want to skip it or?” Now he’s confused.

“Well, he wanted to go out tonight since I start Monday and today’s Friday…I don’t think I can come over tonight,” you explain.

Realization crosses his features before he gives a small smile. “Don’t worry about it, you’re fine. And he’s treating you! You don’t know when the next time he offers might be,” he continues, “we can celebrate another day anyway.”

“Are you sure?” now you feel like shit.

“Of course I’m sure.”

For the rest of the lunch, a thick silence settles before he excuses himself back to work.

Jaehyun knew this was coming. Nothing ever went his way; it’s why he kept everyone at a distance from his heart. But he was weak when it came to you. This game of push and pull was bound to keep happening, and it only brought him that all familiar foul taste in his mouth.

I know, that sweet love song, Those words of promise

When you turn around, It's just an unfamiliar someone

It was why he decided to go else-where for university, instead of joining you and some of your friends to the one closest to home. He chose to go across the globe—far, far away from the curse of you.

It had started on a windy day, back when you were 4 and new to the town he grew up in. Jaehyun didn’t want to leave his mother’s arms, he didn’t like the thought of being with strangers until later in the day even if his mom promised that she would be back. A little girl with jean overalls like his came up to him and his mom, “why are you crying?”

“I am not!” he sniffed. He didn’t need to make new friends like his mom was trying to tell him. All he needed was to go back home. You took out something from your pocket and showed it to him, “look, my mom said I could give one to my first friend. She said it was sharing. Want one?”

In her little palm, were two kiss chocolates. “You’re not my friend,” he grumbled, “I don’t know your name.” At that, you giggled, “I’m Y/N!” you took his hand and placed a chocolate there, “there, now we’re officially friends.”

“See, Jae? You can spend some time with Y/N and have fun. Before you know it, I’ll be back,” she promised.

“Yeah, Jae! Come play blocks with me, and then we can try the coloring.” You held his hand as you led him deeper into the classroom. Just like that, Jae began to feel a little warmth in his chest. He didn’t mind that his favorite thing to do was play tag outside or that he wasn’t really good at coloring inside lines yet. But that didn’t matter to him. As long as he had this one friend around, he was content.

Sorry I'm an anti-romantic, I want to run far away

My heart that already chases after you, Blazes up as a small flame

Looking back at it now, it was a little funny. All it took to let you in back then was a simple chocolate kiss and your little sticky hand in his leading the way. You were always larger than life to him, sometimes he forgot that you were just as human as him.

As you two continued to grow, nothing seemed to change your friendship. But he knew that the depth of his feelings wasn’t mutual. It was in the way that you brought a lot different people together and decided to call it your family. Another of your friends, Jungwoo, liked to joke that you collected introverts for fun. To Jaehyun, it was more likely that you just didn’t see the fun in leaving people out. You were charming and passionate. Traits he wished he had. Your empathetic nature and gentle disposition were all that Jaehyun needed, even if he wasn’t the only recipient.

Once you guys started to hit puberty, things started to feel rocky. Jaehyun couldn’t help but physically distance himself from you, his ears were always red-hot. You had always been pretty to Jaehyun, but you were starting to become really beautiful. And if the boy’s locker rooms’ talk were anything to go by, then other people were definitely starting to realize “what a great catch” you were.

It really pissed him off. Who were they to say things as if all you were was a piece of meat? It disgusted him. But what disgusted him more was the fact that sometimes, he couldn’t help but also feel the way your body felt in his when you hugged in greeting. He hated the way his body reacted to everything you did.

He first messed around with a senior girl back when he was a sophomore, Sooyoung. She was leaving and he couldn’t take it anymore. Your boyfriend was a piece of trash and he was tired of hearing the way he would share what Jae considered to be intimate moments that had no business being public. But you seemed so happy… that next game, Jae stole the ball from him and scored on his own. Even if it cost him a three hour lecture from the coach, he would do it again. Fuck being a team, that guy was an asshole.

What he hadn’t planned on was liking messing around. He would never admit it, but the reason he couldn’t commit was because he couldn’t get rid of that small grain of hope that glowed in his chest every time you stared at him longer than would be deemed normal. It wasn’t often, but he knew he wasn’t seeing things. So, he succumbed to the cycle of push-and-pull that you guys had going on.

Jaehyun wasn’t blind, he knew that your work definitely spoke of your professionalism, but he’s also seen the way Nakamoto stared after you. Of the way his hand would often touch your waist when walking together. Even now, as he hears you apologize through the phone again as you get ready for your “date” with him he can’t help this heart feel heavy with anger. Anger at himself, for letting you slip away once more. He usually hopes for nothing but the best for you, but this time, he wishes you had an awful dinner.

Sorry I'm an anti-romantic, I don't believe in romance

I'm afraid that after burning my whole heart, It will only leave behind ashes

Throughout the entire dinner, you can’t seem to get Jae out of your mind. It keeps you from enjoying the delicious food, keeps you from keeping your usual banter with Nakamoto.

You’re about to call it a night and thank Nakamoto for inviting you out when he beats you to it, “damn, I was hoping this might be a good break from the usual overtime we do, but something tells me your mind has been elsewhere,” he offers good naturedly, “I know it’s valentine’s, so maybe this is why we feel so awkward, right?”.

You grimace a bit at that, “ah—I’m sorry. I really am grateful for the way you look after me in the company and I’m also thankful for this lovely dinner,” you stop a bit, afraid you might offend him, “I agreed to come out tonight, so no need to feel awkward.” You offer a smile.

“Alright then. I guess you already have your sights on someone?” he prods. Should you be honest? There was no rule against dating outside your department, and you were pretty sure your new boss’s wife also worked within the company. “…I do. But I’m pretty sure they don’t feel the same way. It’s been so long since we’ve known each other. Surely if something were to have happened, it would have by now.” You were loosening up, definitely the wine’s fault.

Nakamoto sighs at that, “damn, and here I thought I could woo you after this,” he winks jokingly but you laugh him off. You knew he didn’t care for you that way. “I really hope you’re talking about the guy you always eat lunch with. I swear everyone thought you guys were married when you were released from training.”

“What?! No, I—we’ve been friends since we were children—”

“Aha! So it was him then,” he smirks. “Good.”

You groan, “Please, no.”

“What, it’s not him? You sure about that?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that statement,” you groan. Why were you discussing your love life? You push the wine away and take a sip of your water.

“Hmm. That’s too bad. Could have sworn that guy was after you.” He stands up. “But fine, I’ll stop prodding.”

You sigh in relief—“for now.” You groan. “What do you even mean by that? You don’t even know him. Or me, or at least personally at least.”

“Mmm, I don’t have to. Some things you just know. Like how he wishes I was six feet under every time we run across him at work,” he sobers up at that. “He seemed like a cool dude, but his glare isn’t too friendly. I don’t know how you fell for that.”

You scoff, “just because someone has a resting bitch face doesn’t mean they’re a bad person.”

You both make your way to the underground parking. “You’re right, it just makes them unapproachable. Is that why you won’t confess?” His genuine tone rubs you the wrong way, you don’t need be given false hope.

“Stop it, you said you would drop it,” you frown, “Anyways, thank you for the food boss—”

“—not your boss anymore. Just call me Yuta, we’re partners now.”

“Aren’t you two years older than me?”

“And?”

You shrug at that, “well, thanks Yuta. For the food, not for the interrogation.” He chuckles at that, nodding while pulling out his car keys. “see you Monday!” he waves you off.

You sigh as you get home. It wasn’t as late as you thought it was, only a few minutes past nine. You really wanted to see him. Would he be busy?

You fish out your phone and dial his number before chickening out.

“Hello?”

“Jae! It’s me. Are you busy right now?” your heartbeat is pounding so loud, you’re scared he could hear it on the other end. “Right now?” you hear shuffling on the other end, “no, I was just reading that book Jungwoo sent me. Might have dozed off a bit into it but don’t tell him I said that,” he chuckles.

“Why, is everything ok? It’s still early, did you end dinner that fast?”

“Oh, Yuta and I called it a night pretty early. Too many couples were out and about and it got a bit awkward,” you explained.

“Yuta?”

“Ah, yes. Yuta Nakamoto, but now that we’re associates, he said it would be better to address him less formally.” You waive him off, “actually, I was wondering—if it’s not too late, can I still come over? If not, that’s cool. We can still hang out tomorrow, but your birthday is today and I thought—”

He laughs at your rambles, “of course you can come over, you know you don’t have to ask. How many times have I told you that?”

“Ok, ok. Just checking,” you still had your comfy change of clothes in your car, so you opt to save those for tomorrow and change into something causal for tonight.

“Do you want me to go get you? We can get ice cream on the way, hopefully they don’t close early.”

“Sounds like a plan then,” curse your heart for melting at everything he says.

“Alright, give me 15 and I’ll be there.” He hangs up.

You look at your bag, resting on your sofa and you sigh. The entire night, it’s almost as if you could feel the weight of his gift weighing it down. Yuta is known for being very observant, it’s why he was so good at his job. Closing deals and making contracts in advertisement. Would he be right about this? You know you desperately wish he was, but is it worth risking your best friend?

EndNote | Woooow, that was a longass ride. Let me know if you liked it or if there are other typos I missed! Or just to let me know what you thought, that would be much appreciated. I'm thinking of finishing it by Sunday 6/13, so hopefully the next part is up by then. Until then!

Here's Part 2!

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

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Yandere Behavior: Rohan Kishibe

i’ve had some difficulty characterizing rohan in my head, but i think i finally feel confident enough to write him more... this is a lil gift for @vani-ya who is the queen of rohan thirst. single-handedly making me fall in love with rohan... her power...

⋆ ˚｡ Yan MBTI: CAML ⋆｡˚ ⋆

Rohan runs into a variety of different people. Most are indistinct, unremarkable. This especially holds true in the town of Morioh, where the general population can easily mesh together, with some notable exceptions. You should be one of those blurred faces, a voice that goes in one ear and out the other. He tells himself this, still incapable of rationalizing why you refuse to leave his mind. It’s frustrating.

Doing research on you can easily be justified. So what, you might have caught his interest. Not a big deal, plenty of people have; under the guise of research for Dark Pink Boy. Studying you starts to grow deeper, more sinister. Your address, your schedule, what restaurants you frequent and who you talk to on a daily basis. None of these things have to do with his manga, only to sate his growing interest.

His tongue is sharp as knives, relentlessly attacking every element that makes you who you are. He doesn’t hold himself to the same societal expectations when interacting with others, calling it as it is. They’re not insults, he’ll say, they’re observations. You’re less than inclined to agree. With his antagonistic he acts towards you, he seems oddly willing to spend time with you.

Only a keen eye could pick up on the subtleties Rohan displays when speaking to you, how it’s different than when he talks to anyone else. On a surface level, it appears that Rohan has a strong disgust for your existence, viewing you as a pest. This couldn’t be further from the truth. Every word that leaves your lips is revered, he never interrupts you like he would others he finds unworthy of his time. No, he wants to bask in everything you say and do.

Rohan knows himself, and he knows that what he’s doing is morally grey at best. All the times he’s argued with himself -- that at least he hasn’t acted on these urges of his -- is countered by how unethical it all ultimately is. He comes to the conclusion that he no longer will worry over these insignificant details, the world’s judgement relative.

He starts showing up in your life with increasing consistency. Morioh is a small town, it’s a small world. This is what you tell yourself, to erase the underlying sensation that something is terribly wrong. Whether it be at a cafe, the grocery store, or strolling down the park. Rohan is almost always there, sketchbook in hand, inviting himself to join you. His time is invaluable, he’s a busy man. He’s not afraid of telling you this either, that you should be honored that he’s decided to spend time with you.

Rohan isn’t lenient in the traditional sense. It’s more that he has a Stand that could render you at his complete mercy, but opts out of using it. Instead relying on tried and trued methods of manipulation, making you doubt yourself and worship him. Heaven’s Door functions more as a safety lock, preventing you from leaving Morioh all together. Everything else is accomplished by his own doing, independent of his Stand.

When put up to a challenge, Rohan won’t back down. Charming you shouldn’t be too arduous a task, even with his prickly personality. Once you get a taste for the finer aspects of life, you’ll be coming back for more. This is his logic. Date nights at luxurious restaurants, traveling to different cities of the world and staying in penthouses... he can pull it all off. While not the best companion at times, the effort on this front is present. It’s more than he’s bothered with anyone else.

He doesn’t see the point in respecting your boundaries. You invaded his life, throwing him into an emotional state he never asked for; someone needs to pay the price for it. That someone is, unfortunately, you. There’s no getting away from him. You don’t know why, but he’s just... always there. It started small enough to justify at first. Now it’s getting ridiculous, borderline stalking.

Confronting him on his unbecoming behavior won’t end well. He’ll twist each of your words to his advantage, painting you as paranoid. It’s like trying to convince a brick wall, Rohan defending his position as if it’s the undeniable truth. You’ll feel like the unreasonable one, and that you’ve been acting rude to him all this time.

He really just don’t know what to make of this. His entire life has been centered around relying on himself. Other people are infallible, anything they can do, Rohan can learn to do better. You throw a wrench into this line of thinking, drawing him into the unknown like a black hole. He can’t resist the pull any longer, wanting you in close proximity to him at all times.

Rohan Kishibe is selfish. He knows this, and he doesn’t care. Being alone is bearable for a time, but not anymore. Not when he knows how it feels when you’re around. So he’ll set out on chasing that feeling, indifferent of the devastation it may cause you and others.

Quotes.

“Consider yourself lucky that I even give you the time of day. Do you know how many people would be tripping over themselves to be in your position?”

“I just happened to be here, looking at references for the next chapter. Oh? You’re going out to eat? Perfect timing, I need a break. Let’s get going already.”

“That expression on your face... is it meant for me? You’re on the verge of tears over something as insignificant as that? God, you need to get over yourself.”

#Rohan Kishibe #rohan kishibe x reader #kishibe rohan #rohan x reader #yandere rohan #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere reader insert #my stuff #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #diamond is unbreakable #DIU x reader #yandere behavior

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mrsgreenworld · 3 years

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Son Yaz Episode 23

"İmkansız" ("The Impossible") aka It's Worth It

It's strange but after the last episode I've been thinking a lot about Arrow. Sure I'm a big Arrow and Olicity fan. Hell, they're the reason I got a Tumblr account. When the show ended, it was tough. Because it had been a part of my life for several years and it resonated with me deeply and it had given me a sense of community and belonging. So I feared I would never feel it again. But then Sen Çal Kapımı kinda attacked me, pulled me in and it was so great - feeling this passionate about something again. And despite SCK having turned into a mess and huge disappointment, I'll always appreciate those early days and keep them in my heart. After all, it brought me to you @lolo-deli and @djemsostylist. This alone is something I'm very grateful for. But my disappointment with SCK left me wondering yet again: would I ever find something worth watching and shipping and obsessing over? I got my answer when, after having seen all the amazing gifs by @aslibekroglu, I finally gave in and started watching Son Yaz. And it's completely taken over my life ever since. Not in a way SCK had back in the day. By similar to the way I felt when I was watching Arrow. I know it may seem kinda crazy because Son Yaz and Arrow are two completely different shows. Like, two shows cannot be any further apart, almost to the point of polar opposites. But I've realized that, if we look past the genre, language, the storytelling and all other differences, there's something very similar in the heart and core of both these shows. I looked at Akgün in the last episode and holy shit how much he reminded me of Oliver Queen. And I'll gladly explain why. Let's get down to it.

Akgün

So how the hell did I end up comparing Akgün Gökalp Taşkın and Oliver Queen? It's very simple really (at least it is in my mind 🙈😆) and I'm surprised I haven't made this connection before. Because both Akgün and Oliver are essentially the same type of character - a tortured hero, tainted by darkness and burdened with past sins but ultimately a very good person with a pure heart, bright light inside and infinite capacity to love. Both of them don't hesitate to make sacrifices for those they love, they can be borderline suicidal when it comes to protecting their loved ones. Sure Oliver had a mission and wanted to make a difference by helping people and protecting the whole city. Akgün doesn't have these ambitions. But then again Son Yaz isn't a superhero type of show. But if we remove the "super" part and focus on just the men, we'll see that what they both crave is actually very simple - love and family. I also think that Akgün reminds me of Oliver more now because in season 1, despite his difficult childhood and the loss of his mother, there still was some innocence left in him, he wasn't truly touched by the darkness. It changed when he shot his brother and helped Selim beat up to death and then buried a man, possibly still alive. Taking someone's life robs a person of innocence. Same thing happened to Oliver. However, he's way more acquainted with darkness, given how he dropped bodies left and right at the beginning of his vigilante career. It's clear that Akgün and Oliver had very different journeys but it's impossible for me to ignore the core similarities.

Another thing Akgün and Oliver have in common is their desire to not just protect their loved ones from the dangers and evil of this world, but also from themselves, their own darkness. They deem themselves unworthy of the women they love. Akgün even straight out confessed it to Yağmur in the moment of panic. That's the reason he left - he didn't want to taint her with his darkness. But then again, he's never truly left her or given up on her. He's given up on himself. He's doomed himself to loneliness.

I must say that episode 23 in general made me love Akgün even more. We saw not only his devotion and fierce love for Yağmur but his love and loyalty to Soner. Their brotp is one of the best things on this show and I sure hope they won't destroy it.

The Rocket Team (yes, the name is now canon!!!!) reunion gave me all the feels. Seeing these three grown men turn into teary eyed mess just melted my heart.

Throughout the whole episode we saw Akgün trying to be there for everyone. He didn't want to argue with and go against Selim but he also didn't want to betray Soner. The scene where Akgün met with Selim and told him that Soner and Naz had gotten married, made me so proud of him. He was the reasonable one in that moment. That's a first 🙈😆 At the end of the scene Akgün also managed to make me laugh. Really laugh. I didn't think I would be laughing any time soon this season but his wild gestures, his frustration with Selim and his "just listen to me for once" - all of that was funny to watch.

Just like I said, Akgün was supportive and tried being there for everyone, that's why he was immediately on board with the wedding. Soner had to only ask and it's like the three years of not having seen each other were erased in that moment. Akgün didn't try to talk Soner out of it, didn't ask any questions. He did remind Soner of the consequences but it was very cautious, filled with love and concern, without overstepping and disrespecting Soner's choice.

Then there was Yağmur... Akgün and Soner going to search for her and then the moment when Akgün found Yağmur in that storage room - that was for sure the highlight of the episode for me. First we saw Akgün and Soner working together as a well-oiled machine. Perfect partners in crime 😎 And after they split, the moment when Akgün stopped for a second and just smelled Yağmur... Damn. Such a parallel to Yağmur smelling him in episode 22. It doesn't matter how many years have passed, what they've been through, how much they've changed, doesn't matter if there's anger and pain and so much unsaid between them - they still just feel each other. Their connection is there, strong as ever. And Alperen totally knocked it out of the park, showing Akgün's panic and raw fear the moment he found Yağmur. He'd never seen her like that and it shook him to the core. I swear he looked ready to cut his chest open, take out his heart or, I don't know, lungs and give to Yağmur, just to make it stop, just to make her okay again 😭😭😭

When Naz tried to tell Akgün about Yağmur and what she had been through, Akgün didn't want to hear it. Because he couldn't bear it. But in the end he was forced to witness Yağmur's breakdown. The first one of many others to come. And when they come, he won't be able to stay away any longer.

Yağmur

Yağmur's journey this season is all about healing and acceptance. She has to live through those 5 stages of grief. Just like Meredith Grey once said: "There are five stages of grief. They look different on all of us. But there are always five". And I already said in my episode 22 review that Yağmur locked herself in denial. Naz in her conversation with Akgün confirmed it. But ever since Akgün showed up in the restaurant, it's like the floodgates of Yağmur's grief have been open. She started spiralling, diving head first into anger. All her anger was directed at Akgün. And even though Yağmur came to visit Akgün in prison to say that she was no longer angry with him, her biting words, the "I don't love you anymore" and the following panick attack - all of that only proves that she's still just as angry with him as she was, simply because she's still very much in love with him.

I think Yağmur's bargaining stage of grief revealed itself with Naz, when Yağmur went to the hotel to bring Naz home. In Yağmur's head there is this idea that she has to protect Naz, she's convinced that she can save her cousin from suffering Canan's fate. But Naz refused to go with Yağmur, therefore making Yağmur feel helpless and maybe even abandoned. Already in this fragile and vulnerable state, Yağmur completely lost it after having heard gunshots. She finally started accepting that something's wrong. And it's so important that, when she finally said the words "I don't recognize myself anymore", Akgün was the one she said those words to. It's like she had been waiting for him all this time. Naz told Akgün that Yağmur needed someone to tell her what had happened to her. Akgün's that someone. Only with Akgün back in her life, Yağmur will finally accept her mother's death and then start moving on.

Selim

I don't have much to say about Selim in episode 23 other than a string of curses 🤬🤬🤬.

I've never loved this character and barely even liked him. Canan made him bearable and with her gone... Well, we've got what we saw in the last episode. I wonder how he was never kicked out of his job. Not only was he completely unhinged but also absolutely stupid and unprofessional during that mission with Sare. Then him forcing Akgün to choose between himself and Soner. And of course him storming into Yağmur and Emel's house, yelling and demanding to see Naz. Mister, it's not your place to demand anything, let alone act all righteous and question Emel as a mother. I swear, I wanted to rip his tongue out 😠😡😤

That's pretty much all I have to say about Selim in the last episode. Well, I've got more to say but I don't see it moving forward without me spitting profanities and turning violent.

A few honourable mentions:

🖤 Naz and her attempt to talk to Akgün about Yağmur.

🖤 Sare was kinda funny and she deserved a cookie for putting up with Selim. Glad they didn't make her stupid and she figured out that she was being followed.

🖤 Cihan trying to help Yağmur with her panick attack was very sweet. It was a nice first meeting. Although him being her secret admirer is kinda creepy and makes zero sense for now. I really hope they're going to show how it all started. Speaking of Cihan. I'm kinda conflicted about him. On the one hand, he's sweet and gentle with Yağmur, pretty hot when he was speaking German but also cunning and cold-blooded when he tipped off the Mertoğlu about Soner's whereabouts. And in episode 24 he's going to team up with Akgün to avenge Soner?🤔 Damn, the guy's making my head spin.

And that's pretty much it. Görüşürüz!

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91percentpynch · 3 years

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lonely heart - kevaaron au pt 4

oh look it‘s me, coming out of my dark hole to make you suffer with a super sad chapter with a nasty cliffhanger:) so get your tissues ready and enjoy!! okay first of all sorry that i didn‘t update this in a g e s and that it‘s rather short and for the cliffhanger, but i‘ll try to update it more regularly now:)

check this out for the other parts:)

trigger warnings: drug abuse, mention of suicide, mention of mental health issues, very sad aaron, mention of blood

“You were too good for me”, Aaron whispered into the void. “You were way too fucking good for me. You made me a better man. And I fucked up”

Aaron got up as he felt the tears burning in his eyes. He knew he wouldn‘t be able to sleep alone tonight. Like every single goddamn night since he left Kevin. Like every single goddamn night since he made the biggest mistake of his life.

„Taylor?“, the blonde haired boy murmered, „You up?“

„Babe, you know I‘m up. My girlfriend lives three states away, we talk every single day at the same time as you call your man. Not that I would be able to sleep when you call him, cause a) i love Day and b) you‘re always sad and high and end up in my room anygays, so did he take the phone darling?“

Taylor was Aaron‘s roommate and the closest thing he had to a best friend. She had been there for him every single day, cuddled him, held him while he cried and dried his tears afterwards. And Aaron did the same when she misssed her girlfriend too much.

„You do realize he is not my man anymore, I fucked that up. Big time. He did actually take the phone just to tell me to fuck off and stop calling“

„You could always go over there and say it in his pretty face. Didn’t say you can’t come over did he?Pro point: Might lead to making out“, Taylor said while taking him in her arms. „Plus another pro point: you‘d get sober again. And you‘re less moody. No offense but a Kevin-less Aaron is hardly managable, like you‘re either a whiny little bitch or you‘ll give me the death glare of the cenutry. Legit worse than Andrew‘s and I called him a cute little baby boo once when I was drunk and he almost stabbed me right there with a look on his face like I just murdered Neil in front of him“

„Tay, I take that as a compliment. And we both know Kevin’s a bit of a dumbass so he did not exactly tell me Not To Come over just stopp calling. Anyways I don‘t even know where he lives. And stop talking about me getting high, you do the same shit“

„Yeah but I know my limits and I have not the same history as you. And for the i DoN‘t EvEn KnOwS wHeRe He LiVeS, phone number. Now“

„O- okay“, Aaron said and told her Kevin‘s phone number while Taylor calmingly stroked his back.

„Neat, got him“, Taylor said after a while. „He‘s with the scary big dude and his adorable little boyfriend I think? I have their address right here, I think we‘re gonna visit them tomorrow cause it‘s like 4 am right now and we don‘t wanna rob him his beauty sleep plus we don‘t want to wake the scary big dude. And I‘m pretty sure the adorable small golden retriver boy could and would stab us“

„Did you just stalk my ex and located his phone at 4 am like fucking Garcias in Criminal Minds?“, Aaron said confused.

„Anything for you big guy. And as I said I miss Day‘s pretty face, preferably in your pretty face so you shut the fuck up about how stressed and depressed and lonely you are.“, Taylor chuckled as Aaron looked at her shocked.

„Well I miss Casey, preferable in your face so YOU shut up“, Aaron was never as good in witty remarks as his brother. Especially high Aaron.

„Babe I think it‘s time for you to go to bed, you‘re not fun when you‘re sad, high and tired. Come here, let me cuddle you, while you whiney little bitch sleep“

Aaron slowly went over to Taylor and into her loving arms, laying down, trying to fall asleep.

After a long while aaron drifted into sleep, just to be greeted by familiar smaragd eyes. In his dream Kevin and he never broke up. Kevin was on top of him, his hands gently discovered Aaron‘s body, touching him as if he was sacred, something to worship. Kevin‘s lips were at Aaron‘s ear whispering sweet nothingness. Aaron‘s hips moved against Kevin‘s loving touch. „Stress release“ Kevin called these holy moments in dawn. „Highlight of my day“ Aaron called them.

The dream was as beautiful as it was cruel. It was as if his body, his mind were as much refusing as able to believe that Kevin was gone. It was his own fault, Aaron knew it. But the ever present voice of his mother, disapproving and disgusting, in his head was just too much for him to handle. He thought - foolish as Aaron was - that the pain of living without Kevin would be better, less cruel, less painful. But he never knew real love and therefore never experienced its lost. Until that faitful day. Until Kevin took his bags and left.

Aaron was used to pain. The hot one after an extraordinarily vicious hit. The cold one when his mother died. The numbing one when the hunger was growing more and more unbareable. But nothing was even slightly as hard to handle as the loss of Kevin in his life.

Kevin was the first good thing Aaron had. He gave him a will to stay, to try, to give this stupid sport everything he got. And Exy turned into more mundane things like getting his eating routine under control or getting a more or less acceptable sleeping schedule. The dark days were still there, for both of them, and they would probably never leave them completely alone, but they got less. And when they did happen they would hold each other together.

Ever since he fucked up things with Kevin, Aaron had more and more dark days. The voice of his mother telling him he‘s a failure, the bored stare of his brother and Aaron convincing himself Andrew wouldn‘t even bet an eye if he died, the voice telling him the world would be a better place without him growing louder and lourder every passing day.

Logically he could say that the death of a single person wouldn‘t change much for the over all world population, expect maybe it‘s some kind of insane mademan dicator or someone important, but still. It made sense. All he did after all was fucking up, being a failure, never good enough, never perfect.

His lonely heart only screamed Kevin‘s name and he knew if Kevin didn‘t take him back, his life wouldn‘t make much sense anymore. Well he would definetly not tell Kevin that. He would not manipulate Kevin into loving him, because that wouldn‘t be much better than not having him at all.

Aaron woke up the next day around noon. He didn‘t really feel like getting up, like getting up was simply too much. But Aaron knew he had to. He didn‘t want to worry Taylor more than he already did. And it would end today. One way or the other.

So he got up, put on the first pair of black jeans he could find and the first sweater his hands could find. Ironically it was one of the sweaters Kevin gave him, on the third of december last year. It was one of Aaron‘s favourites as well.

„Ready for the big Day, small guy?“, Taylor said winking at him.

„Not really? What the fuck am I supposed to do there anyways?“, Aaron replied on his way to the coffee maker.

„Talk to him? Deliver one of those borderline cringe big speeches. Get im flowers. Break into his bedroom and say ‚Draw me like one of your french girls‘, naked of course“, Taylor laughed at the face Aaron made, listening to her suggestions.

„I think I like the big speech. I mean I‘m shit with words, but I‘m sure you want to help your boy getting ‚his man‘ back, right? Also what kind of flowers would you give someone you dumped cause the voice of your dead mother told you it was wrong and disgusting, which you never told him for obvious reasons?“

„Honey, you‘re so fucked up sometimes, I love you but you should go to a therapist or something. Also I‘d say sunflowers or roses? I don‘t speak flowers man, I‘m the tech nerd. Not the romantic one, the nerd. But we‘re gonna make a snazzy speech and you‘re gonna get your man back“

After their typical breakfast - if Aaron didn‘t forget to eat again - they sat down together on the living room floor, paper and pen ready, trying to write the world changing speech.

„Why is this so fucking hard? Why can I only tell him how much I love and miss him when I‘m high off my ass“, Aaron complained.

„What about you don‘t think about him that much. Just tell me what you love about him and then we write that down?“, Taylor suggested.

Aaron took a deep breathe and closed his eyes. „I loved him because he was the first one who saw me. Aaron Minyard. And not just the other Minyard, the lesser twin, the shadow of Andrew. He looked at me and somehow chose me. Even if he could have had everyone else. He chose me, even though I‘m not special. Kevin chose the failure when he could have had the first prize. He looked at me and saw something worth loving, worth keeping around. Hardly anyone could tell Andrew and me apart. But it took him less than a day to do so. Kevin is strong, so so strong and somehow chose the most fragile thing he could find, took it and made it worth soemthing. Kevin made me feel something. Not numbness. Not pain. Something warm and beautiful and living. He gave me a reason to stay alive. Kevin made my life bearable, he made my life beautiful. We were both broken and we would probably still be broken if we were together but we softened each other‘s edges. Kevin believed in me when no one else would. He knew how I felt, knew what I needed and when I needed it. Kev gave me love and safety and I kicked it with my feet. This man is like a god who fell for whatever reasons for a homeless man. And I know I don‘t deserve him but I also know I cannot live without him. And I know that I must tell him that before it‘s too late. If it‘s not too late already“

Taylor wipped a tear out of her eyes. „That‘s it. You tell him that and we‘ll get him back“, she said. „Can I hug you?“

„Sure you loser“

„Ah there is my boy“

They spent the rest of the afternoon writing down the speech, making edits here and there. In the end Aaron collected the pages and went to his room to change. He replaced Kevin‘s sweater with a simple black jumper, put on his Docs, got his keys and left.

Aaro did feel a little uncomfortable, stalking Kevin like that. But he knew this was his chance to fix things. This was his chance to get Kevin back, to make his life worth living again. Which to be fair was a bit selfish, but you are allowed to be a little selfish sometimes, aren‘t you?

Jean and Jeremy‘s apartment complex was a 15 minute drive away from the flat Aaron shared with his three roommates. Theirs was fanzier, obviously. After all Jeremy was a professional Exy player and Jean was some kind of semi famous artist or fashion maker or whatever. They could give Kevin the world. They could give him what he desereved. All Aaron had to offer was an apology and his love. No money. Not yet anyway. Just anxiety, depression and stress.

But if Kevin was willing to take his love, to give Aaron one more chance, he promised himself Aaron would make it count. He will tell Kevin how much he loves Kevin every single god damn day. Aaron will get therapy and work on his issues. Sober up and this time for good. He will do anything to be worth of god‘s love. Just that god in his case was a twenty two year old boy with black hair, forming soft waves at the end and a smile that will make the sun jealous. Eyes made out of smaragd. Lips so sinful and kissable.

Aaron sat down in front of the door, waiting for his courage to come back to him. He could do this. He would get his man back.

Hours passed, or maybe it were only minutes or seconds after all before someone came closer. Ever so slowly Aaron lifted his head, just to look in the ever so familiar green eyes, big with shock.

„You said to stop calling. You never mentioned face to face conversations“, Aaron said, his voice hoarse.

Kevin stared at him as if he was a ghost, a reminder of his past life, something he rather wanted to forget.

„Look I know I fucked up. I know I‘m not good enough for you. I know you deserve the world and I cannot give it to you. And when you look me in the eyes and tell me you don‘t feel anything for me anymore, no love or hate or affection or whatever humans feel, I will turn away right now and go and never come back. Never bother you again. But if you allow me to apologize, if you however decide to gieve me one last chance, I prepared this whole ass speech for you“

Aaron was sure they could hear his heart beating against his chest, roaring, screaming to return home. To return to Kevin where it belonged.

Kevin‘s eyes wandered to the floor, his fingers automatically closed around his left wrist. A nervous habit. Just another little part that makes Aaron‘s heart ache.

Slowly, almost painfully slowly, he lifted those unbelieveable beautiful eyes and met Aaron‘s golden ones. Kevin studied him and the world around them stopped.

Out of the corner of Aaron‘s eyes he could see Jean going still, his breathing too calm, too even. It‘s the same thing Andrew does when someone fucks with Josten. At least his death would be fast. Or slow. Whatever. Aaron didn‘t really care, without Kevin it wasn‘t worth anygthing anyway.

„Why“, Kevin said after what feels like forever, „Why would I forgive you? Why would I give you another chance? Why would you think you can come back here just to fuck me over again? Aaron I loved you, I really did. I always will. You were my first love and maybe, yeah maybe, my last one. But right now I can‘t. I just, I just can‘t. Please leave. Please leave me alone. For now. Maybe, one day we can talk about it. But right now I cannot handle the thought of you to leave me. To tell me all these beautiful lies, to cut me open and leave me to bleed out. I love you“, tears were running down Kevin‘s cheek. Tears Aaron one day, a long time ago, promised himself he would never let Kevin feel again. Pain. Sadness. Everything because of his failure, because of his weakness, because he‘s a fucking piece of shit.

„Thank you for giving me a reason to stay. Jusst remember that you were my light, my warmth, my happiness and I never stopped loving you. Never will. Please just be happy“, Aaron replied as he turned around to walk to his cars.

When he was sure he was out of ear shot, he let himself feel. Feel the pain. Feel the loneliness. Feel the numbness and the cold and the hatred. It was in that moment, that moment where he was alone and nothing more to lose, that he decided that it was enough. He would end it. End it tonight.

„Thank you“, he texted Taylor. „I‘m glad I didn‘t eat you in the womb“, he texted Andrew. „You were not so bad after all“, he sent to Neil. And lastly „Thank you for taking me under your wing“, to Nicky. They would understand. It would take them some time but in the end they would feel better. They would be happier without them. Because at the end of the day he caused them pain and wasn‘t really worth a thing.

So when he got in his car, tears running uncontrallably down his cheeks, he knew what he had to do.

#all for the game #the foxhole court #the raven king #the king’s men #kevin day #aaron minyard #ship: kevaaron #kevaaron

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mistymark · 4 years

Text

VIGILANTE/S IV

part four // 2.8k words // superpowered!au // (sort of) gang!au // series masterlist

summary; in which you consider yourself somewhat of a vigilante.

warnings; swearing, mentions of death, weapons and killing, gang shit really

notes; this fic is now 10k words and that's a personal record so damn

“I hear training was a success,” Doyoung says when he returns from Jaehyun’s ‘errand’.

You roll your eyes, your jaw set. You don’t look at him, focusing instead on the camera footage Mark had given you to watch. A notepad sat in your lap as you sat cross-legged on your bed, the computer in front of you. The footage was over 12 hours long, showing only a large gate leading to an estate that looked to be the size of a museum. The leader of the Red Crown lived there, you knew, and you were supposed to watch and record who was entering and exiting through the gate during the 12-hour time period.

“I’m being serious.” You finally look over at Doyoung, standing in the doorway, and the expression on his face almost resembles pride. He’s never been anything but serious, but he seems more playful now. “You beat Johnny.”

“He beat me about fifty times,” you deadpan, giving him a pointed look before shifting your attention back to your notepad. Doyoung walks in and looks around the room, as if it’s his first time seeing it – like it would help him understand you.

“What was your time?” He asks, his back to you.

“Fifteen twenty?” The worst fifteen minutes and twenty seconds of your life, probably. He looks at you, and for a moment you can’t read the expression on his face.

He quirks an eyebrow at you, but doesn’t say anything. Briefly turning his attention away from you, he stops to look at the drawings and photos attached to the wall, his face stoic again. He’s looking at the detailed sketches of weapons – disturbingly realistic, in your opinion – that adorn the wall by the door. The others were strangely anatomical – surprisingly accurate hand-drawn outlines of bodies were pinned against another bare wall. One had a skeleton, another vital organs, and one had the bloodstream mapped out beautifully. Hand-written notes were scribbled across the paper – you’d attempted to read them but the messy scrawl was illegible.

“What’s this?” When he turns around, you hold up one of the leather-bound journals you’d found on the bedside table. It was quite possibly the creepiest thing you’d ever read. One of the entries had just read, January 16th, tried knives again. Sixteen stab wounds. Mostly torso, though heart was avoided. Twelve hours exactly. Another, only two days later, was simply: January 18th, bullet between the eyes (removed). 6.4mm. Four hours.

You’d wondered if the owner was an interrogator like Doyoung – or just a torturer. Part of you was glad you hadn’t had the opportunity to meet him. From what it appeared, none of the others really missed him, either.

Doyoung furrows his eyebrows, “Don’t read that. It’s personal.”

“The guy’s dead.”

You’re unsure if Doyoung hears you, as he chooses to focus on the pictures on the walls once again. Your personal favourite was in the closet, attached to the inside of the door, otherwise hidden from sight. It was a mix of charcoal and red paint, barely resembling a face, but it felt more personal than the ones on the walls, tucked away in the closet where no one would see. It wasn’t nearly as detailed or clear as the other posters, and you had stared at it for almost two minutes before realising what it was.

“The first time Donghyuck fought Johnny, he didn’t even get a time.” Doyoung’s voice sounds far away as he recalls the memory. You wish he hadn’t blocked you from using his powers so that you could see whatever he was remembering.

“What about you?”

“About fifteen seconds.” He snorts at your expression. “Don’t be discouraged.” His attention suddenly moves to the door, and you follow his gaze, though nothing is there. With a nod, he leaves.

You’re left alone again, and you wonder what it is with these boys and never saying goodbye.

You’ve managed to speed up the footage just enough to make your task bearable but have to pause it when a familiar black van enters the shot. It’s identical to the one you’d seen at the Den on the night you met the team, but the number plate is different. This number plate is familiar in a different way. Unlike every other vehicle that had passed through the gates, the driver’s window does not slide down. No ID card is able to be captured.

You know exactly who it is – the only person who can enter the estate without having to show credentials. The Red Prince.

Even though the footage is far too grainy to make out anything in the mirrors, you swear you can see his reflection. Eyes that stare directly into the camera, as if he knows you’re watching. You wonder if he knows he’s being watched, that a group of Supers had managed to hack into his security system.

The gate slides open wide, and the eyes disappear. You shiver.

“Y/n?” You’re shaken from your thoughts when a voice calls you from the other side of your door.

“Come in!”

“Wow,” Mark offers you a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Donghyuck never lets me in his room.”

“Well-,” you shrug, then hesitate. You realise you have no idea what to say to him. At least, you don’t have anything to say that isn’t insensitive. Clearing your throat, you push your notepad to the side, “What’s up?”

“I, uh,” his eyes scan the walls, taking in the inside of the room, “Johnny needs the notes from the security footage by tonight. I thought I’d let you know.”

“Thanks, Mark.” You can feel how tight your smile is, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

He turns to leave, but just as the door’s about to close, he pops his head back inside the room, “Oh, by the way, don’t be worried about training today. Johnny was impressed.” He smiles. “Have a good night, y/n.”

It’s almost midnight by the time you get to the end of the footage. 14 vehicles entering, 10 leaving. And you know the licence plates and drivers of them all.

You feel uncomfortable watching the footage, being right at the gate but unable to enter. Your determination to get in there and take down the Red Crown is strong, frustration bubbling inside you. Everything they’re doing goes against what you believe in, and there’s something about your anger that makes you stand up and head to the kitchen. The walls of Jaehyun’s office are transparent again, and the light is on , even though you know he can’t see you, you freeze when his eyes snap up from his laptop.

It’s weird being unable to hear or see the other team members walking around, and the warehouse feels much emptier without them. Soft snoring makes you jump, and you smile at the sight of Jaemin passed out on a couch nearby, his breaths steady, though slightly too fast. Part of you was surprised by how fast he seemed to live his life, though he had told you he had to consciously slow himself down most of the time. “It’s like letting someone win in a race by running slower than them,” he’d explained. “You know you can go faster and beat them, but you don’t. Like constantly coming second place.”

“Does it get frustrating?” You’d asked.

“Almost unbelievably so,” he’d smiled at you, though you could see some inner turmoil behind his eyes.

When you’re filling a glass with water, Jaehyun steps out of his office, the door closing loudly, snapping you out of your thoughts. His feet are soft on the floor – you almost don’t hear him coming. “Can’t sleep?” He’s reaching for a mug on the shelf behind you, and you sidestep to move out of his way.

“I just needed to clear my head,” you swallow, and quickly take a drink of water as an excuse not to elaborate.

Jaehyun slides the mug under the coffee machine, and watches it whir to life. Only now can you read the words printed on the side, ‘World’s Greatest Boss’. You snort when you see it. He turns his head to look at you, and raises an eyebrow. There’s something different in the way he does it. Normally, when he does this, it’s questioning, analytical, intimidating. Now? You’d say it’s borderline flirtatious. It takes you a second to realise why it seems so different.

He’s standing in front of you, leaning over the counter top, waiting for his coffee – in sweatpants. He’s mindlessly biting the inside of his cheek, and you realise you’ve never noticed he has dimples. Probably because he never smiles.

“What?” He’s frowning slightly, but when he looks like this, it just looks cute. The furrow in his brow almost looks guarded, as if he’s worried you’re about to say something offensive.

“Uh,” you look down, collecting your thoughts, then a smile appears on your face. “Your mug, I-”

He looks down at it, and there’s the ghost of a smile on his face, “The first birthday present Johnny ever got me.”

“It’s…cute,” you say it more like a question than a compliment. A loud thud makes you both stand tall, staring into the darkness to make out any movement. There’s a quiet yawn, and the sound of retreating footsteps. You turn back to Jaehyun, and any emotion he’d displayed in the last two minutes was wiped from his face. His face is hard again, and he looks more like the man you’d seen earlier. He looks older, authoritative. “I’m gonna get some rest. I hear training tomorrow is going to be intense,” you offer him a smile.

His attention has moved from you again, staring into the darkness of the warehouse. He bids you goodnight without looking at you, carrying his coffee gently to his office, his mind somewhere else.

You leave your glass in the sink, promising yourself you’ll wash it in the morning, before making your way back to your room.

You can hear faint murmurs coming from another room, but the walls are so thick you can’t make out any of the words. Moving the laptop from your bed to the set of drawers next to the door, you prepare for bed.

The door suddenly bangs open, and a duffel bag is dropped onto the floor noisily. You gasp in shock and the person in the doorway looks just as surprised to see you. “Who are you?” He asks, frozen right there in the middle of the doorway.

“Y/n. Who-” His eyes are wide and calculating, searching the room.

“Well, what are you doing here, y/n?” He crosses his arms, looking at you skeptically.

“I’m part of the team. I-”

“I meant, what are you doing in my room?”

You’re struggling to keep up with the conversation at this point. You shake your head. “Your room – ? Wait, you’re Donghyuck? You’re dead.”

His gaze is fierce, “I was dead. I’m not anymore. Now, I’m tired. And I’d like to sleep in my own bed.” He walks into the room, rifling through the drawers of the dresser, looking for something.

Reaching out for his power, you can feel it thread through your body, though it’s more painful than invigorating, very different to most of the power you can feel in other Supers. “You’re immortal.”

“Obviously,” he doesn’t even turn around.

A lightbulb goes off in your head as the journals on the bedside table catch your attention, “So the journals – you… you were killing yourself?”

Donghyuck rounds on you, “You read my – ? Okay, you’re clearly new to the team. Rule number one; never read anyone’s journal.” At the confused look on your face, he rolls his eyes, “We all have them. You’ll get yours soon. To track your drawbacks; track your strength.”

You raise an eyebrow at him from where you’re sitting on your – his – bed. “Drawbacks?”

“Damn, okay. Rule number two; know your drawbacks. The limits of your power. We all have them. Jaemin’s is how much he has to eat and sleep. Chenle and Mark lack control.” He gestures to his journals before turning back to the drawers, “As you can see, mine is time. Takes a long time to come back to life.” You barely hear it when he mumbles, “Surprise, surprise.”

“You just kill yourself over and over again?”

“Pretty much.” He finds what he’s looking for but doesn’t take it out from the drawer. He turns to face you again, leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed once again. “What do you do?”

“I mimic other people’s abilities.”

His eyebrows raise slightly and he whistles lowly in appreciation, but he doesn’t say anything. “Drawback?”

“Uh… I guess it’s distance. If they’re too far away, it’s like I can’t reach their power.”

He nods in understanding, then furrows his eyebrows, “Johnny will have you training with all of us, then. Have you done ability training yet?”

You shake your head.

“How long have you been here?”

“One day,” you shrug.

“Wait, you’re the one Doyoung brought in?”

You pause, then nod.

“Ah, Jeno killed me before we could meet, I guess.”

“Jeno killed you?!” Your voice is high and loud. Jeno was much stronger, much faster, much more skilled than you were. You had no chance against him if he ever decided you were his next target. Donghyuck’s eyes widen at the loud noise, and he crosses the room to shut the door, “Shit, calm down. I’m immortal – it’s not like it’s a big deal. Almost everyone here has killed me at least once, though he does hold the record.” The side of his mouth quirks up to the side in a smile that you would almost call cute. Maybe if he wasn’t talking about his friend murdering him, he’d be cute.

You don’t know what to say to that. “You’re insane.” That works.

He shrugs, “Jeno’s always been impatient.”

“So he just kills you. Logical.” The disbelief in your voice makes him laugh.

“Rule number three; never get Jeno angry. His drawback is his anger.”

“Holy shit, where were you when I joined? I could have used some of this information.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Well, first of all, I was dead. Then I had to go out of town for a day – and here I am.”

You nod, “Right.”

Donghyuck grabs his bag and turns it upside down onto the top of the bed. You aren’t quite sure what you were expecting to come out, but it certainly wasn’t guns. You wait for something – anything – normal to drop out, yet it seems like it’s just guns. At least fifteen of them, ranging in size. You don’t say anything.

He takes one look at your face and immediately explains, “I just bought them. Our weapons dealer is based in China – Winwin? He’s a friend of Jaehyun’s – and he just got into the city two days ago. Jaehyun made me go pick them up.” Under all the posters and sketches on the wall, the walls are painted a bright red, and the subtle blush on Donghyuck’s face almost matches them completely.

“I didn’t realise there was more of you,” you say.

“Us.” You look up in confusion, and he offers you a smile, “More of us.” He clears his throat, his attention going back to the weapons on the bed, “Yeah, Jaehyun has connections everywhere. Japan, China, you name it.”

Carefully, he places the guns in boxes and stacks them in the corner of his room. He brushes off his hands on his thighs, “Look, I’m happy to take the couch tonight, but don’t get any ideas. This is my room, and I fully intend on taking it back after –“ He cuts himself off with a yawn and you raise an eyebrow at him. Rolling his eyes, he heads for the door, giving you an awkward bow of his head as he closes the door.

You feel a little bad about stealing his room, but you’re so tired, you don’t have enough time to think about it before you’re drifting off to sleep in his bed.

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bonesaldente · 3 years

Text

Ferocious I Darth Maul x Reader

Chapter 5: Revenge

last chapter

all chapters

ao3

words: ~3700

____

“Lord Maul, there’s been a security breach in the prison.”

You exchange looks with Maul.

“Is it Satine?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Maul has a smug expression on his face, one that typically wouldn’t be appropriate in this situation.

“Stop her, but do not hurry too much. Just don’t let her leave the planet.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t question his orders, instead rushing out of the throne room while comming the other units.

“You are using her as bait for Kenobi,” you remark, seeing through his plan.

A timid voice behind you speaks up. “How do we know they won’t send Republic forces?”

Surprised you turn around to look at your sister, who until now has not been very outspoken during strategic discussions.

You wave off her worries. “We are a neutral system, they would know better than to come here. Kenobi on the other hand…”

“Noble as always, the Jedi will come to rescue his damsel in distress,” Maul finishes your sentence.

Loa nods in understanding.

“You will have your revenge, brother.” Savage muses.

“Are you going to kill him immediately?” It would be out of character of him to not at least think of a different way of hurting Kenobi.

“I am going to take from him what he kept from me… I will kill Satine, then kill him after, so that he dies knowing his duchess died… all because of him.”

And you’ll finally have one person less to worry about, one less reappearing figure of your nightmares.

Your comlink vibrates and you open the transmission, the blue silhouette of Mandalorian armor appearing.

“The duchess has been arrested, but her accomplices are still at large.”

“Did she make the transmission?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Bring her back to her cell and keep looking for her accomplices.”

You sever the connection and give Maul an expectant look.

“Now we wait.”

You did wait. One and a half days, to be more precise.

“An unregistered ship is closing in on the landing pad,” the voice crackles through the comlink. “How should we proceed?”

“Let’s see how this would play out without our interference, shall we?” Maul looks positively entertained.

“Standard procedure,” you order and cut the transmission.

“Don’t get too carried away,” you tease him. “He might actually make it off this planet if we keep letting him pass.”

Of course you know he won’t, but the thought is too amusing to not voice.

“Oh, I will make sure he will not ever set foot off this planet again, that I can assure you, my lady.”

There are perks to having the throne room to yourself, you think. One of them is the ability to be as lighthearted and flirty as you want to. The other … has been explored once or twice as a form of stress relief after a nerve-frying meeting already, though you doubt there is time for that right now.

“I’m sure you will.”

Absentmindedly, you tug at your braid. It’s a little lower than usual, just barely enough for you to notice the difference, but it’s that way for good reason: Maul did it for you this morning, after having watched you do it countless times with such skill and routine that he couldn’t help his curious nature. The final product was the result of the fourth try, after the first three failed for various reasons; not pulling hard enough, letting go of strands, getting distracted by your exposed neck. The last one, however, was surprisingly good, good enough for you to leave it in for the rest of the day while at the same time being a reminder of the pleasant memory.

“Let’s check on our friend Kenobi,” he suggests, the excitement glinting in his eyes.

You shake your head in amusement, tapping away on your wristcom to recall the security holo footage from the prison, zapping through various levels and angles until you find Satine’s cell - now empty.

“It appears the Jedi is faster than anticipated,” you remark, raising your arm to show him the abandoned place.

“So it does,” he muses, not worried in the least.

The emergency line crackles to life.

“It’s the duchess. She’s getting away!”

“Which way is she headed?”

“The landing pad!”

You look at Maul who nods calmly.

“Stop them from taking off,” you command. “We will be there.”

The spaceship most likely wouldn’t have been able to take off on its own, let alone after several missiles were fired at its engines. Now it is spinning in the air, seconds from blowing up.

Better get out now, Kenobi.

You still have to squint, though the pain is bearable as long as you allow your eyes to get used to the changed light conditions gradually. The fire set to the ship however makes it all the more challenging for you to look at, and when the Jedi and his friend finally jump out and the ship goes up in a ball of flames, you have to shield your eyes so as to not go temporarily blind again, as it happens when the lighting changes suddenly.

Your hood is blown back with the intensity of the explosion and small pieces of metal rain down on your group. You’re lucky you have your mask that at least keeps you from breathing in the smoke and dust.

Slowly, you all approach the crash site where a blond man in Mandalorian armor - red Mandalorian armor, that of your warriors - weakly crawls over the ground, moving a piece of metal away from… away from the former duchess.

It seems his affection for the woman runs deeper than expected.

It is only now that he appears to notice you or more precisely, Maul.

“No, it can’t be.”

He ignites his lightsaber, though his stance is that of a man who has already pushed past his limits and Maul holds his neck in his outstretched hand in no time.

“We meet again, Kenobi. Welcome to my world.”

You can hear how positively euphoric the zabrak is to finally have his revenge in such close proximity and you yourself can’t help the elated feeling that washes over you. This is it.

“Take them back to the palace.”

The Jedi is unable to walk anymore and it truly would be a pitiful display had you not lived the past ten years in fear of him and the rest of those knights somehow tracking you down and … bringing you to justice for the numerous crimes on your record. But no longer do you need to fear him, or any Jedi at that.

“Your noble flaw is a weakness shared by you… and your duchess.”

Nothing but Maul’s words of victory and Satine’s desperate gasps as he holds her up in the air by the neck can be heard, with the exception of Kenobi drawing in a sharp breath upon seeing the woman in such a predicament.

“You should have chosen the dark side, Master Jedi. Your emotions betray you. Your fear, and yes, your anger. Let your anger deepen your hatred.”

The last time you saw Kenobi - in person, seeing as he is one of the more prominent faces of the army of the Republic - he was a mere padawan, young and inexperienced but marked by deep sorrow. Today, he is almost unrecognizable, but it is this moment that you can see the same kind of raw emotion on the face of the man that is usually so collected. Today, he is a padawan all over again, watching helplessly as somebody he cares for dies at the hands of the Sith.

“Don’t listen to him, Obi-”

“Quiet.”

Kenobi takes a deep breath, and you just have to admire that pure self-control in a situation so dire.

“You can kill me, but you will never destroy me. It takes strength to resist the dark side. Only the weak embrace it.”

“It is more powerful than you know.” There is something more than intimidation that resounds in Maul’s voice; he sounds almost regretful for a second, more sincere than you expected him to be in the presence of the man he hates with such a passion.

“And those who oppose it are more powerful than you’ll ever be. I know where you’re from. I’ve been to your village. I know the decision to join the dark side wasn’t yours. The nightsisters made it for you.”

He’s been to the village? What else don’t you know?

“Silence!” Maul’s until now calm demeanor crumbles and out comes the fury that has been lingering in his hearts for over a decade.

“You think you know me? It was I who languished for years, thinking of nothing but this moment. And now the perfect tool for my vengeance is in front of us. I never planned on killing you. But I will make you share my pain, Kenobi.”

You know the moment has come, the moment where he will break him.

Kenobi is pushed to his knees as Maul ignites the darksaber; It is borderline poetical how the former ruler of Mandalore will lose her life through the weapon she banned alongside its culture.

It happens in mere seconds: Satine’s body is pulled forward with the force, Maul turns and the darksaber goes straight through her middle. Fast, clean; almost merciful.

The Jedi scrambles to catch her falling body, brushing her hair out of her face so tenderly that despite your detestation of the man, you almost feel sorry for him. He, just like Maul, was a victim of his circumstances. And now, he is suffering just like Maul did.

The gloomy mood is overwritten by Maul’s silent ecstasy that he is feeling so intensely, he is - subconsciously or not - projecting it onto you.

“Remember, my dear Obi Wan… I’ve loved you always. I always will.”

Her words are spoken hoarsely, quietly with her dying breath and you feel like an intruder to watch this tragic scene unfold, but you can’t take your eyes off the two. Kenobi’s chest shakes with sorrow when her body goes limp in his arms. “Do we kill him now, brother?”

You love Savage like a brother, but there are times that his approach to things is a little primitive.

“No,” It seems his crimson brother has thought of a new way to destroy Kenobi - even further.

“Imprison him below. Let him drown in his misery. Take him to his cell to rot.”

Your head whips around to face Maul, your surprise clear in your eyes.

This is not what you had agreed on. He was supposed to kill him now and end this once and for all.

“The prison is not suited to hold a Jedi,” you argue.

“We will find an appropriate cell for our guest, I’m sure.”

You have to bite your tongue to keep yourself from talking back to him. This is his revenge, not yours. And if keeping Kenobi alive for now is what will make him feel better after having lived abandoned and alone on Lotho Minor for years, then so be it. But you have one condition.

“I’m coming along to make sure the appropriate measures are taken.” It’s not a question, it’s a plain statement that is not to be argued with.

If he is to be kept on Mandalore then you need to make sure he will not ever leave the prison complex, for the sake of your own sanity - you’ve lived long enough worried about this man bursting through the door after he saw your face on Naboo, you don’t need to have this fear for the rest of your life.

You try to tell him as much with one look, unwilling to let down your mental walls around the Jedi.

Maul understands.

“Very well.”

He looks so regal, sitting in that throne with his crown of horns atop his head and the sword of the ruler in his right hand. You try to etch the picture into your memory, your eyes traveling from the clean lines on his face over his toned shoulders to the cybernetics that you are still in the process of getting used to, though the sound of metal on the stone floor has quickly become one you associate with Maul.

Spinning on your heel, you wave for the guards to follow you.

“Let’s take him away.”

It’s almost disappointing how little Kenobi does to fight back, but at the same time it makes you extremely anxious. It shouldn’t go so smoothly, it never goes this smoothly. Did he bring reinforcement after all? The next thing you’ll know is the Jedi are invading Mandalore and destroying everything you have.

No, you wish he had fought against the guards dragging him over the ground instead of just hanging there with his head dropped in utter defeat, as well as how he is currently kneeling on the transport pad without even glancing at his surroundings.

“Speed it up if you can,” you order the armored man in charge of the controls, voice cold and commanding as always through the modulator.

You have just made it onto the platform of the prison when you hear the first shot.

“Take cover!” you yell at the same time that someone else cries out: “It’s the rebels!”

Somebody’s jetpack explodes behind you, sending you flying over the edge of the platform. You just barely manage to hold onto the ledge with one hand, watching as one of the guards, the one you had told to hurry, falls hundreds of feet until you can’t even him anymore.

Grunting from the exertion, you pull yourself back up, immediately rolling under a swing from -

“You!” You hiss, shooting at the blasted woman that is the cause for your still impaired vision. The shots just bounce off of her beskar armor, though one singes the red hair enough to distract her momentarily, giving you a chance to draw your vibroblades, your actual vibroblades, not the laughable replacement you had on your first encounter.

“I was hoping I’d see you again.” You snarl, lounging at Bo-Katan, the constant throbbing behind your temples only fueling your strength by reminding you of what she’d done.

This time, you get the upper hand quickly, pushing her closer and closer to the abysm lurking beyond the ledge of the platform. Other rebels are approaching from behind you but you don’t care; you almost have their leader at your mercy - the moment she has to evade by using her jetpack, you’ll get the second you need to have a clear shot at her unprotected head. You know this, and so does she.

“You are a traitor!”

“Pre Vizsla was meant to be Mandalore’s ruler, not this outsider!” She counters, venom dripping from her voice.

“You’ll pay for your betrayal, I will see to that,” you snap in return, inching closer to the edge.

“Oh, will you? Speaking of seeing,” her obnoxious tone makes you grit your teeth, “how are your ey-”

You slash at her without warning, but she lets herself fall backwards. Your eyes track her movement, blaster pointed and ready but right before you can pull the trigger, she does something unexpected.

“Aah, you bi-”, the blinding light shining from her gauntlet makes you stagger backwards while you desperately try to cover your eyes. You don’t get to finish the curse as someone jams something, a needle, into your neck.

“Why you blasted son of … ssson of… what did… “

You fall, the world going black when your back meets the floor with a dull thud.

“I still don’t quite understand why you took her with you. If anything, it’s going to infuriate Maul even more.”

“I am well aware of that, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs, running a tired hand through his hair. He has hardly gotten any sleep in the past 48 hours and it’s starting to catch up to him. “But she could have valuable information that, unlike Maul, she may be more inclined to share with us.”

“Sir,” Cody steps into his field of vision, holding a datapad in his hand. “Our scans have brought some first results concerning her identity.”

“Excellent, put them up.”

The holotable lights up when the datapad is connected to it, and a second later he is faced with a headshot of the masked woman who goes by the name Spectress.

“The first time that name popped up was around eight years ago, there is no mention of her before that. There are several outstanding arrest warrants for assassinations and kidnappings, some of which concerned galactic senators.”

“Thank you, Cody.”

The commander gives him a respectful nod and takes a step back to stand next to Captain Rex who has been silent until now.

“So basically… We know nothing about her?” Anakin’s incredulous look only adds to Obi-Wan’s weariness and he is about to retort something when Rex suddenly speaks up.

“Uh, Sir? I think I have seen that person before.”

Anakin looks at his captain with furrowed eyebrows.

“She has been on several ‘Wanted’ posters, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“No, Sir, I mean something else.” The clone clears his throat. “I’ve seen her… on Kamino.”

Immediately, his interest is piqued. “Kamino? What could she possibly have wanted on Kamino?”

“I don’t know, Sir. She was with Jango Fett. They seemed to know each other.”

“Jango Fett… so that was before the war broke out.” Obi-Wan thinks loudly. “Anakin, are you thinking what I’m thinking?

“She could know something about the creation of the army and Syfo Dias.”

“Exactly.” He strokes his beard in thought. “Also, if she truly is as close to Maul as we think, she might have information on the unknown Sith Lord.”

“The only question is how we’re going to make her talk,” Anakin throws in. “I doubt someone like this is going to be very cooperative.”

The blast doors slide open and an officer hurries into the room.

“General Kenobi, we have found something else that you may want to see.”

The man opens a projection of what appears to have once been information stored on a bounty puck.

“We ran some face scans and this picture was a 90 percent match. The information adds up.”

The woman in the picture is young, her face serious yet clearly youthful. But what strikes him most is the fact he instantly recognizes her. How could he not? It was her he ran into right after the most drastic turning point in his life, the death of his master. Back then her face was streaked with tears and painted in the same shock he felt when he saw her. He didn’t realize then that she was crying for the dead, supposedly dead Sith lord.

Obi-Wan tears his gaze away from the photo, instead skimming the brief information. The woman appeared to be from Kessel, but the bounty on her head was too considerable for a low-level criminal in the Outer Rim. Then something else catches his eye.

“Tattoos on abdomen, ankle and back… Did you-”

“Yes, the information matches the prisoner.” That leaves little room for doubt.

“This is supposed to be Spectress? The mercenary?”

Anakin’s disbelief is understandable. The name Spectress is well-known enough to have reached the ears of the Republic Commando on multiple occasions, and the face staring back at him from the projection is hardly one that would fit the reputation.

“You must remember, Anakin, this was over a decade ago. You were just a child when this was taken and look where you are today: Much can change in that time.”

“Of course, Master.” His tone has changed, it is more distant now. His padawan, former padawan, dislikes any mention of his young age, but Obi-Wan is too worn out to address this issue at the moment.

“Has she woken up yet?” He instead asks the officer.

“No, Sir, though the sedative should wear off soon. We are unfamiliar with the exact effects of the particular mixture seeing as it does not correspond to Republic standards, but-”

He waves the clone off.

“Notify me when she awakes.”

The man salutes and leaves the room, giving him a chance to look over the other data their scans have provided.

“Bruising on arms and legs, remnants of stab wounds in several places, light sensitivity, tattooed insignia on back… What is the meaning of this?”

“It appears there is some kind of an emblem she is marked with. It is not an entirely uncommon practice in more exclusive guilds, especially in the outer rim…” Cody frowns while he studies his own datapad.

“Do we have an image of this insignia?”

“That’s what’s strange, sir. A scar runs right through the middle, so our algorithms have trouble searching the database. Look,” Cody holds out his datapad for Obi-Wan to take.

The image is indeed striking, but not because of the scar.

“I am familiar with this emblem,” Obi-Wan mumbles, staring at the two overlapping gearwheels and the distinct lines running through them. “I’ve seen it during my time undercover as Rako Hardeen, though I never knew Spectress had anything to do with them.”

“Who are they?” Anakin inquires, tired of being left in the dark.

“It is a guild of contract killers, they call themselves the Concinnity.” Obi-Wan swallows, remembering the stories he heard from other bounty hunters. “They start training when they are still children and they are… ruthless.”

“Well, that would at least explain what somebody like Maul sees in her… and vice-versa, I guess.”

“Do you think she’s still a member, sir? I doubt she would have worked with Jango Fett while in that kind of guild.”

Rex brings up a valid point.

“I suppose we will have to wait until we can ask her ourselves,” Obi-Wan sighs. “But the more I find out about this person, the less i feel like she is going to cooperate with us, to be completely honest.”

“She’ll talk, one way or another.”

Anakin’s willingness to use the force to break mental barriers has been worrying the Jedi master for a longer time now, though he hasn’t brought it up with him yet. It seems like more and more things are starting to be left unsaid between them.

His comlink beeps.

“General Kenobi, the prisoner is conscious. You can start the interrogation whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you, I will be right there.”

“Also, sir, she is not… happy.”

He exhales deeply.

“I expected no less.”

____

notes: Could it be... a POV change? Impossible! I've been wanting to write from Obi-Wan's point of view for a while, I feel like it gives another dimension to the conflict between our favorites.

I know I originally said I was going to post this to tumblr yesterday but I Straight Up forgot. My bad.

@princessayveke @spaghetti-666 @noiralei @larawl @secretnerd00 @bagpipes606 @zabrak-show @brilliantbutbatty @eleine-t1d

#darth maul #maul #darth maul x reader #maul x reader #darth maul x you #star wars reader insert #swtcw fanfiction #sith

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