#unbalanced encounters

[dndtreasury]

Sap Potion

[galacticsabc]

gues who DMed for the first time this evening!

[isogenderskitty]

how does ur user name work ??? is it i so gender skitty, i so genders kitty, isogender skitty or isogenders kitty ????? i need to know when i see u on my dash and read ur name so ik how to pronounce it (also unrelated but i saw in 1 of ur posts ur name is lizzie did u get that spelling from ldshadowlady because ik a lizzie who did)

it's isogender skitty! isogender as in the gender identity (neither cis nor trans) and skitty as in the pokemon. i know it's a little confusing heh

also i didn't really?? get it from anyone, my given first name is elizabeth and i've just always been lizzie or liz lol

[ofdarkestdesires]

“Ooo this is going real real rough.” OH YOU DON’T SAY MATTCER MERCER?!? The three legendary resistances, five legendary actions, four multi-attack, shadow-clone-summoning, teleporting bitch of an encounter was real real rough for the half-tapped team of level 7 adventurers you sicked her on?! That was a Lucien-level opponent on seven level 7s, and it was just a little rough?! Whose fucking fault is that, MATTHEW MERTHEW?!?

[perenlop]

im not defending but like people saying that pokemon scarlet and violet are on the same level as or worse than sonic 06 or even that “we have to apologize about sonic 06 because we’ve seen it can get worse″ make me feel like no one actually played either of these games because like. sonic 06 was literally near unplayable. saying this as someone who has played both and actually really likes both of these individual games and franchises btw

[tallgreenlady]

The thing about Dungeons and Dragons 5e in particular is that it’s not actually a good game system at the end of the day. It’s the TTRPG version of Skyrim- it would have been fun enough and then forgotten within 5 years if it weren’t for the vibrant modding/homebrew community propping up its legacy.

This is very much a bigger, dumber version of Bethesda’s “mod workshop” idea.

[sunlightmurdock]

Hey, Neighbour! | DBF!Jake Seresin x Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Jake’s been having a problem recently, and when the power goes out next door, everything quickly comes to a head.

Warnings: dad’s best friend trope. Age gap. Reader is in her mid-20s, Jake’s around 40. Obviously unbalanced power dynamic. No use of Y/N. Reader’s dad has a name. Mention of reader having a piercing. Smut. Pure filth and pining. Smut. Oral (f receiving). Unprotected pinv. Creampie. Jake has no respect for his best friend’s furniture. Choking briefly. Please comment / Reblog, it’s greatly appreciated. Wc: 8.5k. Minors dni, you will be blocked.

…

Jake clicks the television off and pushes himself up from the couch, joined by his shadow of a German shepherd called Ace. They walk together to the sound of the meek little knock at his front door, Jake’s gym socks padding along his dark wood floors along the way.

It’s late. Too late for whoever is at his front door to be bearing good news. He twists the door handle and pulls it open, rolling back his aching shoulders. This late at night, he has a good idea of who’s going to be standing on his porch.

As expected, standing there and shivering in your dad’s coat and a pair of slippers, is exactly the last person that Jake was hoping to see.

You see, Jake has had a bit of a problem since he moved in to this neighbourhood.

Quite a substantial one, in the grand scheme of things, and one that seems to just be getting worse by the minute.

Suburbia was meant to be Jake’s reprieve from his bachelor lifestyle. His escapades have been worrying his mother to death for going on two decades now, and it came time that even Jake agreed that it was time to wisen up about his love life. With all of the deployments, and all of the time away from home, it had been beyond easy to never fall into anything serious. By the time he was twenty-nine, Jake’s longest ever relationship was two and a half months, which was alarming given the number of women he had encountered by then.

Two things happened that sent Jake here, to this cute little cul-de-sac in suburban San Diego, one — Jake’s job became more secure, and guaranteed that he would spend at least ninety percent of his remaining career here on the west coast. Second, he proposed to a woman. A beautiful woman, that he was so sure he was going to spend the rest of his life with.

She liked his house, it looked like the one her parents had raised her in. So, he bought the house and he bought a dog, and swore that he was going to try to settle down. Six months later, it was just him and the dog. Payton apologised profusely, and she’d apologise even more if he ever ran into her again, he just wasn’t right for her.

Things weren’t so bad though. Jake and Ace liked the peace and quiet, and the guy next door was actually pretty cool. Jack, the airline pilot with a mean golf swing and a great nose for the best sports bars in town. He’s a little older than Jake, with a hell of a lot more to show for it, including three grown up kids.

It’s been a couple of years now, and Jake’s practically part of the family. He knows everything there is to know. He’s there on birthdays, holidays, emergencies — he loves this family. But he has a problem.

His problem was manageable at first. So, Jack’s youngest daughter might have caught Jake’s attention at first. You were visiting home from college and you had stepped out of the car in a tight little pair of shorts and a tank top, and Jake just happened to be standing in Jack’s garage, helping him with a little project, when he first saw you.

And you were funny. Right away cracking some joke about Jake’s less than adept approach to projects around the house. Jake had laughed out loud without even meaning to, and then you’d turned your head and hit him with that mega-watt smile. Bringing new meaning to the term beaming.

God, that pretty fucking smile.

Your humour dances lightly on the nerves of others, like Jake’s, but sweeter. You’re well behaved and back then you had had a dreamy boyfriend who was in pre-med. Perfect in every way.

Even more reason for Jake to keep his hands to himself.

You were Jack’s kid. Jake wouldn’t ever cross that line. It’s just that sometimes… he had to remind himself of this boundary.

He hadn’t ever been close friends with someone where that was even a concern, and truthfully, he had been unprepared for meeting you. In all of the stories Jack told him, you were this cute little kid. Standing before him, you didn’t quite match the image he had of you in his head. This was truly uncharted territory.

Truth be told, there were times when Jake wasn’t so sure you wanted him to hang back. Even when you were still bringing that boyfriend of yours around, Jake caught the way you looked at him.

The way you tug those glossed lips between your teeth and grin around the straw of your drink.

If he was a better friend, or a stronger man, he might have been able to nip his little problem in the bud right away. He had tried, and you were living away from home then, so it was easier. But last month, you had moved back in with your parents and Jake’s life has been nothing but stress ever since.

On occasion, Jake thinks of how he would have to plead his case if someone discovered how he felt. You just don’t know what it’s like when she’s looking at me, man. I swear, I tried to stay away from her, I did.

It’s not his fault that Jack asked him to watch you while your folks were away on that cruise.

Jake’s gaze finally flickers back up to your wounded, hurt baby bunny, expression.

“What’s the matter, cutie? — You alright?” He reaches for you with one hand, gently grabbing at the crook of your elbow and guiding you towards him. That sad little look on your face tugs at his heart strings every time.

“Yeah, I just — I plugged in my phone charger and all the lights went out. I think I tripped a fuse,” All exasperated and frustrated at once, you push your hair back off of your face and frown at him. “Could you come take a look at it for me?”

Jake’s throat grows thick. Under your dad’s heavy work coat, Jake can see the thin white tank top you’re wearing and the blue checkered, boxer style pyjama shorts. But Jack asked him to take care of you.

“Yeah. Of course I can,” Jake nods his head and reaches down to tug at Ace’s black woven collar. “Come in a sec. I just need some shoes.”

There haven’t been too many occasions where you have been inside Jake’s place. Your dad comes here a lot and you’ve been sent over to collect him before dinner on occasion, or to deliver Jake some leftovers.

It’s warm inside, and it smells like woodsmoke and leather. He’s been burning the candle that you got him for his last birthday. You inhale softly, shrugging the coat closer to your body.

In the times that you have been over here, you’re always surprised by how tidy he keeps the place. It’s not what you would have expected of a single guy living all alone.

Jake pulls some sneakers from a tidy shoe organizer disguised to look like an end table and crouches down to put them on his feet. Leaning over, something catches his eye between the heavy fleece of your dad’s unzipped work jacket.

“Did you get your bellybutton pierced?”

The question startles you, drawing attention to the fact that you had been craning your neck and trying to get a look into Jake’s living room. You turn your head, blinking as Jake straightens up and takes a step towards you.

He reaches out and before you know it, his warm fingers are stretching out across your chilled, just exposed navel. His thumb brushes over your soft skin, brows drawing together as he examines the dainty jewelry pushed through your skin.

Swiftly, you take a step back and his hand drops away from your body. “I’ve had it for years.”

There’s a silence between the two of you. Jake’s going to be kicking himself for that for weeks to come. He shouldn’t have reached out and touched you like that. He shouldn’t be commenting on things your father wouldn’t approve of. You’re too grown up for that.

“Huh,” He clicks his tongue, reaching just past your side to grab his house keys from the dish by the door. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go take a look at those lights.”

The shuffle of your slippers cuts through the awkward silence as you cross Jake’s front yard and into yours. It’s late November, and a cold night in particular too. Standing in just a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, the evening chill makes Jake’s arm hair stand on end. As you walk ahead, your back to him, Jake wonders if it has the same effect on you.

Thinking about his best friend’s daughter’s tits. He wishes the shame alone was enough to knock the thought out of his head. He wishes you hadn’t moved home. He wishes you weren’t leading him into your dark, empty house right now.

The entire house is pitch black, but Jake tests the hallway lightswitch in passing anyway. He notes the dubious look you shoot him back over your shoulder. Then, he passes by you as you stop to take off that big coat. It’s not something he wants to hang by and watch.

It’s cold as his shoulder brushes yours, and not just because it’s November. You swallow thickly, staring after him until he disappears into the dark. Your feelings towards Jake are complicated.

Well, they’re not. Your crush on him isn’t the innocent middle school crush that you used to have on an older figure, like a teacher. No, this is far from doodling his name in your journal. This man, and his thick, ridged abs and golden chest hair, is working his way into your dreams.

After the break-up, you had sworn off men for a while — and that was the right decision for you. But, it left certain parts of you yearning. And Jake’s right next door. From your bedroom window, you’ve got the perfect view into his backyard. The same backyard where he’ll work out in the blazing heat, sweat glistening along his tanned skin, along the ridges and valleys of his muscles.

No, this crush is far from innocent. It crossed the border into indecent weeks ago, the first time that you touched yourself thinking about him. It wasn’t your fault; he was tempting you.

You had returned home from work to find Jake hanging out in the living room with your father, not unusual, and you had joined the two of them. Your dad had started with a playful comment about Jake. Jake had returned the favour with a witty remark about your dad. You were just joining in on the fun, poking playfully at Jake’s age.

All too suddenly, he had turned sharply to you and pinched the soft skin between your ribs and hip, leaning dangerously close with a smirk on his face that made your head spin. In fact, you still remember the way your mouth had hung open as Jake had breathed out a chuckle and shot you that playfully warning look.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” He’d challenged, that eager look in those wild green eyes, his cheeks dimpling just slightly, fingers pressing into your side.

Since then, you can’t help but think of him closer, and closer.

“Jake, wait!” You call, dropping the coat onto a hook and kicking off your slippers, starting to rush after him. Jake cranes his neck to look back at you over his shoulder. “You should probably show me what you’re doing. Y’know, in case it happens again.”

“Sure. Come here,” Jake jerks his head for you to join him, extending his hand for you in the dark of the utility room. You swat around until your fingers graze his, falling silent at the brash way he grabs hold of your hand and drags you closer. Your ass briefly brushes his thigh as he guides you in front of him. Jake steps back, clearing his throat. The little red dot on the fuse box illuminates his fingertips as he reaches past you. “This is the switch you want, don’t mess with anything else or your dad’ll kill you.”

The corners of your lips twitch. There are plenty of things your dad would be furious with, if he knew you had done them.

Jake’s fingers curl around the switch. His cologne fills your nose. His massive bicep is inches from your cheek, and everything feels like electric as his other hand comes to rest on the bare space between your shirt and your shorts. You’re trapped between him and the wall in front. If you would push your hips back just an inch or two…

“So, you flip the switch off to reset it,” Jake’s voice is all gravel from yelling at the young pilots he instructs, and shouting over the top of loud music in bars. It drifts past your ears and makes you want to shiver as his fingers curl around the plush of your hip. “And then you flip it back on for the power.”

Suddenly, the lights come back on in the hall outside of the utility room. Jake’s got you cornered against the fuse box really, and with the washer and dryer to your side, the only escape would be to rush out into the hall. You’re not quite ready to make that move. You can hear the amusement in his voice. He can feel the way you’re burning with awkward embarrassment in front of him.

“Oh.” You say quietly. Jake chuckles from behind you, his hand trailing about an inch higher, taking some of the fabric from your tank top with it, pinching playfully at your newly exposed waist.

“Happy to help, kid.” He’s already drawing back, his hand pulling away from your electrified skin, the sound of his shoe hitting the floor and alerting you to the fact that he’ll be leaving before you even know it.

“Could I ask you for one more favour?” You turn to face him, biting sheepishly on your bottom lip.

“Sure. What is it?” He’d retile your entire bathroom for you if you asked him to. That’s what makes him wish he was a better friend.

There’s an art to the way you bat your lashes at him, knowing better than to get too close or put your hands on him. Just that deep, pleading look in your eyes is more than enough. “Will you finish watching my scary movie with me? — Kinda… freaked me out a little bit when the lights went out, is all.”

“… Yeah. Yeah, I guess I can hang out for a little.” You’re a good kid, and it’s just a movie. He can’t leave you over here all by yourself, scared out of your mind, now, can he?

Jake wonders if this is what your father had in mind when he had asked his most trusted friend to just be there for his daughter while they were away.

That same, trusted best friend, sitting on the couch with his chin propped up against his palm, and that daughter’s head resting against his shoulder. You could have sat over on the other end of the couch, or even in your dad’s armchair, but that defeats the purpose of asking Jake to stay.

“Fill me in. What am I missing here?” Jake asks, mostly to fill the silence. His arm stretches along the back of your couch, his knees parted obnoxiously and his neck awkwardly straight to minimise risk of him laying his head against yours.

Your hand comes to rest against his middle, eyes focused calmly on the screen. “So there are two timelines. The present, and flashbacks to like… maybe ten years ago. Ten years ago, the family bought this mirror, and…”

Jake’s fingers inch their way into your hair, trailing softly over your scalp. Your fingers brush over his middle as he massages your scalp. He listens to you explain the plot of the movie like he isn’t thinking about the way your nipples are pressing through the white fabric of your tank top.

“Freaky mirror…” Jake muses over the concept of the plot, squinting his eyes at the screen, his fingers slowing to a halt in your hair as he turns his head to look at you. “You gonna be able to sleep okay tonight if we watch this?”

You meet him back with a sheepish grin and an innocent shrug of your shoulders. “Well, I already started, so I need to see that it ends okay, or I’ll be freaked out.”

“Alright. Just making sure you’re not gonna try crawling into my bed tonight after you have a nightmare.” Jake teases, pushing his knees further apart and sinking down into the comfort of the grey fabric couch he helped the movers bring in here last August.

He didn’t push you away when you sat right next to him and curled against his side. He reached out himself and stroked his fingers along your stomach.

Confidence surges through you like a wave, swelling big enough for you to giggle and press closer to him. “Come on, would that be such a bad thing?”

“What did you say?”

The swell has passed and the wave crashes just like all the others do, breaking over an otherwise calm sea. You swallow softly, growing exceptionally still.

“I was just kidding—“

Jake’s fingers leave your hair and curl instead around the nape of your neck. He turns his head, attempting to get a look at your face. “No, no. Say it again. What did you say?”

You shake your head, pressing it closer against his toned stomach. “I was just joking. You wouldn’t mind it that much if I had a bad dream and had to come sleep in your bed.”

He’s quiet for a moment and the movie draws tense. The main character is creeping around in the dark, the music is building, and Jake’s far too quiet for your liking.

“Don’t joke about that.” Jake says quietly.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” You answer him, hugging your cheek into the dark fabric of his t-shirt. That way, there’s no chance of him seeing the shame on your face. Going after your dad’s best friend— you should be ashamed of yourself.

Jake rubs a palm over the stubble on his jaw, trying to focus on the screen in front of him. This movie can’t possibly take much longer.

He knows he has upset you. You’re uncharacteristically quiet, and he can feel you trying to sit still. He shifts his hips a little, reaching out and resting his palm against your waist.

Your brows draw together as the main character bites into the apple she was eating and glass shards drop to the floor in front of her. Jake feels your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. Sweat beads on the nape of his neck.

His thumb swipes back and forth over the inch of bare skin on your hip.

Jake glances down at you. Laying against his middle like this. It feels all too natural. He isn’t even paying attention to the movie. Truthfully, the only thing on Jake’s mind is how soft your skin feels against the pad of his thumb.

Imagining how soft your body would feel in his palms, every inch of your skin in his capable hands.

You gasp as the camera pans to the main character’s bleeding mouth, and the shattered lightbulb in your hands, twisting your head and burying your face in Jake’s shirt.

Jake flinches, his attention drawn back to the screen as his fingers curl into your skin. His face twists in distaste, groaning at the gore on the screen.

“Shit, you weren’t kidding about this being freaky.” Jake mutters with a soft shake of his head, shifting uncomfortably as his fingers massage at the pillowy skin of your waist. He swallows thickly, eyes dropping down to the way you’re nestled just above his waistband. He tries a weak chuckle, mind racing for something to lighten the mood. “What am I meant to do if I’m up all night after this, huh?”

You laugh softly against his stomach, pressing closer to the warmth of his rigid torso. Jake stares at the screen as he feels your open palm brush over his abdomen, fingertips grazing the waistband of his sweats by mere millimeters. He strokes your skin, setting his knees further apart by an inch.

Even with the score of the movie in front of you, everything feels so quiet. Even with the floor lamp to your right and the table lamp to your left, it all feels so dark. It all feels so slow. Truthfully, you imagine this is as close as you’ll get to understanding what it feels like to tightrope across Niagara Falls.

One misstep, a strong gust, the loss of balance in any capacity and its all over. The best friendship that your father has ever had, thrown away because you made a pass at a man far too old for you to begin with.

Then, Jake’s fingers break their almost surgically precise pattern. The tips stretch just slightly under the fabric of your tank top, reaching for the silken skin of your stomach. It’s brief, before they retreat to the safety of circling the skin that you’ve chosen to expose. You drop your gaze, watching all five of his digits follow their intricate pattern, and stretch under the cotton white of your top once again.

Maybe Jake notices that you’re watching him, or maybe he finally notices it himself, but he stops all at once. Fingers pulling back to rest platonically against your hip, green eyes trained seriously on the television, his lips stretched into a flat line.

“It’s okay,” You whisper without turning your gaze away from the screen. Jake doesn’t look at you. He feels your fingers brush across the top of his, curling through the digits, linking them together. “It’s okay, Jake. You can. I won’t say anything.”

Your parents aren’t going to be home for another eleven days. What’s Jake supposed to do until then, ignore your existence? — Avoid you entirely?

He wants this, and you’re on to him, giving him permission.

“Honey,” It’s caught somewhere between a sigh and a groan, an exhale of restraint and desperation all at once. He wishes he could at least pretend he’s half interested in this movie. “Don’t talk like that.”

Your brows draw together, eyes going wide as a child in the movie creeps through the house, headed for the master bedroom. Bloody sheets on the bed. A smashed plate on the floor. Jake’s hand gripping your hip. The child inches forwards, the music swells, a chill rushes down your back. In frame, the little girl rounds the edge of the bed and someone leaps out, bloodied and frenzied. Jake hasn’t been paying enough attention to gather who.

Neither one of you will care in a few moments.

The surprise makes you jolt, leaping up from your spot against Jake’s stomach, sitting upright all of a sudden, grabbing onto his forearm for support.

“It’s alright, cutie,” Jake breathes out in soft amusement, rubbing a heavy circle on your back. That’s the first thing he called you. When he’d seen you struggling to lift the icebox in the garage. Let me get that for you, cutie. And now, he has the nerve to pretend like it’s just you that has led the two of you here. “Maybe we should turn it off now, huh?”

Your heartbeat is already thudding in your ears and there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep after any of this. Fuck it. You turn, brace your palm against his shoulder, and take the dive.

Jake has thought about what those pretty lips feel like. Every time they stretch upwards into those pretty smiles, each time you sink your teeth into the bottom one. He should be prepared, in theory. Is there any way to prepare for something like this?

“Sweetheart…” Jake mutters against your lips, eyes screwed shut, hands reaching out for your hips. Pained, he gives a slow shake of his head. “Come on, we can’t do this.”

“But do you want to?” Your lips graze his. He feels the way you arch your back, knocking your chest into his, angling yourself in a way that just begs him to grab hold of your waist and drag you into his lap. You close your mouth, pecking softly at his still lips once more. “If you didn’t know my dad… you would. Right?”

Yes. Of course he would. He would be insane not to. He’s driving himself insane trying not to.

“But I do, and… and he trusts me.” Jake turns his head just slightly, but his hands reach for you. His big hands find your hips and grab onto them tight, hard. He just holds you right there. There’s got to be some kind of way he can regain some of the power here.

“I trust you.” You tell him, kissing his jaw tentatively. Delicate fingertips skim along the throbbing vein on the left side of Jake’s throat, reaching for the nape of his neck. Soft, slow kisses lead a trail to his earlobe, passing plains of stubble and angled bone. “I know you won’t hurt me, and I know you want me. It’s okay, Jake, I want you too.

“Fuck.” Jake swears, dropping his head forwards to rest against the curve of your shoulder. His fingers dig into your hips harder and harder. By the time Jake drags you forwards, his grip is so tight that you would have no choice but to follow. You fall into his lap, lips parted and eyes wide as Jake’s deep pine coloured eyes study your face.

You wait for him to speak again, but he doesn’t. Not for a long time. His fingers stretch up from your hips, reaching under the fabric of your tank top, extending across your bare abdomen. He stretches the brushed cotton further, taking it up with a gentle touch.

“Your father would kill me.” Jake muses as his fingertips graze the underside of your breasts, his eyes solely on your face. You smile back at him, only partly because your father is an airline pilot who couldn’t bench half of what Jake does on a good day.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

Jake grits his teeth. It has started to rain outside now. That storm that channel four had promised is starting to roll in. The movie will be over soon. The rain will be the only sound on this entire street. This house is completely empty, beside the two of you. He exhales through his nose and pushes his hips up. He’s half-hard under you, and giving you another disapproving shake of his head.

“Little fuckin’ minx…” Jake curses you, his words fanning out across the span of your exposed neck, hot and cold all at once. “You get off on teasing me like this, or something?”

A smile works its way across those pretty lips. Jake could see more of that smile than he sees sunsets and he would still be pretty damn content. Your nails rake softly through the almost buzzed fade at the back of his head as you give a shake of your head.

“Well, it’s not teasing if we take care of it,” Your shoulders rise and fall in a soft shrug as Jake’s fingers trail further upwards, taking your tank top with them and exposing your breasts to the cool autumn air. The rattle of the air conditioning unit that your dad tells you not to mess with reminds you of the real culprit as your nipples harden and perk with the exposure. You lean back, bracing each of your hands on Jake’s knees, arching your chest out, letting Jake see the newly exposed skin. “If you’ll let me.”

His eyes are pretty when he smiles. When he’s staring at your tits, they’re hooded and hungry, a shade of green that threatens to draw you in and hold you captive. What a happy captive you would be. His hands grab at both of them at once, squeezing roughly at the supple flesh.

All at once, his mouth is on yours too. He’s sucking at your bottom lip, growling into your mouth. He smells of smoked wood and he tastes of scotch. It paints half of a picture. A lonely man sitting in his home alone on a Saturday night, burning a candle given to him by a girl half his age and drinking liquor older than he is himself.

You’re straddling his hips now, your bare thighs squeezing into the fabric of his grey sweatpants, pulling yourself closer with each hungry kiss. Jake’s touch is experienced, expert; he pinches softly at your nipple, anticipates the way your mouth will draw open in a soft gasp, and licks into your mouth the second that it does. He sucks softly at the tip of your tongue, revelling in the feeling of your soft breasts in his hands.

“Arms up.”

You’re such a good girl. The way that you comply with a wordless grin and bite at your lip once the tank top hits the floor has Jake in even more trouble than he was before. He kisses softly at the space between your tits, pushing them together in his hands, opening his mouth and pressing his tongue into your skin.

Men like boobs. Big boobs, small boobs — your shared gossip sessions with friends in college always led to the same conclusion, men don’t care. They bite, suck, grab regardless of size. It shouldn’t be anything new. But then Jake reaches your left nipple. His right hand palms at the underside as his tongue swipes in a circular motion, just before his lips clasp around the sensitive bud.

You know he’s watching you through those esurient green eyes, but you find yourself playing right into his capable hands anyway. Any leverage you may have had in seeming like his charms don’t work on you are washed away with the dulcet tone of your first moan. It spills from your lips, your nails pressing into the nape of his neck as Jake sucks expertly at the sensitive skin.

He pulls away with another ravenous exhale, something between a sigh and a groan. His hands feel heavy on your body as they paw at your chest with a capability you’ve never encountered before. His cologne is expensive and mature, a smokey blend that has you intoxicated and enthralled. His mouth is wet and eager, but oh, so slow as it explores the areas of you he has dreamt about.

The rain outside is growing heavier, like it’s learning to mimic the deepness of each of your breaths. The movie must have finished by now. Neither one of you is going to check.

His stubble prickles, rough and masculine, abrasive compared to the adept caress of his tongue. His right hand grabs forcibly at the nape of your neck, drawing the sweetest little squeak from your already open lips. You knew he would be better than the guys you’ve been with before, but not like this. He hasn’t even touched you yet.

Jake’s lips seem to pinpoint each and every nerve ending in your chest, sucking and licking at your skin through feverish kisses. The tenderness seeping away each time a breathy moan falls from your mouth, fanning out against his clothed shoulder. He pulls away from the top of your breast with his teeth, already knowing, in his years of experience, that that’s going to bruise.

Jake lifts his head, letting his eyes drift shut as you lean forwards and press your mouth to his neck. He can feel your nerves in your trembling fingertips, in the way your chest shivers when it brushes his, in the way your lips suck at his pulse point. But you’re doing so well. Dragging your lips along the length of his neck, biting softly at the skin just above his collarbone, feeling him shiver at the sensation.

“Off.” You demand, grabbing at the bottom of his t-shirt, feeling him grin against your jaw. He complies wordlessly, grabbing at the back of his shirt and yanking it over his head.

You’ve seen Jake shirtless plenty of times, wandering around his property or opening the front door without shame. You’ve always wondered what those muscles, that dusting of golden chest hair, would feel like up close. Forgetting that you’re being watched, your hands explore his toned torso. The line down the middle of his stomach, the sharp divide of his collarbones, the swell of his pecs.

“What’re you thinking?” Jake asks, brushing your hair back from your face tenderly, concern coating his features.

A bashful smile spreads across your cheeks as you watch your fingers ghost along the thick muscle of his shoulder. “That you’re really hot.”

Jake breathes out a chuckle, reaching up and grabbing at the back of your neck to cradle you against him as he pushes up from the couch and turns quickly, planting you on your back and covering your body with his.

“That smile is gonna get me in big trouble, sweetheart,” Jake wastes no time in pressing his mouth to your stomach, holding you by your waist as he sucks filthy kisses into your skin to mark his path downward. “You know that?”

“I know.” You answer back, just to tease him this time. Jake stops at your waistband as you giggle, looking up at you through hooded eyes with a devilish grin on his face. He drags his teeth across your hip, hooking his fingers into the sides of your shorts and tugging them down your legs.

“God, honey, you weren’t wearing panties this entire time?” Jake exhales, eye-level with the most intimate part of you and completely unashamed. Your mind fumbles for an answer, lips getting into position to finally respond when he leans forwards and licks a stripe through your soaked core. Then, he moans. His hands grab fistfuls of your soft waist and he goes in again, lapping hungrily at your excitement, groaning against your sensitive skin.

“O-Oh… Jake.” Your voice trembles, knees trying to press shut around Jake’s broad shoulders. He grabs firmly at your thigh, closing his lips loosely around your clit, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud and making you jolt against him.

“Yeah, honey?”

“That feels really fucking good.” You tell him, closing your eyes finally.

“Attagirl. Just hold on, girlie, I’m gonna get you there.” He promises without once diverting from his apparent mission. If he’s as devoted to the Navy as he is to making you cum at this exact moment in time, the military is lucky to have him. You’re soaked, excitement pooling between your legs. Jake already knows he’s going to spend tomorrow cleaning this couch, and he wishes he cared enough to make better decisions.

“Look at this,” Jake breathes out as his gaze falls back down to rest between your legs. He couldn’t care less about the fucking couch. You swallow hard, practically aching for his touch. You’ve waited so long already. His index finger dips between your folds, his brows raise as he gathers your excitement on the tip of it. “Making such a fuckin’ mess for your old man’s best friend. Dirty fucking girl.”

He can’t see the way his words make you grin, but he can feel the way you reach for his hair and tug softly at those blonde roots, begging for more. He’s more than happy to give it to you. Jake groans against you, working his tongue in soft circles around the throbbing bundle of nerves. His eyes are still on you. Your eyes are closed — if you look him in the eyes then you’re going to get all embarrassed, and you’ll be damned before you let someone ruin how good this feels. Especially not yourself.

Jake’s hand trails up your naked torso, pawing at your rising and falling tits as you pant into the chilled air, sweat beading on your skin.

He’s gentle between your legs. More gentle than he could be. Pressing his stubbled mouth firmly against your core and working his tongue against you, each languid movement making you keen into him. The tip of his nose bumps your clit periodically. It feels like your head is spinning.

Dragging his mouth back up to your sensitive, throbbing clit, his free hand slides between your legs, he dips the tip of his index finger into you, then slides it in up to the knuckle and curls. Just testing the waters. It’s enough to earn him a moan, enough to have you grab a fistful of his short blonde hair, ensuring that he doesn’t get ahead of himself and lose pace with his mouth.

He slips his ring finger into you alongside his middle whilst his tongue works confidently along your core and back up to your clit. He lets go of your thigh and rests his forearm across your stomach, keeping you nice and still for him. Maybe he should feel ashamed of himself for how much he’s enjoying this.

All of those times he enjoyed the sound of your laugh, and sat with the afterthought of how much he’d enjoy the sound of your moans. It’s hard to be ashamed when it turns out he was right.

He scissors his fingers inside of you, making you gasp louder this time, pulling against him. You tug at his roots, he moans against your clit. You both shiver, and not because of that now thundering storm. Jake’s tongue flattens as he drags it along your core. He pulls his fingers from you and puts them immediately to work, taking over the pace on your clit, burying his face between your legs, curling his tongue into you.

Jake growls against you, his cock growing now uncomfortably hard in the confines of his sweats and his fingers and mouth switch places once again. After all the time he has waited, he doesn’t deny himself the pleasure of looking up at you, writhing at the feeling of him between your legs. All that does is make his sweats feel even tighter again. His fingers fuck into you mercilessly, curling and twisting, making you keen into his touch and arch your back and gasp all at once.

You cum with his name on your tongue and your fingers in his hair. The comedown feels like weightlessness. Jake doesn’t bother to ask if that’s the first time a man has made you feel like that, the adoration in your eyes as he comes in to kiss your mouth tells him everything he needs to know.

His mouth tastes like you, his chin is wet with your slick and his cock is straining against the grey cotton of his sweats, pressing in to your stomach. Jake’s fingers brush your hair back softly from your forehead, a sudden calmness in the green of his eyes as he studies the peaceful euphoric smile on your face.

“We don’t have to go any further—“

“Stop trying to be a gentleman.” You huff, lifting your head and kissing him hard, hooking your legs around his waist. Drawing him closer, you’re both painfully aware that the only thing stopping him from touching you is his sweats. “I want you.”

Jake pauses for a moment. Rain slams against the windows, and the television goes dark as it passes into standby mode. His hands squeeze softly at your waist, eyes darting downward at your naked body under his. He would be a damn idiot to say no to everything he has been fantasising about.

“You keep condoms here?” He breathes out.

Your eyes light up before him, gleaming with mischief. You give a confident nod of your head as a cunning little smirk spreads across your lips.

“There are some in my parents’ bathroom,” You can tell right away that he doesn’t like that idea, but that’s okay, option two was by far your favourite anyway. “Or, you could just cum in me. I won’t tell.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jake drops his head forwards to rest against your naked chest, panting out a dry laugh. His fingers bruise into your middle as he starts to consider the choices that have led him here. Once he feels composed enough to look you in the eye again, he lifts his head and squints seriously. “You did not just say that.”

“I want you to. I’m on birth control anyway.” Long gone is the nervous girl standing on his porch and asking him to fix her lights. There’s a devious, lustful look in your eye and Jake’s pretty damn sure there’s magic in that look. All he knows is that it could make him do just about anything you asked of him. “Please?”

Jake swipes his thumb along the curve of your jaw, studying the depths of your irises for just a moment. He leans forwards and kisses your bottom lip, sucking at the plush skin, pulling away with his teeth. You swallow as he sits back, pushes his sweats down his legs and frees his swollen cock. From under him, you’ve got the perfect view.

Every ridge and valley in those impossible abs, each follicle of hair that lines his tanned chest, trailing down below his navel and sitting neatly around his pubic bone, trimmed just as neatly as his navy-standard hair cut. His cock is a good size, considerable even when he’s got one of his large hands wrapped around its base. Wide too, throbbing red at the tip, bending just slightly to the left.

Just looking has your mouth running dry.

Fisting his cock, Jake sits back on his heels and lets his gaze fall down to your glistening core once again. He looks down at your pretty face, then lowers himself between your legs, pressing his chest into yours, kissing you dizzyingly hard.

“You want it?” Jake asks one last time.

“I want it.” You answer him, smiling softly back at him, squeezing your thighs around his hips.

You’re looking up at him with such trust in your eyes that Jake can barely stand it. His heart thuds in his chest as he guides the tip of his cock between your folds, hesitating just briefly. There’s already no coming back from this. There’s no way to make up for the things he has already done. You’re so special, and he wants this so bad.

Your mouth sucks softly at his throat, quiet, pleased sounds spilling from your lips as he grinds the tip of his cock against your sensitive clit. Jake kisses your shoulder softly, then lowers his head to rest there as he drags his cock down to your warm entrance. You gasp softly as he presses into you, pushing forwards until he’s buried and stretching you open completely.

“Oh,” You whimper against his earlobe, pressing your nails into the swell of his shoulder blade. “You feel really fucking big.”

“So fuckin tight.” Jake grunts, his throat thick with desire as he stills inside of you, thumbs bruising into your hips. “Sweet fucking girl. Feel like you’re made just for me.”

This makes you smile into the curve of his jaw, humming in soft agreement as he starts to slowly rock his hips. Lightning flashes outside of the window, and it doesn’t matter one bit. The rest of the world is a million miles away. In here, it’s just the two of you.

“Oh fuck,” Jake shivers, eclipsing your throat with his hand, pulling you in for a heavy kiss, licking into your mouth as he drags his hips back until it’s just the tip. You gasp sharply against him as he snaps his hips forwards until he’s buried into you completely once. “Fuck. You like that?”

“Yeah. I want it like that.” You whimper into his skin, hugging your legs tight around his hips. You moan eagerly against his lips, the sound catching in your throat as he squeezes at the sides of your neck and drives his hips forwards sharply, drawing an excited squeak from your parted lips.

Jake grunts, rocking himself into you hard and fast. He’s waited so long for this, and so have you. The way you’re clawing at his back makes him want to give it all to you. Leaving feverish kisses along your collarbones, he fills you over and over. You curl both legs tighter around his waist, leaning your head back as far as you can against the couch cushion to give his lips better access to your throat.

The living room is filled with the sounds of your sex. Your desperate moans, panting and hard. Jake’s pleasured grunts, muffled softly by the curve of your shoulder. His skin slapping yours. It smells like him, smoky and mature. Sweat beads along his back and his forehead as he keeps up that merciless pace, fucking you so hard that you couldn’t tell him your own name anymore.

Jake pulls back just enough to grab the backs of your thighs and pin them to your chest, hooking your knees over his shoulders, filling you even deeper than before, making you cry out.

“Jake!” You beg, babbling incoherently into the curve of his shoulder as he goes right back to the pace he set before. Fucking you hard and fast, scrambling your brain to the point that the only thing on your mind is the ravenous way he’s staring down at you.

Your walls are squeezing around him perfectly and the sounds you’re making are just driving him insane. It’s been a long time since Jake felt as crazy about someone as he feels about you. He pants into the crook of your neck as his fingers tug at your hair, making you moan out even louder.

“I’m gonna cum — fuck, honey,” Jake grunts out like he’s been punched, his eyes screwing shut as he reaches between your bodies and rubs uniformed circles around your clit. “Are you close? — Can you cum one more time for me?”

“Yeah,” You breathe out, already trembling as you squeeze your thighs tighter around him. “Just—“ You don’t have the words, so you just reach out and grab his hand. Jake swallows hard as you wrap his open hand around the column of your throat and look up at him with that big, trusting look in your eyes again.

He grits his teeth as he squeezes at the sides of your throat, watching your sweet face contort in pleasure. Your hand dips between your legs and replaces where Jake’s had been, rubbing feverish patterns on your clit. Your stomach tightens in knots, your breathing grows heavy and Jake’s cock drives into you at just about the perfect angle each time. You open his mouth to warn him, but it’s already too late. You couldn’t find the words if you tried.

All you can do is grab onto those thick shoulders and cry out his name against the salty skin of his neck. Jake slows just slightly, offering you some reprieve through your sensitivity. Trying to be a gentleman once again. The brain fog starts to clear, you lift your head and press your lips to your earlobe.

“Cum in me,” You pant out, grabbing his shoulder to steady yourself. Jake groans against your chest, nodding his head feverishly. “Just like that, Jake, please.”

He’s relentless, fucking your through the sensitivity of your post-orgasm haze hard enough that grabbing onto those broad shoulders is the only thing that keeps you down to earth with him. Jake groans desperately. He wraps an arm under your back and pulls you as tight against him as physics will allow. You gasp softly, taking your lip between your teeth as he fills you, his cock throbbing against your walls. He seeks out your lips and kisses you hard, somehow more desperate now.

“Fuck, honey…” Jake breathes out, pressing a lazy kiss to the curve of your jaw. He makes no effort to move at first. “You alright?”

“Better than alright.” You answer contentedly, a soft smile toying at your lips as lightning flashes outside once again. Jake chuckles tiredly, lifting his head and kissing your lips.

He sighs, moving slow as he slips out of you and looks down at his cum dripping from between your legs.

“Oh, shit!” You realize, sitting up quickly and trying to reach around Jake for something to clean it with. He hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you tight against him. Truthfully, from the moment that you had laid your head on Jake’s abs, you hadn’t thought once about the consequences of fucking him right here in this spot.

“Forget it, I’ll — I’ll fix this,” He tells you calmly, already regretting that he’s going to have to live with what he has done on this couch. “Come on, cutie. Let’s go take a shower.”

It’s clear that this is foreign territory for you. Not the sex, but what comes after. He didn’t get up and leave. He didn’t run away with regret for what he did. He ran soap across your body and found your pyjamas for you.

You swallow softly, walking to sit on the edge of your bed. Jake runs a hand along his stubbled jaw as he lingers in the doorway to you room. You can’t help but notice that he got dressed again. Including his shoes. He looks you over, sitting there in fresh pyjamas, staring at him with that worried little look on your face.

He hasn’t ever seen your room here. It’s probably the one room in the house he has never been in. He’s been wondering what it’s like.

But that isn’t why he’s standing there. He sighs softly and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I should go — I mean, Ace is over there by himself.” Jake says quietly. You nod at him. You should probably say something too, but truthfully, not all of your words seem to have come back into your mind yet. “Are you coming with me?”

“Huh?”

“Well, I don’t wanna leave you over here by yourself after that weird ass movie.” Jake answers you with a shrug of his shoulders. “I figured you could just spend the night. If you want.”

Your mouth twitches at the corners as you push yourself up from the edge of your bed, nodding eagerly at him. You’ve got eleven days until your parents get back in town, and Jake permitting, you’re planning on making the most of that.

…

[slu7formen]

I heard you were sad about the lack of Luke asks, so l've decided to try and help! Bare with me bc this might not be the best considering I'm think on the spot and its late over here so feel free to delete!

So, reader was with Luke when he was running away with Annie and Thalia so they're really close. Then, when her and Luke were like 16 or smth reader left on a quest and its been like 2 years so its assumed that she just failed and died on her quest. This ruined Luke bc he loved her and one night, maybe at the bonfire, he hears reader screaming his name somewhere in the foresty part of camp, just absolutely terrified. He finds her and shes hurt, I'm talkin reallyyy messed up like a massive gash across her eye, (matching scar awww) leavin her like half blind, huge claw marks, teeth marks, and other wounds. He carries her to the infirmary, shes prob passed out at this point from like blood loss. Anyways, she finally wakes up in the infirmary and a bunch of fluff ensues, yk the usual "Don't ever leave me again" "I thought you were dead" the fun stuff and obv they confess to each other! (also, is 🖤 taken?)

whoever made this request, it was so good, you’re evil and brilliant; thank you 🖤

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

warnings: wounds, injuries, blood mention, presumed death, luke being heartbroken (sorry), crying

reminder: english's not my first language so l apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

Every morning, Luke woke with the same dull ache in his chest, a constant reminder of the gaping hole your absence had left in him. It was a hollow ache, a physical manifestation of the loneliness that had become his unwelcome company. Nine years old when he ran away, the world had been a harsh teacher, but three years later, when he found you, that harshness had softened, replaced by a fierce protectiveness. You, a scared, twelve-year-old with defiance blazing in your eyes and a meager weapon in hand, had become his anchor in the storm.

The streets had been a cruel way of living, but together, you and Luke had forged a bond stronger than steel. You were the same age, yet he was older by a few months, a difference that somehow granted him a silent responsibility for your safety. Thalia and Annabeth, two more lost souls swept up in the world of their demigod destinies, completed their unbalanced family. But it was you and Luke, the two eldest, who shared a silent language of understanding that went beyond words. You fought together, scavenged together, your backs against the world.

The arrival of Grover, a satyr reeking of panic, brought relief and a terrifying truth— you weren't alone. The hunt for demigods was real, and you were all in danger.

Fourteen. A year etched in his memory with the sharp point of a spear. The monsters, the desperate fight, Thalias selfless sacrifice, the agonizing transformation into the pine tree — the events played on a loop in his mind. Camp Half-Blood, once a beacon of hope, now felt like a bittersweet prison. He had you by his side then, a hand to grip in the darkness, a silent understanding in your shared gaze.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. You were supposed to be there, by his side, facing challenges and forging a future together. He replayed the memory of your first quest announcement on a loop. The fear in his gut, a slap in the face of his fierce protectiveness. He wasn't supposed to lose you.

It wasn't fair. It shouldn't have been you, alone, facing whatever monstrous fate had befallen you. A bitter taste filled his mouth as he replayed the day you left. The forced cheer, the worry that gnawed at him, all a blur now. Training became a way to numb the ache, each swing of his sword carrying a silent plea for your sate return. But as days turned into months, the hope that had fueled him began to fade away.

News traveled slow in the demigod world, but eventually, rumors reached Camp Half-Blood. Whispers of a monstrous encounter, a lost trail, a silence that stretched too long. A year after your departure, the whispers solidified into a grim reality - you were missing, presumed dead.

Luke felt the world tilt on its axis. Denial battled with a cold, horrifying truth. You were gone.

A quest, a single solitary mission, had stolen you from him. Stolen your laughter, your warmth, your presence that had become an essential part of his world. It wasn't fair.

The quest for the Golden Apple had been a cruel twist of fate. A desperate attempt to appease his father, to offer a sliver of hope to a camp drowning in sadness, it had backfired spectacularly. Luke returned empty-handed, his body wracked with exhaustion and his spirit battered. But the most visible reminder of his failure was the jagged scar that ran from beneath his eye down to his chin, a pale testament to the dragon's fury.

He'd needed your presence then more than ever. Needed your steady gaze and the quiet strength you possessed. Needed the spark of defiance in your eyes that mirrored his own growing anger towards a world that had seemed so determined to tear them apart. He needed your touch, your hugs, he needed you.

He stood stiffly before your burial shroud, an image carved in his memory forever. Tears streamed down his face, hot and unchecked. He ignored the concerned glances of his friends, focusing only on the phantom warmth of your hand in his, a memory more vivid than anything else.

In that moment, ravaged by grief, a single truth burned bright — he loved you. And he had lost you. The world felt a little emptier, a little colder, without you by his side.

And the first nights after you left were the worst.

At first, they were hopeful visions. He'd see you, alone on a dusty road, tending to a nasty gash on your arm with a makeshift bandage. A surge of worry would course through him, a familiar anxiety honed by years on the streets. But then, a wry smile would tug at his lips as he remembered the countless times he'd taught you how to create a tourniquet, how to patch a wound and survive on the bare minimum. A flicker of confidence, a belief in your resourcefulness, would chase away the initial fear. He just knew you'd find a way back to him.

He'd wake with a jolt, his hand instinctively reaching for the empty space beside him. The sheets were cold, the air thick with the silence of your absence. But then, a flicker of hope would ignite— you were alive, you were out there.

Finally, the dreams turned into nightmares. You'd appear, but not the way he remembered you. Pale and gaunt, your eyes hollow and vacant. Sometimes, you'd be chased by monstrous shadows, their grotesque forms dissolving into a chilling whisper of your name. These dreams left him gasping for breath, his heart hammering against his ribs.

It had been a little over a year since the agonizing ceremony, the image of your burial shroud seared into his memory. But time, a supposed healer, offered no solace. In reality, it had stretched the fact of your absence even wider. Two years. Two years since he'd last seen your smile, heard your voice, felt the warmth of your hand in his.

"Luke!"

Ah, yes. He heard you sometimes. At first, it happened while he was alone; he believed it could be you, trying to contact him in some way, but it never was that way. He never found you. Then he started hearing your voice in crowded places, mistaking your voice for the ones of other campers, and his heart ached every time he realized it wasn't you.

He felt like he was going insane. Hearing you, even after years. He must be going mad. But then, it became clearer.

"Luke!"

The voice, barely audible above the crackling flames, cut through his thoughts like a knife. He froze, his hand tightening around the thin stick that held his burned marshmallow. Was it-? No. It couldn't be. He must be imagining things again.

The grief, the pain, he knew, could play tricks on the mind.

He brushed it off, attempting to rejoin the conversation, forcing a lightness to his voice that felt hollow. But then, it came again. Clearer this time, tinged with a desperate urgency.

"Luke!? Luke!"

The single word, laden with a desperate urgency, pierced through his defenses. He froze, his blood turning to ice. It was your voice. The same voice that filled his dreams and haunted his waking hours. He whipped his head around, searching the darkened forest beyond the fire's reach.

But the trees stood silent, their branches swaying gently in the night breeze. Nothing. Yet, the echo of your voice lingered in the air, a chilling reminder of the impossible. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drum against his ribs.

He glanced around the fire, catching the bewildered expressions of a few campers who had clearly heard the voice too. Their eyes mirrored the confusion and fear that clawed at him. If he said anything, they'd think he'd cracked, that the pain had finally driven him mad.

"Luke!"

But it was you.

Your voice, unmistakable and undeniably real. A wave of disbelief washed over him, followed by a surge of hope so intense it threatened to suffocate him.

He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the surprised yelps of his friends as he knocked over a tray of steaming hot cocoa cups. Stumbling over his own feet, he charged towards the edge of the forest, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

He skidded to a halt just inside the treeline, his eyes scanning the darkness. "yn!?" he called out, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and desperate hope. The only reply was the rustling of leaves in the night breeze.

It was cloaked in darkness, making it impossible to discern any details. But there was a smallness, a fragility to its silhouette that resonated with his memory of you.

Just as doubt began to creep back in, another call pierced the silence. "Luke!" This time, the desperation in your voice was unmistakable.

He didn't hesitate any longer. "yn!" he roared, his voice raw with emotion as he launched himself into a run.

Several campers, roused by the commotion, scrambled to their feet, their eyes wide with confusion and trepidation. They watched, mouths agape, as Luke bolted towards the treeline, his long strides eating away at the distance.

"Luke!" Your voice came again, closer this time, tinged with a note of panic.

"yn!" He didn't dare slow down, his heart making its way up to his mouth. He could hear the sound of others following him, their footsteps pounding on the soft earth behind him.

Through the dense foliage, he caught a glimpse of your figure — small, hunched over, moving with a limp. Hope flared bright within him, battling the tide of fear that threatened to drown him.

Then, you stumbled, nearly falling. He redoubled his efforts, pushing himself to the limit. As he broke through the last line of trees, he saw you standing there, bathed in the pale moonlight.

And his breath hitched in his throat.

The sight of you, once vibrant and full of life, was a punch to the gut. Dirt and grime smeared your face, your clothes were ripped and tattered, and a sheen of sweat covered your brow. But it was the wounds that stole his breath away. Deep claw marks raked across your arms, a bloody gash marred your leg, and the most horrifying of all — a massive scar stretched across your eye, a brutal reminder of some unseen battle. The campers behind him gasped in unison, their faces etched with shock and horror.

Chiron, alerted by the commotion, pushed his way through the crowd, his brow furrowed in concern.

But your focus was solely on Luke. With a desperate cry of his name, you lurched towards him, your injured leg buckling beneath you. Without hesitation, Luke launched himself forward, catching you in his arms just before you hit the ground.

"Luke..." you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Your eyes, the one that wasn't obscured by the wound, flickered with a spark of relief and a hint of something else - a deep, unspoken emotion that mirrored his own.

Then, your eyelids fluttered closed, and your body went limp in his arms. Panic surged through him as he cradled you closer, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and relief. " yn? No, no, no, no, yn?" he slightly slapped your cheek, no response. He looked back to to the campers that decided to follow him, his voice cracking with desperation. "Get the Apollo cabin, now!"

The days that followed your arrival were shrouded in a suffocating silence. The once vibrant camp seemed to echo with a collective held breath. No one dared to talk to Luke.

His eyes, once playful and sparkly, now held a deep, smoldering anger. He snapped at anyone who dared to approach. Only Chiron, with his patient wisdom, Annabeth, with her loyalty, and the healers of Apollo cabin, sworn to secrecy about your condition, were able to pierce the storm raging within him.

Each day, a relentless routine unfolded. Luke would rise with the first rays of dawn, his body heavy with the weight of his own despair. He'd force down a meager breakfast, the taste turning to ash in his mouth. Then, with a heart that felt like a lead weight in his chest, he'd make the agonizing trek to the Big House, the temporary haven where you resided. He would do it multiple times a day, actually.

Lee, the son of Apollo with a mop of messy blonde hair and eyes that held a touch of empathy, would greet him at the door, a practiced neutrality masking his concern. The answer was always the same. You were alive. The healers had managed to stabilize you. But your recovery was a slow, painful journey. The wounds you bore were a testament to a harrowing pain, and the care they had taken on your body was immense.

As soon as you had fainted in his arms, you had slipped into unconsciousness. No amount of coaxing, no whispered pleas from the healers, or songs in Ancient Greek, could bring you back. Luke was devastated. The relief of having you back, a physical presence after two agonizing years, was a fragile flame quickly extinguished by the reality of your condition. Your life hung by a thread, and he was kept at arm's length.

One particularly bleak afternoon, Luke found himself face-to-face with Chiron. The old centaur, his kind eyes reflecting the turmoil swirling within Luke, gestured for him to sit.

"Luke," Chiron began, his voice soft yet firm, "I understand your pain. Your worry for yn is valid and understandable. But you must also understand, her condition is delicate"

Luke clenched his fists, his jaw tightening with suppressed anger. "Why can't I see her? Annabeth's younger than me and yet, she gets to see her. Why not me?" The words tumbled out, laced with a raw desperation.

Chiron sighed, a weary sound. "Because, Luke," he said, his voice heavy with empathy, "we fear the emotional toll it might take on you if-, if the worst were to happen."

He slumped in his chair, defeated. Grief, anger, and a gnawing helplessness battled within him.

"How long then?" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "How long will it be before I can see her again?"

Chiron reached out, placing a comforting hand on Luke's shoulder. "We don't know, Luke" he said honestly. "But the healers are doing their best And you need to find your strength. She will need it when she wakes up.

He nodded dumbly, understanding Chiron's concern for him. But that didn't make the gnawing ache in his chest any less agonizing. He missed you. Missed the warmth of your hand in his, the light that sparkled in your eyes, the way your laughter could chase away even the darkest shadows.

A few days later, he walked by the Big House again. Lee greeted him again, just as every other day.

"How is she?" Luke asked.

Lee sighed, a gust of exasperation tinged with sympathy. He looked tired himself, dark circles under his eye and a large cup of coffee in his hand. "Little change. But she's stable. Stronger than she looks. We had some healers fainting because of how much singing they've done to her"

A muscle ticked in Luke's jaw. "Can't I at least see her?" The words came out harsher than he intended, dripping with frustration.

Lee studied him for a long moment, his own blue eyes reflecting the turmoil within Luke. Finally, he spoke. "Look, I get it. You're scared, you're angry. But you have to understand, seeing her likes this... we can't let you"

Luke clenched his fists. "I can handle it" he growled, the beast within him straining against its leash.

Lee took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Can you, Luke? Can you handle the possibility that maybe she doesn't get to wake up?"

The question hung in the air, a brutal truth that stripped away Luke's bravado. He stared at Lee, the anger draining away, replaced by a raw vulnerability that surprised even him. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat suddenly making it hard to breathe.

"No" he whispered, the single word a confession of his deepest fear.

Lee nodded, a flicker of understanding softening his features. "Then trust us, Luke. Trust the healers. We're doing everything we can."

And then he remember Chiron's words. He knew he was right. He couldn't bear the thought of the last image of you being one of unconsciousness, a pale specter in a sterile infirmary bed.

The days that followed settled into a grim routine. Luke stopped asking the relentless question, 'Did she wake up?' The answer, etched into his weary soul, was a constant ache that no words could soothe. He had stopped arguing, the initial burst of rebellion replaced by a quiet desperation. He started asking more specific questions, focusing on the details of your injuries. Your eye, the massive gash that mirrored his own scar in a way that made his stomach churn, became a particular point of morbid fascination.

He couldn't bear to look at the jagged mark on his face, couldn't imagine how it felt on yours.

Not because he thought you wouldn't be beautiful —he knew you would be. But the thought of you facing the same constant reminder of pain, of vulnerability, filled him with a protective rage that simmered beneath the surtace.

But then, a shift began to occur. He noticed stolen glances exchanged between the Apollo campers, hushed whispers that died down as soon as he entered their vicinity. An unspoken secret they guarded fiercely. He tried to ignore it, burying himself in training, seeking solace in the familiar sting of sweat and exertion. Chiron's words were a constant drumbeat in his head - seeing you too soon, on the precipice of death, was a burden he might not bear.

But later that day, as the sun dipped below the horizon casting the camp in an orange glow, Chiron sought him out. Luke braced himself, his heart plummeting into his stomach. His mind spun with a thousand morbid possibilities.

He met Chiron's gaze, a storm brewing in his own eyes. "What is it?" he rasped, voice breaking.

Chiron took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto Luke's with a solemn intensity. "Luke," he began, his voice thick with a mix of trepidation and hope, "she's awake."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis again. The air whooshed out of Luke's lungs, leaving him breathless. For a moment, he could only stare, his mind struggling to process the simple, life-altering statement.

Then he ran.

His feet pounded a trantic rhythm against the dusty path, each step fueled by a desperate need to see you. Chiron's protests, if there were any, were lost in the roar of blood rushing in his ears. He wouldn't be denied this. Not now. His legs pumped like pistons, fueled by a desperate hope that threatened to shatter him if it turned out to be false. He burst through the doors of the Big House, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. The interior was deserted, the silence amplifying the frantic pounding of his heart.

He flung open the infirmary door, the sight inside momentarily stealing his breath. Two Apollo campers stood by the window, their hushed whispers abruptly cut short by his arrival.

But his eyes were locked on you, the very image of him defying the cruelty of fate.

You sat on the bed, a fragile silhouette bathed in the pale light, your head bent over your bandaged hands. Your hair, once a fiery mane, had grown longer, a testament to the time that had passed for him in a blur of grief. Your skin, usually kissed by the sun, was a pale canvas.

He took everything in — the fresh cuts marring your arms, the claw marks, the way your shoulders slumped with exhaustion. And you had lifted your head, startled by the sudden noise.

Your eyes, usually sparkling with life, were dull with pain, but when they met his, a spark ignited within them.

"Luke!"

The word ripped from your throat, a cry that echoed with relief and a tremor of something deeper. You lunged off the bed, ignoring the wince that contorted your face as your injured leg protested.

"yn, wait!" Lee sprang forward, concern etched on his face. Your stitches, particularly those on your thigh, were still fresh, and any sudden movement could cause them to tear.

But you didn't listen. You threw yourself at Luke, your arms wrapping around him with a desperation that mirrored his own. He caught you, the impact sending a jolt through his body. His arms tightened around you, a desperate need to hold on, to feel you solid against him.

He held you tight, the fierce possessiveness in his grip both a comfort and a warning. Your body, the way you fit so perfectly against his larger frame, sent a jolt through him. He'd grown, you realized, his broad shoulders feeling wider, his embrace stronger. In contrast, you felt impossibly small, the warrior you remembered replaced by a shell of the person you once were. His hot tears quickly started to wet your hair.

The sudden weakness in your leg, the one that had been screaming in protest since you lunged at him, finally overwhelmed you. A sharp cry escaped your lips as your body gave way beneath you. Instinctively, Luke tightened his grip, his arms morphing into a cradle to catch your fall.

The impact with the floor sent a fresh wave of pain shooting through you, but it was a dull ache compared to the overwhelming joy of finally being in his arms again. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Luke wouldn't stop sobbing now, his shoulder shaking as his arms held you into his embrace.

The Apollo campers, sensing the intimacy of the moment, mumbled apologies as they slipped out of the infirmary, leaving you and Luke alone.

He cradled you close, the scent of your hair and the warmth of your body a balm to his battered soul. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the familiar fragrance that had haunted his dreams for so long. It was real. You were real.

"You're alive" he sobbed, the words a broken mantra against your ear. "You're alive" he repeated. Each repetition wasn't just for you, but for him, a desperate attempt to convince himself that this wasn't a cruel dream, that you weren't an illusion.

He pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hand, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw. The wounds looked clean now, stitched and bandaged, but the raw pain was etched in the lines around your eyes. The gash across your eye, a crimson scar angry and fresh, pulled at the corner of your eye, making it appear swollen and bruised. Yet, to him, you were the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

It started a finger's width above your eyebrow, then, just as abruptly, it dipped down, catching the outer corner of your eye. The scar tissue pulled the delicate skin, making your eye appear slightly narrowed and bloodshot.

But despite the rawness of the wound, despite the vulnerability etched on your face, there was something undeniably fierce about you. It was a look he hadn't seen before, a look born from surviving the unthinkable.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, blurring your vision. You had always been beautiful, that much was undeniable. But now, even with a scar contrasting against your features, you were breathtaking.

He didn't mean to say it out loud, but the words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them.

"You look beautiful" he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You leaned into his touch, seeking solace in the warmth of his hand. "It hurts" you whispered, a tear tracing a path down your cheek.

"I know" he murmured, his voice filled with empathy. He sniffed uncontrollably at your sight, so broken and fragile, wrapped around his arm. "But you're alive. You're here" his bottom lip started trembling before he could control it. He inhaled sharply and his voice came out shaky; "I thought you were dead" tears rolling down his cheeks.

You laughed, a weak sound that was more like a sob. "You won't get rid of me that easily"

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm on your skin. In that moment, the infirmary with its sterile smell and harsh light faded away. All that existed was the feel of you in his arms, the warmth of your body against his, and the knowledge that you were alive.

"Don't ever leave me again" he pleaded, his voice thick with a mix of relief and terror. The thought of losing you again, of facing another agonizing day without you, was almost unbearable.

"I wouldn't dream of it" you whispered.

[thisgodwontforgiveyou]

man like after 3 malenia fights shes just not a good boss like i had a hard time giving up on my desperate clinging to the idea that she would be the one shining gem of the game even when i deliberately refused to fight her second phase the first time i played the game because the design is so bad like i kept tryng to compartmentalize more and more aspects of her as well if you take THIS into account its a really good boss but at some point even if there is a lot of fun to be had with a fight if youre adding that many conditions it fucking sucks. like especially when godfrey is just a much more painless stupid inconsequential little fight that brings so much more entertainment to the experience like its not that malenia herself isnt well designed

[dndtreasury]

Cape of the Guide

[hausofneptune]

✾ persona chart series ✾ the moon

[astro notes no. 008]

hey y'all! i've been hyper-fixating on my persona charts for the past two weeks and i thought it'd be fun to make a cute lil astro notes post about it, so here we are! these notes/observations are all relative to the placements in one's moon persona chart, not the natal chart. as always, energy manifests differently for everyone, so if it don't apply, let it fly.

the moon persona chart is representative of how your emotional nature impacts your personality and different areas of your life. it's indicative of your feminine/nocturnal identity, and how that part of you is shaped and expressed, as well as how your domestic life is structured. click here to calculate your persona charts!

༄ moon in taurus can be representative of needing physical/material security in order to feel emotionally fulfilled and stable

↝ this placement can also indicate a persistent or "fixed" nature when it comes to one's emotions, these natives may be immovable in the way that they feel at times

↝ they may also have mothers, maternal figures, or family in their households growing up, that influenced them in some way shape or form to care deeply about being financially stable enough to take care of themselves

༄ uranus in the 1H can show someone who’s very emotionally expressive, and may be perceived as being emotionally unbalanced or erratic at times

↝ this may also indicate that one’s home life (growing up and/or present day) is turbulent or unconventional in some way shape or form

↝ this can also manifest as feeling as though people misinterpret your emotions and the way in which you express them

༄ mercury conjunct venus is indicative of seeking and building connections that feel safe enough for emotional expression and vulnerability

↝ these natives could encounter difficulty in their interpersonal relationships if they repress their true emotions and prioritize “keeping the peace” over honest communication

↝ this can also indicate finding ease in processing emotions and expressing one’s feelings through creative endeavors such as writing or singing

༄ mars in virgo indicates a strong emotional investment in one's devotion to their work or "practical" obligations

↝ this can also manifest as the native habitually overthinking their own feelings, or being doubtful that they can reach their goals, despite their achievements

↝ this would be another placement that ignites a deep need for stability in the native, and can even cause physical ailments if that need is not met (i.e. stomach/bowel issues, anxiety, migraines, etc.)

༄ ascendant trine moon can show up as someone who, through the lens of those around them, is defined by their caring and nurturing qualities

↝ these natives tend to be very empathetic and intuitive, and may express themselves in a way that is influenced by their maternal figures/family. they may also view their homes as an extension of their own personal self-expression.

↝ they're typically innately trusted by those around them, as they tend to have an acceptance of their own emotional nature that in turn extends to those around them

༄ sun opposite saturn can indicate a feeling of constraint surrounding one's emotional expression

↝ this can manifest as someone who may feel overwhelmed by their responsibilities, and can result in a strain between emotional vulnerability and their obligations, these natives may struggle with being too self-critical at times

↝ on the flip side, an evolved manifestation of this aspect can grant the native with a level-head in relation to navigating their emotions, and the ability to be more rational in conflict

༄ jupiter in the 9H manifests as someone who feels deeply connected to their spiritual growth and places emphasis expanding their beliefs

↝ these are the type of people who others may lean on in vulnerable moments, as they're inherently very optimistic and are able to offer reassurance and comfort to those around them

↝ their values are typically derivative of their own personal feelings, and they tend to be very enthusiastic about their beliefs as a result

༄ moon sextile pluto is representative of feeling one's emotions on a deeper level than the average person

↝ this tends to be a very spiritual placement, as these natives are able to recognize the subconscious feelings and needs of those around them due to their intuitive nature

↝ these natives may need to work towards instilling boundaries and keeping their cup full before pouring into others, as they're innate healers and instinctively want to help those that they're connected to

༄ neptune in aquarius indicates someone who seeks to protect and nourish those who are unconventional or whose beliefs and self-expression reject the status quo

↝ these natives may have struggled with feeling like outcasts in youth, as a result are open-minded and accepting to those whose identities are unorthodox in some way shape or form

↝ they tend to find emotional fulfillment through aiding humanitarian causes, and may even excel as social workers, therapists, community organizers, etc.

༄ mercury in scorpio shows someone who is extremely intuitive and emotionally stimulated by exploring the deep, psychological depths of those around them

↝ they seek emotional connections where they're able to bare the deepest parts of their soul with the other person without any judgement or shame

↝ these are the types of people who are deeply dedicated to the things that they believe in, and refuse to let any challenges get in the way between themselves and their passions

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[stolitzsings]

This is a sort of response to a post I've seen floating around, drawing parallels between the chains in Blitz’s trip that bind him to Stolas and the chains that bind Husk, Angel, and Fizz to Alastor, Valentino, and Mammon respectively. I'm not commenting on that post directly bc I avoid Discourse (tm) at all costs for the sake of my health, and I don’t want to get drawn into an unproductive argument that will mess with my anxiety for a week. I'm not trying to start a fight, just get my thoughts out on why I feel that comparison is inaccurate, and hopefully provide some helpful context and nuance.

So! Let's start with a few disclaimers! First of all, I'm not going to debate the moral purity of any of these characters. I just don't think it's an interesting or valuable critique. On a related note, I am not trying to excuse any of their behavior. I'm happy to admit that my favorite characters in this show have hurt people and are sometimes total assholes. Stolas treated Blitz very poorly at the beginning of their relationship, frequently pushed or even ignored boundaries, and was just kind of a dick about things. My objection to a direct comparison between Stolas and the other characters mentioned above isn't because I think Stolas hasn't done anything wrong; I just think that saying they're similar without further clarification or commentary ignores the nuance of the situation.

Read on below the cut, it's gonna be another long one folks!

Let's start by examining the "agreements" forged by Val, Mammon, and Alastor. I think it's important to note that, in their cases, the person they got to sign their contract could have been anyone. Husk and Angel could have been any sinners, Fizz could have been any imp. They aren't interested in them as people; they were only using them to gain more power for themselves. The only thing that matters to them is, "What can you do for me?" Angel and Fizz quite clearly become cogs in the machine of Val and Mammon's businesses, and Alastor only thinks of Husk as a tool to be leveraged in specific situations to further his own mysterious goals. Each of them has demonstrated to their subjugates that they own them, body and soul. They have signed legally and spiritually binding contracts that essentially surrender their autonomy to a more powerful demon.

Stolas and Blitz’s agreement is... not that. In the most literal sense, they don’t appear to have made any sort of binding deal. They just made a verbal agreement, which I sincerely doubt has anywhere near the force of a signed soul contract. Additionally, Stolas did not ask for and does not seem to want that sort of total control over Blitz. He very clearly does not view this as any sort of power exchange (which may actually be part of the issue, since it leaves him blind to Blitz’s discomfort with their class difference), he sees it as "favors for favors." While this agreement is inherently unbalanced due to Stolas's status, it's worth noting that they’re both putting something on the line here. The other three risk practically nothing (if the person bound to them fails they can always get a new one), but Stolas IS taking on a real risk by letting Blitz access the living world illegally using his book. Again, that doesn't make his actions right, and probably helped him to justify them, but it does set their relationship apart from the others.

In my opinion, some of Stolas's greatest flaws are his thoughtlessness and his ability to justify his own actions to himself. This manifests in the fact that he clearly doesn't see the ways in which their relationship is hurting Blitz. He convinced himself that this was just an equal exchange, and a continuation of the dynamic Blitz established in their first encounter as adults: "I fuck you, and you give me the book". As he becomes more aware of his feelings for Blitz, though (stay tuned for a deeper analysis of this progression later), he also begins to realize that Blitz isn't happy with this relationship. And this, as @masonshmason pointed out, is the central fact that separates Stolas and Blitz from the other relationships. Stolas did not realize- or chose to ignore- how he was hurting Blitz. Once he came to terms with it, though, he understood that he had to make things right. He specifically says this in "Just Look My Way"; "I will try to make amends/ For making you means to an end". None of the others could say this, because in their case, that was the POINT. Angel, Fizz, and Husk were ALWAYS a means to an end, intentionally trapped for that purpose.

We also need to talk about the CONTEXT of the scenes in which the chain imagery appears. For both Angel and Husk, the chain is at least semi-literal, a physical (and perhaps supernatural) manifestation of the way their souls are bound to an overlord. In "Two Minutes Notice," Fizz purposely CHOOSES to represent his relationship to Mammon as chains around his wrists. However, Blitz's scene is part of a drug trip after being forcibly dosed with hallucinogens. It does not exist in any literal sense, nor is it a representation of Blitz’s conscious, literal thoughts. What it DOES do is showcase Blitz’s deepest fears and his greatest flaws through symbolism and metaphor. Blitz is not literally afraid of being forced to wear a clown costume; he is afraid he'll never escape his past traumas or Fizz's shadow. THIS is the context in which Blitz sees himself being chained by Stolas: a bad trip all about his fear of intimacy and vulnerability.

Stolas appears in this trip as someone elevated high above him, something he's climbing towards, reaching for, even though it means being chained to him. It's directly preceded by his ex girlfriend and his former best friend berating him for how he pushes people away even though he hates being alone. Then Stolas directly asks him, "Are you afraid to love people, Blitzy?" Furthermore, the WAY in which he is framed is alluring, slightly hazy, golden and tempting. It couldn’t be further from the ugly, slime-covered past he's fleeing. It's a new start, a chance for something better that seems too good to be true. This trip is all about Blitz’s inability to be vulnerable with another person. The chain around his neck is a representation of the fact that, by getting closer to Stolas, he's giving Stolas the power to hurt him emotionally.

And man, there's a part of him that wants to give Stolas that power. At this critical moment, he's not baring his teeth in defiance or anger. He's blushing, just slightly, and he looks... nervous. Blitz's instinct, when things get too real, is to cut and run. Hurt them before they can hurt you. Abandon them before they have the chance to leave you. It’s how he tanked his relationship with Verosika. This is a manifestation of what might happen if he stays. This is the sort of trouble he can't fight his way out of.

This is the emotional climax of the scene. There are so many ways they could have gone with this if they wanted to represent Blitz being chained and trapped by his agreement with Stolas. If that was the fear--if that was the POINT--they could have had the chains wrap around him until he couldn't move, or glow white hot and burn into his skin, or a million other more direct metaphors. But the chains aren't the thing that hurts him. It's the feathers: the thing that's left behind after Stolas abandons him, sing-songing "you're going to die alone" right alongside two other people who he loved and who now want nothing to do with him.

Finally, let's look at Blitz’s reaction to this scene. It's a moment of revelation for him, in which he realizes he's pushing everyone away and starts to make an effort to change. It's why he's a bit more open with Moxxie in the next scene. The trip sequence ALSO inspires him to get closer to Stolas, indicating that the trip didn’t make him realize "I'm trapped and I need to get out of this" in the same way Fizz did. Rather, he realizes that he doesn't want Stolas to leave him like everyone else, and he wants to start feeling out what it would be like to deepen the connection between them. As I've mentioned in other posts, their kiss at the end of "truth seekers" represents a level of intimacy that we haven't seen before; it's teasing, affectionate, shows Blitz’s interest in making Stolas happy, and takes place in front of M&M, who have repeatedly teased him about their relationship before.

In summary, while the image of chains may have been invoked in all four of these relationships, they don’t necessarily mean the same thing across the board. Blitz and Stolas's relationship differs substantially from the others in its dynamic, and the context of their scene also sets it apart. It's important to look into the details and the nuance of their relationship to interpret what's going on under layers of trauma and unreliable narration.

[autistichalsin]

What are some of Halsin's flaws, in your opinion?

Halsin's flaws, personality and others, major and minor (note that some of these are a bit circumstantial):

-He can't control his baser/animal instincts, which comes out in his wildshape issues. This corresponds with bloodlust in his animal form.

-He isn't suited for Druidic leadership, as shown at the Grove, which led to disastrous consequences.

-By his own admission, he focuses too hard on the tasks important to him and lets other ones fall by the wayside.

-Due to the above, he struggles tremendously with balancing conflicting obligations; he didn't bother much with the Grove when he was trying to solve the Shadow Curse, abandoned the Grove when the player showed up (though of course that was also due to his trauma and hatred of the Archdruid role), and if romanced to Karlach, is one of the only ones who refuses to go to Avernus with her, feeling that he and he alone can start the commune for the children and their needs are greater than hers.

-He has a self-sacrificial view about what being "good" is, and feels that he has to be unhappy if he's helping; he let himself suffer as Archdruid for 100 years rather than find someone else to take the role, and in the ending, he tries to break up with a romanced player to start his commune both because of his possible abandonment issues and because he doesn't see room for his own happiness when he's trying to help people.

-As I just mentioned, he does have abandonment issues to a degree; if the player dumps him in the ending, he says he knows nothing lasts forever. If the player suggests the party go their separate ways immediately after the battle, he says it was always destined to be so, but it stings nonetheless. He is shocked when the player comes to rescue him from Orin if taken.

-While he is an extremely kind and forgiving person, he has limits, and once those have been crossed, he gets very vengeful (I.E. everyone involved in his captivity with the goblins, or saying he'd like to "do the same" to whoever killed and stuffed a young bear for decoration in one shop in Baldur's Gate).

-He misreads social cues fairly often.

-He seems better able to assert his boundaries to strangers than to his friends and loved ones, I.E., not having much of a negative reaction to a Lolthsworn Drow threatening to sell him back into slavery.

-Because nature is his way of understanding the world, he struggles to understand things through any other lens. He has little interest in other things that can't be considered part of either nature or his Druidic duties.

-He takes things very literally at times, I.E. the phrase "you can say that again."

-He doesn't bother trying to hide when he doesn't like someone (I.E. if the player has incredibly low approval with him).

-He can sometimes be insensitive on accident, such as saying "imagine the horrors" when they're in a tadpoling facility, to Wyll in particular, though he does apologize right away when called on it.

-He is slow to true anger, but sometimes quick to annoyance, at least where strangers are concerned. (This is more so the case if they question him).

-He infamously doesn't trust Drow, and while this is justified in the case of Lolth-sworn Drow, he is initially mistrustful of the player if they are a Seldarine Drow too (though later he shows far more trust of Seldarine than Lolth Drow).

-His objections to some of the evil things encountered in the game are their unnaturalness more than their evilness, fitting with the Druidic belief that evil is as much a part of the world as good. He is more upset at how unnatural the tadpoles are than anything, at least at first, and if the Dark Urge shows off the Slayer form in front of him, he says it's "most unnatural. Most foul," and says that it only serves death/murder. (It's how unnatural and unbalanced it is that it bothers him more than the form being a giant monster, basically.)

-He has a huge case of hero worship to the player, which is why he falls in love with them almost immediately after they break the Shadow Curse, and has feelings for them even sooner than that.

-He despises turnips.

[ddarker-dreams]

Hedonist.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader x Yan Feitan. 

Continuation of Declawed.

Warnings: Not SFW, dubcon (Reader is under the influence of aphrodisiacs), yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, unbalanced power dynamics. Word count: 7.5k. 

You are in a room with four walls.

How you got here does not matter. You know you may not leave.

Behind a closed set of drapes lies a window. 

In this room with no past or future, there is but one choice you can make.

Will you peer beyond the curtains or leave them drawn? 

For if you choose to look, there is no telling what you may see. 

… 

“... [First].” 

“Hm?” 

You’re someplace different than where your mind alleged. This is not your coveted room with four, blank walls, where no one can come or go. You’re sitting at a dining room table that tilts too far to the left. There’s an untouched meal in front of you, a cup of tea that’s gone cold, and a napkin folded over your lap just the way you prefer. 

A man sits across from you — Chrollo Lucilfer. He’s staring at you, his fingers steepled, and his body leaning forward. His meal has long been finished. You blink, feeling like a computer that’s booting back up. The fog covering your senses lifts too slowly for your liking. Eventually, a blueprint of your surroundings solidifies in your mind. 

There are three people in the surrounding area, excluding yourself. Two are a formidable threat. One is not. 

“You seem distracted,” Chrollo’s voice gives nothing away. His eyes do though, just a little bit. Concern? Intrigue? You cannot pinpoint where each ends and begins. “That’s unusual for you.” 

You hate when he’s right. “I’d pay more attention if you said anything worthwhile.” 

His lips quirk up. “Is your health not worthwhile?” 

He’s got you where he wants you.

“If you’re truly concerned about my health, then you’ll return my Hatsu,” you maintain unflinching eye contact. He exhales through his nose, belying slight exasperation. “The events of today should prove I’d do better with it from the onset.” 

“In emergencies, yes. And I did return it. Long enough for you to dispatch the threat… and to hurt Feitan’s feelings, evidently.” 

You ignore his last comment, seriously doubting its authenticity. 

“One of the threats, at least,” you make a show of looking him up and down. He sighs, probably heavier than he intended, the chaotic past twenty-four hours undoubtedly weighing him down. Sensing that this particular conversation is better off over, he reclines back into his chair. Instead of mirroring his posture, you cross your legs, fold your gloved hands together, and rest them on your lap. You’re doing everything within your power to give the impression nothing is amiss. 

Alas, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Something is very, very wrong with you. 

It all began with an ambush on the car ride to this safe house. Assassins are par for the course in your line of work, it wasn’t your first encounter and you doubt it’ll be the last. The main problem was that for the first time in your life, you were fighting without your Hatsu in a situation that would’ve strongly benefited from its use. The group focused their attention on you and the Manipulator must’ve met his conditions for his ability to activate. A strange sensation swept over and temporarily debilitated you. Chrollo was quick to notice how you staggered — truthfully, you played it close to the chest to see if he’d risk returning your Hatsu should you be in mortal peril — a gamble that did and didn’t pay off.

It felt like a piece of your soul had been returned to you. Your conjured sword sliced down your three pursuers, they were entirely caught off guard by its appearance. That left you without about a second to retaliate with your briefly returned arsenal until Chrollo realized what you were planning. Ideally, you would’ve preferred to attack Chrollo, since your win condition lay in either killing him or removing his ability to conjure Bandit’s Secret. He was aware of this and kept just enough distance for that very reason. 

It had been Feitan who risked getting the closest to prevent the assassins from doing you any major harm in light of your lackluster dodging. Both he and Chrollo must’ve recognized what you were trying to do and likely considered you more of a threat than the assassin trio. You tried not to be obvious about your intentions, but they’re too sharp. 

The second long window you had felt like more than enough to seriously injure Feitan. While your physical strength had been on the lower side compared to the other Troupe members, you were faster; far outclassing the others in that particular skill set. This boon came with its own share of disadvantages, such as your tendency to tire faster in a fight if it dragged on for hours. However, you were finally in a uniquely advantageous position. You had conserved your strength in case an opening presented itself, and although it almost landed you in hot water to not go all out against three opponents, it ultimately worked in your favor. 

You lunged forward at Feitan with what should’ve been a definitive strike. The speed was there, but the power was not; the Manipulator’s unknown ability weakened you far more than you’d anticipated. It was only recently that you realized his Nen must’ve strengthened in death. It felt mostly inconsequential when you first experienced it; you didn’t think to leave the Manipulator alive as a safeguard. 

Feitan withstood the hit with some minor injuries. Your Hatsu no longer heeded your call, proof that Chrollo had taken it back. You were subdued, Feitan being far rougher than necessary and grumbling under his breath. For the past few hours, you’ve refocused all your energy toward keeping whatever that Manipulator did to you under control without giving your captors a glimpse of your weakened state. This control is steadily waning. Meditation aided you for a time, but you can tell it's growing in intensity, hence your current predicament. 

Your body’s temperature is steadily rising. At first, you hypothesized the ability is supposed to make you mortally ill, but your gut tells you that isn’t the entire picture. Aside from feeling warm and not having all your strength, you don’t believe you’re knocking on death’s door. The symptoms don’t point toward anything that serious. It’s almost as if it made you want something — there’s this primal craving inside you, trying desperately to claw its way to the surface. 

Whatever you’re currently riddled with, it's excruciating. You don’t know how much more you can take or how to put a stop to it. 

There had been a fourth party whose tracking ability led the assassins to you in the first place. After watching his comrades get eviscerated, his Zetsu wavered, giving away his position. Feitan is playing with his new toy in the basement. It’s been in the back of your mind that this fourth man might know the Manipulator’s ability. That’s why you’ve been so desperate to keep the extent of your malaise under wraps, lest Feitan learns something imperative and keeps you in the dark about it. It’ll ultimately be Chrollo’s decision, but you know they’re both not happy with your little stunt earlier. If they learn it’s nothing too detrimental, they’ll let you suffer through it as a punishment. 

“May I be excused?” You inquire with the politest tone you can muster. 

Chrollo motions to your untouched plate. “You haven’t eaten.” 

You knew this would be a point of contention. Not due to any rampant concern on his part, you both know that you’re capable of surviving without food for long periods. He’s just using this as an opportunity to see what’s truly wrong with you — he has to have his suspicions by now. You glance down at your meal. Grilled chicken, leafy greens, and a scoop of rice. The ultra-healthy regiment that Chrollo knows you favor and Feitan complains about. You still remember the look the latter gave you when you wrote chickpeas on the grocery list. 

Lying is a useless endeavor when Chrollo’s involved, he can see past your poker face without issue. Telling the truth is your best bet. “I don’t have an appetite.” 

He makes a show of looking at his watch. “You always have dinner at this time of day.” 

“There’s nothing I can do if I don’t feel hungry now. I’ll eat it in the morning.” 

You know how he loathes food being wasted and try to redirect his attention toward that. This time, you phrase it as a statement rather than a question. Chrollo gives you a long, silent look. His gray eyes pick you apart without any subtlety. He parts his lips, preparing to say something, when his attention shifts elsewhere. 

A blur comes flying your way. From reflex alone, you catch it. A first aid kit? Feitan stands at the kitchen doorway where it must’ve been thrown, wearing a black sleeveless shirt. You stop yourself from frowning. You should’ve been able to sense his presence. Any other time, doing so comes as easy as breathing, but your senses are off-kilter. You can only hope that the ease with which you caught the first aid kit covered this blunder. 

Considering the weight of Chrollo’s stare, that might be a far-fetched dream. 

“Fix this,” Feitan nods at the untreated gash on his right arm, courtesy of your earlier attack. Cutting any synovial hinge joint would have proved helpful, especially against a swordsman like Feitan. Seeing the wound up close shows your aim was slightly off. The attack landed too low on his forearm. You can’t remember the last time you made a mistake like this — it must’ve been back when you were a child. If it weren’t for that Manipulator’s ability, you would be in a far better situation right now.

The chair scrapes against the floor when Feitan pulls it out. Not seeing the point in making his mood worse, you wordlessly take the steps to comply with his demand. You go to the kitchen sink, remove your leather gloves, and wash your hands. The cool water running over your skin feels heavenly. However, you notice a damning detail while you dry yourself off. 

Your hands are shaking. 

You don’t stare at the impending problem so as not to draw unwanted attention. Your body's homeostasis is deteriorating faster than you can manage it. Or, to be more accurate, the ability’s strength must be advancing over time. Any half-decent Nen user should be capable of controlling their body temperature, respiratory rate, blood pressure, and heart rate, or else your aura suffers. You’ll have to pick your poison here. If you focus mostly on your hands, you should be able to stop the shaking for a time. Consequently, that’ll leave your fever unchecked. 

You need to get this over with quickly. 

After putting on surgical gloves and a mask, you situate yourself next to Feitan. 

“Planning operation?” He asks, amusement in his voice. 

“This is far from a sterile environment. I’m taking the necessary precautions to prevent an infection,” you soak a gauze pad in saline solution then dab it against his wound. You’re glad the mask is covering half your face, since you’re unable to stop yourself from frowning. Beating yourself up over your past mistakes won’t do any good, yet you can’t help feeling mildly disappointed seeing your botched work up close. Who knows when you’ll get an opportunity like that again? 

You’re about to wrap it in a bandage when Feitan speaks up again. “Need stitches?” 

Your fingers twitch despite yourself. He’s intentionally trying to rile you up. You won’t let him. 

“... No.” 

He snickers, his eyebrows rising, adding to his air of condescension. “Why?”

“It’s too shallow of a cut.”

“Heh.” 

What a bastard. You momentarily consider the merits of stabbing him with one of the needles in the kit. The temporary satisfaction wouldn’t be worth the trouble it’d cause you later on, you decide. You’ve endured several torments from Feitan up until this point without ever acknowledging his efforts. Truthfully, you don’t understand what exactly it is Feitan wants from you. Chrollo is easier to understand in that one aspect. Your (former?) boss wants your relationship to return to what it was before — he said so outright using words sweet enough to make your teeth ache. 

Feitan has been far less forthcoming with his motivations. He barely talks to you aside from scathing remarks, doesn’t sleep in the same room as you and Chrollo, and frequently goes missing for days at a time. All you have to go off of is the conversation he had with Chrollo the night you gave up your Hatsu in return for Ash’s safe passage. He said he was ‘interested’ in you. It was Chrollo he told this, so you know he wouldn’t lie. He couldn’t have been vaguer if he tried. 

Did he mean ‘interested’ sexually? Romantically? It’s no secret that Feitan is a sadist, but he’s never made passes at you. You don’t think he’d be the type to beat around the bush if he wanted something like that. You’ve caught him staring a few times yet always chalked it up to him thinking you’re about to pull a stunt. Then again, you’re entirely ignorant to whatever agreement Chrollo and Feitan have over you. 

Outwardly, it looks the same as it’s always been. Chrollo gives orders and Feitan obeys them. 

So why is it that your instinct whispers there’s far more to the dynamic than Feitan being an uninterested third party? 

You secure a bandage around his forearm then turn away from him and Chrollo. It’d be nice if enduring the humiliation of tending to the subpar wound you inflicted is your entire punishment, but you somehow doubt that. You know your body well and your limits even better, loathe as you are to admit you have any. Exhaustion is nipping at your heels while the night is still young. The thought of lying down, even if it’s just for a few hours, sounds divine. 

“I’m finished,” you tell Feitan, sensing his eyes on your back while you throw the mask and gloves away. “Was there anything else you needed?” 

“Your hands. Show me.”

You stop turning the faucet on to spare him a glance over your shoulder. “May I ask why?” 

“You can. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” 

Your eyes flicker to Chrollo next, who has remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout this interaction. The closed-mouth smile he’s giving you promises nothing good. He knows you’re hiding something — they both know you are. They’re worse than sharks smelling blood in the water. You’ve been delaying the inevitable to the best of your abilities, but this game of cat-and-mouse can’t last forever.

Resigning yourself to your fate, you take a step forward, only for a bout of lightheadedness to come crashing down. You’re forced to grab the kitchen counter to steady yourself, the granite splintering beneath the intensity of your grip, crumbling to the ground in a noisy cascade. You swear you’re seeing double when you stare down at the ground, your heart rate accelerating and breathing turning erratic. Deep breaths are taken in an attempt to steady yourself.

Immediately, there’s a presence by your side, then a delightfully cold touch against your forehead. You try not to lean into it. 

“Burning up,” Feitan remarks. He moves his hand back, and you almost keen at the loss, a factor that is as mortifying as it is perplexing. You tell yourself it’s because your body wants to regain proper equilibrium by cooling itself off. There can be no other explanation. You’re coming down with a fever, you’ll rest, and this will be over. Simple as that. 

Chrollo makes his way over to you like he has all the time in the world, his countenance giving nothing away. “He was telling the truth, then?” 

“Guess so.” 

“What… what are you both talking about?” You inquire, all the while trying and failing to push yourself up. You, a person capable of wielding an ax that weighs 4,000 pounds with ease, can’t even stand up straight. It’s a miracle your legs haven’t given out beneath you yet. 

“Feitan has been interrogating the man in the basement,” Chrollo reaches into his back pocket to grab something, a napkin, by the looks of it. He holds it up at your eye level. You blink, having to strain so that the word scribbled on it can come into focus. The messy handwriting must belong to Feitan. “I wanted to wait and see it for myself before believing him.” 

You almost get sick when the word finally registers. 

Aphrodisiac.

Feitan must’ve scribbled this note down and handed it to Chrollo. You weren’t in a good position to be perceptive of your surroundings, otherwise, you would’ve surely noticed. 

Chrollo reaches out for you, his fingers settling beneath your chin and lifting it. Your eyelids flutter shut, the simple skin-to-skin contact exhilarating, made even better when his thumb brushes over your lower lip. He gives a content hum over your willingness to accept his touch for the first time in several months. It’s a surreal sensation — how your senses can be both heightened and capable of blocking out so much — your brain is unwilling to register anything aside from the men before you. You’re backed against the now broken countertop when Chrollo advances impossibly closer, his chest pressing against yours. 

“You must’ve been suppressing it through sheer willpower all this time. I’m impressed,” he sounds like it too. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, dear, but this won’t be going away on its own.”

Chrollo’s lips caress the shell of your ear, and his hands start creeping down your body while he speaks. “You need only say the word and we’ll satisfy you. Otherwise, it’ll progress to the point it’s unbearable. I don’t exactly enjoy watching you suffer, whether you believe me or not. So be a dear and—” 

However he intended to end that sentence will forever remain a mystery. It stokes something inside you, rekindling the dying embers of your pride. Bloodlust radiates off you in tangible waves, cracking the glass of a nearby window. The miasma surrounding you is thick and potent. Harnessing the remnants of your strength, you press your hands to Chrollo’s chest, shoving him away with all your might. He stumbles back yet quickly steadies himself. 

“Do not touch me,” you seethe, the words more of a growl than anything. 

Aura envelops Feitan, who must be anticipating further resistance. The flow stops as soon as it begins when Chrollo puts a hand up to stop him. Silence loudly resounds in the tight quarters you’re forced to share with them. You feel akin to a cornered cat, hackles raised and teeth bared. There’s nothing practical you can do — it’s maddening to acknowledge that. You’re entirely at their mercy. 

And you know neither of them have any to give. 

Chrollo sighs, straightening the wrinkles on his shirt your outburst caused. “You’re making this needlessly difficult for yourself, [First].” 

“Just… knock me unconscious until it subsides, or something,” you grit out through clenched teeth. The ghosts of Feitan’s touch against your forehead and Chrollo’s fingers upon your lips haunt you. It’s as if all levels of higher thinking ceased the second they came into contact with you. “I can’t… I refuse…!” 

“Stubborn woman. Not normally this stupid,” Feitan clicks his tongue. “It’s Nen. Doesn’t work like that.” 

You grip your head with your hands. It hurts. It’s hot. Lascivious need wraps its tendrils around you and squeezes. Your body is no longer heeding the orders of your mind. You can smell Chrollo’s cologne — sandalwood, amber — as well as the metallic scent of blood clinging to Feitan. You shouldn’t have pushed him away. You should’ve let him touch you, please you, satiate this voracious appetite that won’t go away on its own. It’s been so long, far too long. He said it wouldn’t go away on its own, didn’t he? How much longer can you fight it off? 

More importantly, do you even want to fight anymore? 

You take an unsteady step forward, your head hanging long, allowing for a shadow to fall over your eyes. Your hand reaches for Chrollo’s belt yet never meets its destination. An undignified noise leaves your lips as you’re scooped up, your cheeks burning and eyes shooting wide open. Your instinct is to struggle, but when you feel a hand press beneath your thighs to steady you, your brain turns to mush. The touch isn’t anything special, though your body acts like it is. You can feel an unnatural amount of wetness staining your panties. Consequently, you rub your thighs together, hoping to alleviate some of the desperate need for friction. 

A deep, dark chuckle reverberates in Chrollo’s chest. “She’s precious, isn’t she, Fei?” 

Feitan doesn’t confirm or deny, though you can feel his eyes boring into you. “Not mad at her?” 

“That can wait for later. For now, though…” he trails off, his voice lowering in pitch and volume. “Aren’t you interested in savoring her to the fullest?” 

You don’t remember the trip to the bedroom. 

There’s the faint sound of rushed footsteps, creaky door hinges groaning, shoes being thrown aside, and the rustling of fabric. Your heartbeat rises to a crescendo when you’re placed on the bed, anticipation gnawing at you. The room is dripping with tension and a sick part of yourself relishes in it. You prop yourself up on your elbows only to find yourself getting pushed not so gently back down. 

Feitan is leering at you from above, his eyes like that of a madman. 

Not a word is uttered as you glare back up at him. Without his cowl, you can see every inch of his countenance, the cruel curve of his lips, and the upward incline of his eyebrows. There’s no time to dwell on the negative emotions such a feral stare instills, for you register movement coming from behind. Familiar toned arms wrap around your torso. Chrollo pulls you onto his lap, your back flush against his broad chest. His lips lovingly caress the shell of your ear, grazing the sensitive flesh with his teeth. 

“Are you ashamed, [First]?” He taunts, his voice taking on a husky tinge. “A woman of your status offering herself over so willingly to two depraved men… I can’t fathom how bruised your ego must be.” 

This compromising position must do something for him. You feel his hardened length poking at your ass, betraying his arousal. 

“Neither of you are capable of harming my ego.” 

You exhale sharply when he tugs your head back by your hair. 

“Casuistry is unbecoming of you, dear.” 

“Is that what that was…?” You trail off, trying not to show how good it feels when Chrollo latches his lips to your neck. “Are you so caught up in your own delusions that you fail to recognize this is about satisfying a biological function, not an expression of passion?” 

You’re grateful for your high pain tolerance when Chrollo sinks his teeth into your skin, hard enough to leave a mark for the days that’ll follow. He lavishes his tongue against it afterward, his chest vibrating from a quiet chuckle. 

“Talks too much,” Feitan grumbles. For a moment, you wonder if he's referring to you or Chrollo. “Gag?” 

“Unnecessary. We wouldn’t want to miss out on the sounds she’s going to make, would we?” 

This line of reasoning seems to satisfy Feitan. Unlike Chrollo, who treats undressing you as if it were a form of foreplay itself, Feitan is rough with your clothes. You’d almost think they offended him somehow. You wince at the sound of ripping. The black fabric covering your torso flutters to the side, revealing the swell of your cleavage. Perspiration clings to you in a thin sheen from your body’s meager attempts to cool down. You swear you hear Feitan’s breath shudder when his sallow fingers descend on your chest. 

He’s far from gentle with his exploration of the soft flesh. He kneads and pulls, giving little heed to what you find pleasurable. Then his pointer finger and thumb find your nipple, visible through your nude-colored bra. A special sadistic delight is taken in twisting the nub and observing the subsequent parting of your lips in a high-pitched gasp. 

“... Cute,” he comments. Your fingers twitch, indignation spurring you on to try and strike him, a rebellion Chrollo ends prematurely by holding your dominant arm in place. He uses enough pressure that you wouldn’t be surprised if the skin bruises in the shape of his hand. 

“Now now, there’s no need to resort to violence, is there?” Chrollo’s voice is akin to nails on a chalkboard. The irony of a mass-murdering thief preaching this platitude isn’t lost on you. 

Feitan quirks up an eyebrow when you jut your head to the side, your teeth clenching and cheeks burning. Damn them both. 

“Ego hurt yet?” Feitan croons. 

You recenter yourself to the best of your abilities, considering every cell in your body is screaming for a return to primal instinct. They’re both dead wrong if they think you’re going to roll over and take everything they dish out. Perhaps it’ll spell more trouble for you further down the line, but the logical side of your brain which normally dominates is waning. You wrench yourself forward with enough force that Chrollo has to lessen his grip on your arm, lest he dislocate it. Maybe there is some truth behind his earlier claim that he ‘doesn’t enjoy watching you suffer’, or maybe the lack of bloodlust clues him in that you aren’t up to anything nefarious. 

Whatever the case, this momentum and easing up of your restraints grants the freedom to do what you plan next. Your hands, marred with dark lines along the veins from Corruption’s improper usage many years prior, hold Feitan’s face in place. His shock is evident by the lack of movement on his part when your lips press against his. Your clammy skin derives satisfaction from how unnaturally cold his body is. 

This is the closest thing you’ve gotten to relieving the gnawing need that’s been threatening to devour you from the inside out. 

In the millisecond it takes for him to comprehend what’s happening, he secures back what little power you temporarily held over him. His kiss is rough, demanding, and clearly inexperienced. You’re too far gone to care. You make a show of kissing him with every ounce of languid affection you once bestowed upon the man behind you, your head tilting to the side and back arching to press further into him. Something between a groan and a grunt leaves Feitan when your hand seeks out his clothed length, palming at it until it fully hardens. 

This temporary rebalancing of power mixed with finally feeding the carnal hunger within you is invigorating, sending adrenaline through your veins. Feitan nips at your lower lip and you grant him access to your mouth. His tongue seeks out yours in a dance you never thought you’d willingly participate in. The world is fuzzy, an unintelligible string of blurred shapes and colors you can’t make any sense of. All that registers to you is an all-encompassing desire to succumb to lust’s bittersweet embrace. 

Is this what it’s like to be drunk? Stuck in a pleasant haze where the slightest stimulation feels far better than it should, potential consequences be damned?

When you part for air, a thin trail of saliva connects you. 

“Still wish to gag me?” You goad, unwilling to resist making a jab at his expense. He enjoyed that far too much for you not to sneak in a snide comment.

Feitan smirks. “Not with rag.” 

He then looks to Chrollo, as if silently asking permission for something. Evidently, he must receive it, for the rest of your outfit is torn from your person. What would’ve irritated you in any other circumstance comes as an immense relief now. The heat enveloping you is stupefying. Cognition is overshadowed by a primal need you never could’ve thought yourself capable of. You’ll do anything to offset this unique torture, the likes of which you’ve never been forced to endure.

You’re left in nothing but your sheer black tights and bra, your chest heaving in a desperate bid to get enough oxygen. Sweat trickles down your temple. 

Every inch of your body is so unusually sensitive, as if your nerve endings have multiplied. The science behind whatever the Manipulator’s ability did intrigues you. Did it decrease activity in your prefrontal cortex, making long-term planning near impossible? Excite the endocrine system in a way that encourages sexual arousal? Trick your brain into activating fight or flight if you’re not being stimulated? 

The relationship between science and Nen has always fascinated you. Regrettably, you’re not in the headspace to conduct research. It’s growing increasingly difficult to form so much as a coherent thought.

Behind you, Chrollo undoes the clasp of your bra, revealing your chest in its entirety to both men. If there was ever any doubt that Feitan’s interest in you is lascivious in nature, his current expression dispels it. He looks at you like one would a piece of tantalizing meat. You never would’ve thought Feitan was sexually attracted to you by the indifferent air he normally held. In retrospect, you wonder if that was his way of trying to keep his impulses under control until the timing was right. 

“Lift yourself up for me, dear,” Chrollo uses such gentle words, but his tone tells you this is an order. You do as he requests. From this angle, he’s able to help pull your tights down by the waistband. It’s a slow, tedious process; he acts as if he has all the time in the world, inching the delicate fabric down to reveal your thighs. You shiver when his fingernails scrape at your skin. It takes everything you have to hold back a sinful moan at the teasing contact. 

“I hadn’t realized tights were so sacred to you,” you say. He had no objections when Feitan tore at the rest of your custom-tailored outfit. 

You can hear the smile on his face when he replies, “There’s only this one pair, whereas we have other clothes for you. It’d be a shame to not see you in something that complements your features so well.” 

“How very considerate.” 

Feitan helps pull it off once it gets to your knees, using a degree of care you thought him incapable of. It must be because his boss willed the action. He spreads your legs without any resistance, his eyes fixating on your covered core. Evidence of your arousal seeps through. It’s a sight that causes Feitan to mutter something in his language that you suspect to be an expletive.

A silver streak soars through your vision. You go motionless, allowing Chrollo to slice through your panties with his Ben’s Knife. 

You glare at him from the corner of your eye. “Are you trying to kill me? What strange paraphilias you’ve developed since we’ve last been intimate.” 

“I was confident in your ability to stay still,” Chrollo’s fingers linger right above your clit, refusing to touch the one place you begrudgingly desire him most. “Besides, we both know a little poison wouldn’t put your life in serious danger. Give yourself more credit, sweetheart.” 

The audacity of this man is astounding. 

Chrollo spreads your folds for Feitan’s viewing pleasure. 

“Isn’t she just lovely?” Chrollo practically purrs, his baritone voice causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin, despite the internal heat afflicting you. “You can touch her, Fei. She won’t bite.” 

It’s an invitation he can’t turn down. 

Without warning, two fingers are thrust inside you. You tense at the unexpected intrusion and have to tell your muscles to relax. Fortunately, there’s enough natural lubrication that it doesn’t hurt as bad as it could’ve. You suppose it should come as no surprise that the man with an affinity for torture isn’t tender in bed. He cackles at your visceral reaction, but you have no chance to retaliate, for he pulls his fingers back out and slams them back in. Dull discomfort quickly transitions to a deep, satisfying feeling. Chrollo further enforces it by finally rubbing precise circles just the way you like on your clit. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and lull your head to the side. Digging deep into the recesses of your hazy mind, you try to block out who exactly is touching you like this, wanting to focus on the pleasure and nothing else. 

Chrollo must have a rough idea of what you’re trying to do. He sighs, as if disappointed, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to face downward. 

“Open your eyes, or we’ll stop,” he whispers. You bite down on your lower lip hard enough to almost bleed. “Oh, [First]. I know very well that you aren’t a prude. Come now. Don’t make me ask again.” 

Your eyelashes flutter open like butterfly wings. From the position he’s holding your head, you have nowhere to look but at Feitan’s fingers slipping in and out of you, a lewd sight that makes you whimper. Maybe you’ll berate yourself for your weakness when you’re in a lucid mindset. For now, however, you’re starting to lift your hips to meet his relentless assault. You feel no better than a vacuous animal, yet embarrassment is the furthest thing on your mind. The word has been wiped clean from your lexicon. 

With how sensitive your body is in this state, it doesn’t take long for that knot in your stomach to tighten. You’re panting, your head is thrown back, taking in each wave of overwhelming stimuli. Chrollo’s lips caressing your neck’s pulse, the friction on your clit, and Feitan’s fingers exploring your insides. It’s too much. The air is heady with the scent of sex, Chrollo’s cologne, and the metallic blood splattered on Feitan. 

You’re so close, your walls clenching and the muscles in your thighs going taut— 

—When they both abruptly stop. 

Breathlessly, you murmur ‘wretched sadists’ in your native tongue.

“Him more so than me,” Chrollo replies. In your frustration, you forgot he was making good progress in learning your country’s language. Soon you won’t even have that to keep for yourself. He’ll have invaded every inch of your life and claimed it for himself. 

Feitan brings his slick-covered pointer and middle finger close to your face. He parts them, observing the string of your arousal it forms with an amused expression. 

“Needy thing,” he snickers. 

He takes his fingers into his mouth, then gives a low hum, apparently enjoying your taste. When the digits slide back out, they’re coated in both his saliva and your essence. You grimace when he places them on your closed lips next, your obsession with hygiene temporarily triumphing over the aphrodisiac’s effects. Feitan frequently poked fun at how you wiped away blood and viscera should any have gotten on your person after a kill. You’ve never been partial to uncleanliness, although you could deal with it just fine when necessary. 

Knowing Feitan, he’s likely getting off on your discomfort. 

“Open,” he demands. You do with some reluctance, tasting yourself on your tongue. Your unusual obedience seems to please him. “Good girl.” 

You narrow your eyes into slits then, warmth flooding your face. He’s the last person you’d ever want to give you a compliment like that. Condescension is an area that both Chrollo and Feitan excel in. Chrollo’s is often more subtle, taking a moment’s consideration to fully comprehend, whereas Feitan is cruelly blunt. You can’t decide which is worse. 

The bed dips as Chrollo readjusts himself. Feitan moves to the side, giving Chrollo plenty of room to do whatever he wants with you next. Your former boss unbuttons his shirt and tosses it aside. His hands go to your shoulders, pushing in a silent communication for you to lay back. If it weren’t for the unfair condition you’re currently plagued with, you would’ve had some choice words at the ready. Especially when he strokes your cheekbone with the back of his knuckles, softly, as a lover would. You internally curse at how your traitorous body leans into his touch. 

The distinct sound of Chrollo undoing his belt catches your attention. 

After ridding himself of his remaining clothes, he lifts your left leg over his shoulder, an enigmatic gleam in his gray eyes. You feel his tip rub teasingly over your folds, gathering your abundant wetness. Proving to you just how desperately your body wants this — wants him. He’s trying to make a point. You imagine you must be quite the sight to him, all disheveled like this. Forcefully dragged out from your icy shell of propriety. Your hair which is normally styled in an updo is loose and forming twirls against the bed, your chest is rising and falling erratically, and your aura is a mess. 

In this moment, you’ve essentially been reduced to a civilian. 

You both let out content noises when he enters you. Your walls convulse around him, taking him in with ease, despite how long it’s been since you’ve had sex. It’s as if your body is telling you that it remembers him, no matter how hard you try to forget. In the dark of night, you sometimes wonder if Chrollo knows you better than you know yourself. He’s committed every little nuance about you to memory. Your preferences, likes and dislikes; he’s showcasing his mastery over you by providing the pleasure only he can. 

You shudder when he fully sheathes himself inside you. It makes the aphrodisiac swallowing you whole slightly more bearable, quelling the fire just enough that you no longer feel you’re being burned. 

Feitan lazily jerks himself off at your indecent expressions, breathing heavily as he pumps his reddened cock up and down. 

“You’re a cruel woman, depriving me of this for so long,” Chrollo takes both your wrists in one hand and pins them above you. “I’ve longed for your body terribly, love. It belongs here — underneath me.” 

By the way your face contorts, he must be able to tell that he won’t like whatever your reply will be, so he sets out to steal the air from your lungs. An undignified whimper leaves your lips at the rough pace he establishes from the onset. You’d almost think it was him under the influence of the aphrodisiac and not you. There’s no gradual, sensual buildup, just skin slapping against skin as he fucks you without mercy. You want to grab ahold of something, anything to steady yourself in the unforgiving onslaught of ecstasy, but his grip on you is unrelenting. Your limbs feel like jello, incapable of displaying your usual strength to break free from his hold. 

Sensing your intentions, as he almost always does, he coos, “If you want something, then be a dear and beg.” 

There’s a darkness in his voice that’s never been directed at you before. An underlying desperation. Chrollo craves you, longs for you, and you’ve denied him his greatest desire. He has no right to sigh and brood over your refusal to go back to how things were, before he betrayed your trust. You let him into your world. Granted him access to parts of yourself that have never seen the light of day, tentatively opened your heart bit by bit. 

Only that alone couldn’t satisfy him. He needed more than your heart. Your mind, your soul, your body; your very being. And you weren’t willing to give him that. Not then, not now, not ever. So you purse your lips, glaring up at him with all the defiance you can muster in this weakened state. 

He chuckles at the ferocity in your eyes, though it’s a humorless sound. Bitter, almost. 

“My stubborn girl,” Chrollo whispers in your native tongue. “Try as you might, you’ll never be rid of me. I won’t even let you go in death.” 

“I’ll— mm— have to test that theory.” 

Something passes over his face then. Is it exasperation? Dismay? Hurt? 

“Go ahead then,” he says. You’ve never seen this look in his eyes. “Do your worst.” 

An odd sensation sweeps over you then. You furrow your eyebrows together, trying to place it, all the while Chrollo increases his speed. This is a phenomenon you’ve experienced and recently at that. It’s akin to puzzle pieces fitting together, everything falling back into its proper place. Then it hits you, the realization causing your eyes to widen and your breath to catch in your throat. 

This bastard just returned your Hatsu. 

You try (and fail) to lift your head. You can barely think straight, much less properly harness your mess of an aura. Being condemned to an eternity of hunger and thirst with food and drink receding from your reach would be preferable to this. It’s wicked; it’s Chrollo making good on his surname. His cock twitches inside you at your futile struggle. He hits a spot in you that makes you keen, you ruined orgasm from earlier growing closer and closer. 

“What are you waiting for?” Chrollo challenges in between soft pants. “Have I rendered one of your country’s best fighters incapable of making a single strike? Hm?” 

“That isn’t—” your own mewl cuts you off, “This is… not fair…!"

He shakes the hair covering his eyes so nothing can obstruct his current view. “I can’t be, darling. Not with you.” 

If you didn’t know any better, you might think he sounds apologetic. 

This is quickly disproven when his fingers find your clit and rub it just right. 

When you come, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. Your back arches into him, your lips part in a silent scream, and you manage to exert enough strength to free your hands from Chrollo’s grasp. You scratch your fingernails down his back, leaving angry red streaks in your wake. Chrollo curses under his breath in a rare instance, given his proclivity for formal speech. Your walls squeeze down on him like a vice. 

His hips stutter and his grip on you becomes bruising. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, quietly moaning your name as if you were a deity; and he, your most devout follower. 

Warmth floods your insides not long after, a seemingly endless stream of cum painting your walls white. Chrollo holds you in place, absentmindedly rubbing circles into the skin he just bruised, a satisfied smile on his lips. You feel him go soft inside you, yet he still makes no sign of pulling out. To add insult to injury, your Hatsu slips away like sand between your fingers, back into his wrongful possession.

Then thick ropes spurt across your tits, accompanied by something like a growl from Feitan. Seeing you come undone must’ve pushed him over the edge. He pumps himself to completion while you struggle to make sense of what just happened. What you just did. 

The aphrodisiac is still active in your system, you can feel it clouding your senses and diluting your judgment. However, it’s far less potent than it was earlier. At its peak, it threatened to fray your sanity. What a dreadful ability. You regret killing the one who used it on you. Had he still been breathing, you would’ve flayed him alive for doing this to you. 

Feitan must not be the pillow talk type. He’s quick to redress, slinking out of the room after giving you an additional once over. He smirks and then leaves you to the whims of his boss. 

Chrollo places the back of his hand against your forehead. “Your fever’s gone down.” 

You avert your eyes and he tilts his head. 

“Don’t tell me you’re upset,” he comments, while finally pulling out. You feel his release seeping out in thick globs. “You would’ve been far worse off had we not intervened. Our guest in the basement can attest to that.” 

When you stay stubbornly silent, he sighs your name. “I know your vocal cords are working just fine. Whatever it is you wish to say, say it.” 

Your head snaps back so you can properly stare him in the eye. There’s a trembling of your lower lip that takes him aback, although he smooths his expression to one of indifference almost immediately. You aren’t the crying type. If anything, he’s probably cried more than you have in the time you’ve known him. He goes to wipe at your lash line, but you smack his hand away. The hit barely has any force behind it. Unexpectedly, he stills, his gaze boring down. 

“I can’t believe I actually l—” you cut yourself off with a shake of your head. You’re exhausted, not thinking straight, and you probably won’t be able to move without help. Whatever lapse in judgment that almost caused you to admit an intimately held secret closes as soon as it opens. 

Chrollo studies you. Whatever he feels then is a mystery, though you hope it cut him deep. Through flesh and sinew, down to the bone. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he eventually says. “I know you hate feeling dirty.” 

When he lifts you up, careful not to aggravate the bruise on your person, you mull over a single question. 

Did he change the subject for your sake, or for his? 

[cheenapri]

Transactional [Yandere Illumi Zoldyck x Reader]

Day two + three

Summary: It is now day two (and three) of the trip and you are very adamant on ruining the experience; Illumi doesn’t take too kindly to that.

Word count: 14k

Notes: yandere, kidnapping, gender neutral reader, unhealthy relationships, unbalanced power dynamics, mentions of past abuse, Illumi tweaks tf out, lots of arguing, reader is a huge brat and gets put in their place

Day one

Taglist: @lilyalone @yamekocatt

Something feels off.

You’re reluctant to leave your workplace once again, staring out the window and into the shadowy abyss before you. There were a few parked cars and the road was lit up with flickering street lights, making it look like something out of a horror movie. Those lights have been broken for some time now; they should really consider fixing those. 

You worked overtime again, wanting the extra funds so you could join your friends at an upcoming concert. You originally had no intentions of going, figuring it wasn’t worth it since you didn’t care for the artist too much. They kept hyping it up, however, eventually making you give in and start working extra hours in order to pay for the expensive tickets. 

You didn’t know the consequence of doing so would be encounters with crackheads after work. 

You bit your tongue. You shouldn’t have declined that ride from your coworker earlier, but you wanted to take a quick trip to the grocery store and didn’t wish to inconvenience them further. You did have your own car, but it was at the shop at the moment as something mysteriously damaged the engine and rendered it unable to start. This forced you to walk to and from work for the last week. You sigh, your hand hesitating for a moment before you pull on the door handle and step out into the crisp night. 

It’s rather quiet.

You cautiously look around before you begin speed walking; taking a brand new route despite how unconventional it was. Unfortunately, they always seem to find you no matter what.

Not even five minutes have passed before a taxi beeps and pulls up next to you, the driver’s movements stiff and puppet-like, his eyes vacant as he smiles creepily at you. 

“It’s d-dark out… n-n-need a ride?” his speech was somewhat slurred.

This was the fourth time this week a taxi had summoned itself, the driver attempting to coerce you to hop in. You glare at him, pace quickening even further as you look for a way out, your hand slowly gripping the switchblade hidden within your coat pocket. 

“It’s f-f-free of charge… just w-wanted to m-m-make sure you go-got h-home safe… You have s-s-someone waiting for you?” he says, still slurring. 

It was always the exact same stuttered lines: state that it’s dark, ask if you need a ride, state that it’s free of charge, pretend to be concerned about you, then ask if there’s someone waiting for you.

You felt as though you were in some sort of simulation; to say it freaked you out was an understatement. 

“I’m calling the police.” you say as you bring your phone out and dial the emergency service. If he were following the same script as the others, calling the police would cause him to drive off.

He doesn’t though, he must be going off script today. 

He lingers far longer than the others have, driving as slow as your quick walking speed, jittering and jerking the steering wheel to avoid running into parked cars, expression in an almost trance-like state as he keeps his smile. He doesn’t react to you telling the dispatcher about your current situation, slowing the taxi even further when you try to linger behind it in order to give them the license plate. 

“Do you h-have any… romantic interests?” he asks, the sheer audacity of this question caused your jaw to drop slightly. When you fail to answer in a timely manner, he keeps going. “W-What about exes? Do you… have any of those?”

You sneer at him once you finish giving his description and your current location to the operator. The person on the phone sounds a bit indifferent as they inform you that a police car is on the way and that you should try to move to a more populated area. 

“You live alone… d-don’t you?” 

You hadn’t even realized he was still talking. 

“Fuck off!” you shout at him, tightening your grip on the switchblade. You were beyond tired of dealing with these creeps. What did they want with you? You glare at him, eyes catching the gold piercing on the left side of his head — a strange place for a piercing.

Right as you were getting ready to bolt, a cop car suddenly pulled up; it’s red and blue lights causing the taxi to speed off into the night. It came unnaturally quick, but you didn’t think about that fact. You were already frantically recounting what had just happened before the male officer could even get out of the car, clearly distressed and completely forgetting about the dispatcher still on the phone. They soon hang up when the officer informs them through his radio that he’s arrived.  

He took your statement after calming you down and offered to give you a ride to the grocery store as you were still insistent on going. Your heart rate slowed once you reached the safety of the store, the presence of other, hopefully normal, people gave you a sense of relief. Rubbing your temples as you enter the store, you take your time gathering your items, picking up a few extra snacks to help relieve your stress. 

You call an Uber to pick you up as you don't want to walk home anymore, the driver was a kind older woman who advised you against being out so late despite its hypocrisy. You rushed inside once you reached home, your dog greeting you with a wiggly dance and tappy paws.

Something still felt off. 

You won’t be working overtime anymore, you’d have to cancel those concert plans. You sigh as you kick off your shoes and place your purchases on the counter. 

Your dog whines.

You walk over to the back door and open it, watching as they cautiously step out and quickly relieve themself before practically running back in, their fur standing on edge.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as you crouch down to pet them, trying to soothe them of their worries as well as your own. Your paranoia made you think the taxi driver was out there.

They only whined again, large eyes staring at you before darting to the living room window, their tail no longer wagging. You stand up and go to wash your hands, hoping they’re just hearing the neighbor or some critter of the night passing by.

You make dinner, giving yourself and your pup something gracious to comfort the both of you before starting your nightly routine. 

Your dog is growling at something. 

You step out of the bathroom and head downstairs, confusion on your face as you watch them pace back and forth from the living room window to the kitchen window.

You head to the back door, hoping letting them out to investigate would calm their nerves. Opening the door only seemed to make it worse, however, as they began barking, tail tucked between their legs as they backed away from you. 

Concerned, you decide to call the police again. You’d been calling them since your second encounter with the taxi drivers, your fears never being dealt with, the officers doing nothing but telling you that they’ll “take your statement and check for the taxi around the neighborhood” and to “call back if something happens.”

You’ll be found dead if this keeps up.

A female officer and her male partner arrive and you immediately explain your earlier encounter, telling them about the weird questions you’d been asked, the driver trailing you for a whole block, and the other police officer taking your statement. 

“Could you check around my house? My dog has been on edge since I got home and I’m afraid he followed me here.” you plead, not sure you’d be able to sleep tonight if they didn’t give you a peace of mind. 

They agree to check, leaving you anxiously waiting by the front door with your pup by your side. After a few minutes, you faintly hear a slight commotion, causing your heart to drop and your dog to bark. 

You continue to stand there, unsure of what to do. After a few more moments, the doorbell rings. You’re slow to open it, only sighing in relief when you see it’s the officers once again. They appear to be fine, though they look sluggish all of a sudden. The female officer informs you that it was just a raccoon hiding within the old grill out back, her words slurring and her eyes droopy.

“Oh?” you nervously chuckle, eyebrows wrinkled with worry. “Was that all?”

“Yeah… it was j-just a biggg raccoon… We’ll take your s-statement and ch-check for taxis around the n-n-neighborhood… C-Call back… if something… happens.”

There goes that exact same line again. As they slowly turn around and begin to leave, something within the female police officer’s hair reflects the porch light for the briefest of moments. You’re confused and shut the door immediately. Your hands are on your hips as you look down at your dog, worry still on your face. You let out a huff, choosing to return to your nightly routine as there wasn’t much else you could really do right now. 

Your dog has quieted down as the night progressed, much to your relief. They haven’t barked for a few hours now and slept peacefully at your feet in the living room. You’ve been talking with your friends, getting their advice about the whole situation and agreeing that you needed to find a better place to live. You hang up the call after a while and look down at the fuzzy creature by your feet. You give them one final pat before heading off to your bedroom upstairs, turning off the lights as you make your way up. 

You leave your bedroom door slightly cracked in case your dog chooses to come up and sleep on your rug. You glance over at the window — the moonlight seeps into the room, perfectly illuminating your face. 

It’s rather quiet.

You don’t know how long you’ve spent laying in bed, scaring yourself as you think about today’s   events, but you eventually fall asleep. Maybe tomorrow you could start looking for a new place to live. 

…

Something feels off.

You’re awoken, a bit groggy as you wipe your eyes. It’s still dark outside. How long were you asleep for? You give your eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness, turning over on your right side.

…

Your heart jumps into your throat, all traces of tiredness instantly leave your body as you stare up in horror at the featureless, black figure standing next to your bed. 

“Don’t scream and I won’t kill you.” it warns.

Your breath hitches, you couldn’t scream even if you wanted to. What the hell is that? You scoot away from it, nearly falling off the bed in the process. 

You swallow hard, “What are yo-“

“Be quiet.” its voice was low and smooth, a complete contradiction from its appearance. “You really love making my job harder, don’t you? Why couldn’t you just get in the car the first time, hm?”

You don’t answer. Your heart was beating rapidly. You can’t read its expression, all you see is it’s big, black eyes looking down at you. You couldn’t make out any attributes of the figure, it was like one big, black blur in an almost humanoid shape. 

A few moments of silence pass as it simply stares at you, as if thinking about something, the room slowly filling with a black mist. Your eyes quickly dart to your bedroom window then back at the monstrous entity. Maybe if you’re fast enough, you could jump out the window-

“Don’t even think about it.” it takes a single step toward you. “Things will go much smoother for you if you come with me willingly. If you so choose to be obnoxious, however, I will knock you out. You have five seconds to decide what you’ll do.”

“Y-you better leave this house right now, or else I’ll call the police!” your stuttering foiled your already awful bluff. It was close enough to do whatever it wanted to you before you could even reach for your phone. What the hell was the police supposed to do about this thing anyway?

It only tilts its head, large eyes staring eerily at you. After a few moments of silence, it finally spoke, “Very well.”

You scream as it charges at you, blacking out instantly as the black mist completely engulfs the room.

.

.

.

You scream and flail your arms as if you were being attacked, eyes shooting wide open in the process. Your breathing is heavy like you’d just ran a marathon; sweat beads form on your forehead. It takes a couple seconds for you to calm down, coming to the realization that it was only a nightmare. 

A nightmare regarding a memory rather.

Your breath is shaky as you sit up on your elbow, leaning over the side of the bed. You felt nauseous, anxiety bubbling within you as you tried to control it. You look up towards the bathroom door, then towards the TV in front of the bed, then finally towards the man sitting upright behind you.

Looks like you’re still in a nightmare.

You let out a frustrated groan, throwing yourself back onto the bed and covering your face with your hands. In your daze, you had forgotten where you were, only to be harshly reminded upon locking eyes with Illumi. 

“Good morning.” Illumi starts with his typical flat tone, observant of your quick shift from disorientation to exasperation. “Are you comfortable?”

“In a way.” you mumble, closing your eyes as you try to fall back asleep. You didn’t feel like having to deal with him first thing in the morning. 

He continues regardless, “You sound uncertain.”

“The bed is comfortable, yes.” you mumble yet again.

“But there is something you’re uncomfortable with, right?”

It’s him.

You let out another groan as you knew he’d keep questioning you, wanting you to explain all of your answers in explicit detail while not understanding your point behind them. You take a second to stretch before propping yourself up on your elbow once again and looking back at him.

You were skeptical about this unusual attitude of his, thinking it was a new manipulation tactic he’d randomly thought of trying. You’re curious as to how long he’d let you push him over, though.

“Were you watching me sleep all night?” you ask. Your tone hinted at a bit of annoyance which caused Illumi to tilt his head slightly.

He admits casually, “Yeah.” 

If there’s one thing you appreciated about Illumi, it was his honesty. His ability to nonchalantly admit to anything he was willing to answer both amazed and frightened you. 

“No wonder I had a nightmare.” you say, looking away from him. It took everything in you to say something so blunt, so confidently. 

Illumi doesn’t respond, confused by your sudden shift in attitude. You’d just woken up and you were already trying his patience. He keeps his attention on you, watching as you throw the blankets off and slide out of bed. You stretch yet again, back turned to him as you do so. 

“I’m hungry.” you state in an almost entitled tone.

“I’ll tell them to begin preparing breakfast now. You should freshen up in the meantime.” 

You take a deep breath. “Are you dictating what outfit I’m wearing today as well?”

Again, Illumi doesn’t respond — you turn to look when you hear the bed creak, a tad bit worried he was on his way to rip your head off. You knew you wouldn’t even have time to react if he was, though. 

He slowly walks to the wardrobe, shuffling through it for a moment before retrieving an outfit. You notice that he’s already dressed, he must’ve gotten ready while you were sleeping then hopped back into bed so he could continue staring at you.

What a creep.

The outfit was catered to your taste, but it clearly had a touch of his inspiration written on it from how… tight fitting… it appeared to be. You look at the outfit with disdain, allowing your facial features to tell him just how you felt about it. 

He’s indifferent to your scornful look, however, only staring back as he waits for you to take the outfit. He wasn’t changing his mind about this. You’re reluctant but you snatch the clothes from him, nearly stomping into the bathroom. 

The outfit turned out to be more tight fitting than you had anticipated. You hate him. 

You eventually come out of the bathroom, ignoring the way Illumi’s head immediately turned in your direction, and move to sit on the lounge chair.

He was on the phone, presumably calling the butlers to prepare today’s events — eyes still lingering on you as he spoke with them. He hangs up after a minute, fully turning to look at you. 

“That outfit looks great on you.”

You look away from him, eyebrows furrowed. “It doesn’t need to be so snug.”

“It suits you.”

“Of course YOU like it.” you roll your eyes at him, quickly getting tired of his ogling.

He takes a moment to eye you further before speaking, “Let’s go.”

You follow him out of the room and down the hall, that surreal feeling from last night returning once again. As you walk into the main section of the hotel, you instantly notice a huge lack of butlers. 

“Where did everyone go?” you ask, still looking around for other souls. 

“I told them to stay out of view since you have a tendency to stare.” he simply states, staring forward as he leads you down the halls.

You scoff at him. If anyone had a tendency to stare, it was him since his unblinking eyes never seemed to leave you. It was perspicuous that he didn’t want last night’s dinner experience to take place again, only wanting your attention on him and him only. 

“You know,” you suddenly speak up, voice a bit louder than usual, “If you truly want my opinion on things, l'd say you’re failing in terms of atmosphere. It's not normal for a place as busy as a hotel or a restaurant to be so devoid of other people, it makes it feel as though you and I are having a standoff.”

Illumi doesn’t acknowledge your comment right away, only continuing to stare forward as he attempts to process your audacious attitude. You already knew why he was doing it like this: he wanted to keep you away from what he deemed as “distractions.” you were smart enough to recognize and deflect his manipulative tactics to the best of your ability, which is how you’ve managed to retain your sanity for this long. 

You know he loves you — obsessed rather — although incapable of expressing it in a healthy manner. He arrogantly assumed you'd reciprocate the feeling with time and some gentle conditioning, but you never did out of spite, preventing yourself from falling for him as a way of fighting back. Not that you could fall for him anyway. He was far too rough with you, especially when he first brought you to the estate. He didn’t know how to handle someone so fragile, breaking your wrist when you swung on him and crushing your throat when you cursed at him. 

It took a while before you found out why he’d taken you, connecting the dots when he casually mentioned one day that he felt drawn to you before summarizing the five months he spent stalking you. He referred to you as his spouse once, but you were more of an experiment to him in the beginning, his feelings towards you cementing as time went on, confirming to him that he was indeed in love with you. You took advantage of that to the best of your ability, enticing him occasionally, giving him a false sense of your affections when you really wanted to avoid punishment, even if it didn’t always work out in your favor. 

“You’ve woken up in a bad mood, you’re just being grumpy.” Illumi finally responds.

“I’m not being grumpy. You may be used to being alone, but I’m not. For me, the lack of people takes away from the experience, it makes it hard to focus.”

Illumi swiftly glanced down at you before looking forward again, expression remaining neutral. You were dancing around the subject, hiding your true intentions under the guise of helping him improve the atmosphere. 

“I see, but I don’t think exposing you to the public would be ideal.”

“Ideal for yo-”

“Ideal for us.” he corrected, putting emphasis on the word “us.” 

Your attempts at persuading him into taking you somewhere more public wasn’t working, in fact, you were only succeeding in annoying him. Perhaps you were being too ambitious right now. 

“Surely not.” you mumble mainly to yourself, folding your arms as the two of you continue to make your way through the hotel. 

You reach the restaurant and sit at the same table, last night’s rose petals and candles still present. The butlers were nowhere in sight and there was a partition put up to block your view of the chefs. The glass wall was also covered with a thin drape, allowing light in but not see-through enough to give you a clear view of the people below.

Pay attention to him. 

“So uh,” you begin, feeling awkward as you try to get used to his direct staring once again, “what are we doing today?”

“We’re doing what I’ve planned.” Illumi states, not elaborating.

You attempt to pry for more details. “Could you be more specific?” 

“No.”

What a jerk. 

Despite the day just starting, the two of you were already getting on each other’s nerves. Since you can’t look out the window to distract yourself, you ultimately decided you would interrogate him in an attempt to fully understand the situation you were in. 

You take a long, deep breath before speaking. “You know,” you start, looking directly into his eyes, “I’m curious to know what made you decide to do all of this, did you watch some cheesy romance movie or did someone give you the idea?”

…

After a few moments of silence, Illumi slowly blinks at you. This was the first time you’ve seen him blink, mainly because you tend to avoid eye contact with him. He was caught off guard by how you directly questioned him, your bold confidence as interesting as it was concerning. 

“I was not inspired by anything. This is a simple product of my own ideas.” he stated, eyebrows slightly raised.

That’s doubtful, though you knew he wasn’t lying. 

“I see… men in romance movies typically don’t kidnap their partner, it was foolish of me to think you’d be inspired by that. Perhaps you were inspired by a horror movie?” it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain eye contact as you spoke, trying your best not to react to his silent indicators screaming at you to shut your mouth. You’d already dug yourself a hole, however, may as well keep digging. “Tell me, what inspired you?”

He’s glaring at you now, slight but noticeable. 

“Like I said, there’s no outside inspiration. I chose to do things this way on my own volition.”

“And that’s exactly why I described it as the ‘typical Illumi experience.’ it’s empty, devoid of life, and unnerving.” you say boldly.

His glare disappears, his neutral expression returning as he slowly tilts his head to the side. 

“‘Empty, devoid of life, and unnerving,’” he repeats slowly, “quite a descriptive set of words. Is it truly that way for you?”

“Yeah, I thought I made that clear by now.”

He straightened himself, blinking slowly once again. “It’s unfortunate to hear you see it that way.” 

His voice feigned politeness, turning his attention to the food now being brought to the table. The presence of the butlers doesn’t stop you from retorting, however.

“I gave you a clear solution to help you improve but since you’re so focused on isolating me, you won’t hear it.” you narrow your eyes at him. He doesn’t respond until the butlers have left the room entirely. 

“Is your solution to see other people?” he finally responds in an almost sarcastic tone.

You hated the way he worded that. 

“Yes, the place is empty.”

“It’s not empty, we’re here.”

“We are two people.”

“The butlers and hotel staff are here.”

“Paying guests,” you were becoming annoyed with his intentional stupidity. “people from all walks of life who just want to enjoy some time at the hotel with us. You know what I meant.”

“You should eat before it gets cold.” he looks down, picking up a fork and beginning his unnatural eating habits. You don’t heed his indirect warning to drop the subject, however. 

You continue, “Tell me why you won’t.” 

He doesn’t even look up at you, pretending you hadn’t even said a word.

You speak again, determined to keep going until he gives you an answer. “Give me a reason.” 

“Drop it.” he replies after finishing his plate.

“I won’t until you give me a reason!”

“The reason I chose not to have people here should be evident.”

“And it should be evident as to why your little date with me is a waste of time! You refuse to listen to me at all!”

Illumi is silent. He didn’t like your tone. Your words got to him more than it should and he couldn’t understand why. He was doing everything he could to make this date go smoothly and you were doing everything you could to make sure it wouldn’t.

He didn’t like how aware you were — how aware of him you were. You should have given into Stockholm syndrome months ago, yet here you were forcing him to actually try to earn your affections. Him. A professional assassin who was raised for the sole purpose of killing, whose soul was filled with nothing but darkness. You had made it clear that he could rip you away from your past life, torment you, and force you to go out with him, but he couldn’t force you to love him. Genuinely at least.

Illumi wondered if he should even continue trying…

No. He’d put too much effort into this to call it off. You were just looking for a reaction, that’s it. 

The thought that you wouldn’t be resentful had he taken a healthier approach to your relationship does not cross his mind. In fact, his mind is clear as he gazes upon you, no emotion present on his features. 

You slowly began to eat once it was apparent the topic wasn’t up for discussion anymore. At least the food was good, even if it failed to distract you from the near deadly tension in the air. His presence felt more suffocating than normal, though he wasn’t releasing aura, causing you to quickly eat just so you could get out of here sooner.

He makes no move to stand nor does he speak once you finish, making you awkwardly sit before him a little longer. This was your fault. You should’ve just shut your mouth. The effects of his staring was taking its toll on you the longer you sat there. 

“What’s the plan? Are we going back to Kukuroo Mountain now?” you ask. As much as you hate being in that room, you’d prefer your solidarity over this.

Illumi doesn’t reply, only turning his head slightly before standing and beginning to walk out of the restaurant. He didn’t feel the need to explain anything to you, leaving you to figure it out through his actions. You considered staying seated, but ultimately got up to follow him, knowing that’s what he expected of you. 

You trail slightly behind him as he leads you out of the hotel and into the parking lot, a black Mercedes truck parked just outside the entrance. He opens the passenger side door and just looks at you, not even bothering to give you a verbal command or even a gesture. You stare at him for a moment, wanting to irritate him, before climbing inside and buckling yourself up. 

You stare at the hotel as he walks around and hops into the driver’s seat. He soon begins driving. He appears to have a destination in mind, not Kukuroo Mountain as he’s driving opposite of when you were first taken to the hotel. 

He’s not a quitter, unfortunately. 

He was taking you to a grand mall, one he, of course, cleared out. He still wanted to please you despite your earlier ungratefulness, or so he convinced himself.

The ride was soundless. He chose not to turn on the radio. His eyes unmoving as he stared straight ahead, left hand on the wheel while his right hand sat dangerously close to you on the armrest. 

There were a few more Mercedes trucks within the mall’s parking lot; you could see there were butlers inside as Illumi drove past them, the pink haired butler from yesterday making direct eye contact with you through the windshield of her car. He parked, glancing at you for a brief moment before moving to open the driver’s door. 

He climbed out of the car while you stayed put, you watched as he circled around the front to come open your door. You wished the car had magically started itself and ran him over. You take your time unbuckling yourself, sighing before taking his hand as he “assisted” you out of the truck. 

He led you inside the mall, stopping once you reached the middle of the food court. It was completely empty, just as you’d guessed. You look around as he stands there, staring down at you. Your uncomfortableness is evident as you awkwardly shift your weight and fiddle with the hem of your shirt. 

“You’re free to begin shopping.” Illumi finally stated, giving you the go ahead. 

You gave a quiet “oh” before looking ahead, hesitant to take a step. You genuinely didn’t even feel like moving, not wanting to participate in his plan to keep the date going. Eventually you begin walking, figuring since you were here, you’d get some stuff to entertain yourself with back at the estate. You felt no interest in visiting clothing or jewelry stores considering Illumi would police when you wore whatever you got.

“This is so ominous.” you mumble, hands in your pockets as you walk through the food court and into the main shopping section of the mall. You were curious to know how Illumi did it, how he was able to almost completely clear out all of these places. Did he strike a deal with the owner? Did he kill them and take over the place? You turn towards Illumi, “How come all these big places are so empty? What did you do?”

“Does it matter?” his response was quicker than you’d anticipated. He didn’t appear to be upset though, maybe you could pry some details out of him.

“Did you kill the owner or something?” you look back at him as you’re trailing ahead slightly, his eyes meet yours for a moment before looking forward again.

“That would’ve been the cheapest route, but no.” Illumi admits. “I didn’t kill them.”

“So what did you do?”

Illumi is silent for a moment, as if contemplating something. He then says, “I rented the place for a period of time.”

“You rented this entire mall?!”

“I did. For two hours to be exact, so make the most of it.”

He chose to humor your questions. Good.

Your pace is slow as you walk, taking note of how certain stores were closed down. The accessible stores contained a couple butlers and a store clerk, the butlers standing directly in front of the checkout as if trying to block your view of the clerk. You continue to peer inside but make no effort to actually enter any of the stores. 

You tried to the best of your ability to ignore Illumi’s looming presence behind you, finally entering a store that caught your eye. It was a store that sold adult craft projects ranging from diamond art, to crochet, to even DIY houses similar to the greenhouse you had. 

You quickly look around. You felt invisible, but under a microscope at the same time. The clerk looking down from what you could see of them, the butlers occasionally glancing at you with their stoic expressions but ignored your presence for the most part, and, of course, Illumi gazing directly into your soul. Examining a diamond art kit, you check the price tag out of habit.

“You shouldn’t worry about the tags.” Illumi’s voice scared you a bit despite how gentle it was. 

He’s right. You shouldn’t worry about the price tags. 

You grab as much as you can hold, almost considering buying out the entire store, but not wanting to be questioned as to why you wanted ten of the exact same craft. 

As you approach the checkout with the items in hand, the two butlers gently take them from you and proceed to purchase on your behalf.

You stand and stare at them while they do their job, Illumi placing a hand on your shoulder and nudging you back, “You don’t have to wait for them to finish.” Illumi spoke as he watched the butlers. “We can go to the next store now.” 

You don’t respond to him, side stepping out of his hold and walking out of the store. As you enter a video game store, you purchase, or rather the butlers purchased, several games, most of which you’ll probably never even play but interests you enough to grab. You’ve kept your back turned towards Illumi the whole time, a privilege only a select few could enjoy, wanting to keep him out of your line of sight as much as possible. 

“You’re acting strange.” he stated as he followed you out of the store, “Is something wrong?”

“I’m just trying to enjoy myself.” you said, head lowered as you walked.

“You’re deliberately avoiding me.”

You stare down at your feet for a few moments before responding, “You're like an entity that only I can see whose sole purpose is to haunt me.” your tone was indifferent as you continued to stare down, an echo accompanying your footsteps while silence accompanied his own. “I feel like you're not even real and I’m just hallucinating.”

Illumi didn’t understand what it was you were talking about, and neither did you really, his eyebrows slightly raised as he fully turned his head to face you. 

“I’m very much real.”

“That’s the issue.” you close your eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. Which was truly better? A real person tormenting you or a hallucination tormenting you? Illumi had no words for your comment — he turned to face forward again, eyes leaving you for much longer than they ever had since you entered the mall. “I don’t even know why you’re dragging this out, it was doomed from the start.”

He’s quick to respond, “Was it? Or are you just intent on being difficult?”

You can sense a ping of his aura, causing you not to respond further. You stop walking, you’re now at the far end of the mall standing next to the escalators. You watch the moving stairs for a bit before looking up into the skylight. 

The slight humming of the escalator was strangely comforting — the sun shone perfectly down upon you, bathing you in a warm light. You looked down at your feet once more; you felt like crying. The nostalgic feelings you were trying desperately to repress were becoming too much to bear. 

Illumi watches, studying your strange behavior as you stand there with your eyes closed.

“What are you doing?” Illumi asked after watching you for almost a full minute. 

You consider ignoring him, but you can still sense him releasing the tiniest amount of aura.

“A skylight in my room would be nice.” 

“Your room is underground.” Illumi stated matter-of-factly. His response was quick, almost as if he’d predicted you’d say something like that.

“You’re more than capable of giving me a room above ground then installing a skylight.”

“I am.” he gave you a subtle side eye. He indeed had more than enough funds to make your new room, he just didn’t like the thought of giving you one. He assumed it would give you ideas, ideas he didn’t want to have to severely punish you for. 

“So do it.” you open your eyes and look at him, meeting his black, empty ones. 

“Your current room is sufficient enough.” he retorts.

“I like natural light, Illumi.” 

His aura is no longer present, his shoulders dropped slightly. He continued nonetheless, “You can survive without sunlight.”

He won't budge on your request. He saw nothing wrong with keeping you in a windowless room and having you take vitamin D supplements. This was normal to him after all. 

“Anytime I request something that would genuinely make me happy, you dismiss it immediately.”

“Your requests tend to be quite ridiculous.”

“But renting a mall isn’t?!” your voice was getting loud, you were frustrated with him. “You’d rather spend all that extra money on bullshit than something that would actually make me happy?!” 

“This date was supposed to make you happy. In fact, everything I do is for your well-being.” Illumi spoke slowly, making sure to look you dead in the eyes as he said this.

Despite your outburst, Illumi remained stoic. Not a trace of annoyance or even irritation within him, he was completely neutral.

Deep breath in, hold it, breathe out slowly.

You turn on your heel, walking past him and back towards the food court. You stop near the exit doors, peering out the glass and into the parking lot. 

“I’m done shopping.” you were beyond finished with this. 

You wish he never came up with this pathetic little date idea and just left you back at the estate. You hated the constant mind battles between the two of you; you were mentally exhausted and just wanted time away from him to reset, preferably the rest of your life. 

“We’ve been here for thirty-five minutes. We have about another hour and twenty-five minutes to shop.” he says casually. You don’t respond, only glaring at him before looking out into the parking lot once again. His eyes continue to linger on you. “You should shop some more.”

It was clear it wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. 

“Save your money-” you attempt to argue, but he cuts you off.

“Don’t worry about my money. I’m telling you to continue shopping.” he spoke, signaling he was slowly becoming a bit irritated despite his very, very calm expression. 

“I already got what I wanted.” you glare at him again.

You knew exactly what you were doing. You were intentionally rushing so you could leave sooner and waste the money he’d used to rent the mall.

He was aware of this. 

“Do you not know how to enjoy yourself at a mall? I’m giving you a great privilege here.”

“It’s hard to enjoy a mall under these circumstances.”

“You’re just being difficult.” Illumi retorted, trying to make it seem as if your unhappiness was your own cause. 

“That’s NOT-”

“Watch your tone.” his voice sounded menacing, causing you to shut your mouth immediately.

His aura returned, his patience was running thin. You’re quiet for a moment, glancing out into the parking lot and daringly taking another step towards the doors.

“Can…” your voice is low as you speak, “can we just go back to Kukuroo-“

“Let’s continue shopping.” Illumi cuts you off once again.

You’re not daring enough to take another step, let alone actually make your way through those doors, as much as you want to. You continue to stand there despite Illumi’s request. Would you even be able to open the door before he grabbed you?

Your question was unfortunately answered when he moved swiftly and stood directly in front of you, basically teleporting before you. He cupped your face just as fast in a firm, almost tight hold, forcing you to look up at him. His hands were surprisingly warm.

“(Name).” he’d drawn out your name in a sickeningly soft tone, his eyes failing to match the gentleness of his voice. It was a sight you didn’t want to behold. You step back, to which he lets go, and turn to proceed back into the main shopping section. His eyes linger on you before he clapped his hands together once, all traces of aura instantly vanishing. “I’m glad you’ve decided to enjoy this experience further, (Name).” his voice was still soft, almost cheerful as he followed close behind you. 

Your heart is still beating rapidly as you walk through the mall, slowly taking your time exploring each of the stores. You don’t buy anything though, you were simply staring at the merchandise as if they were artifacts in a museum. Illumi starts pointing out things you’d like, or rather things he’d like on you, when you fail to make a purchase after the third store. 

Only an hour remaining.

You began staring at items for far too long, attempting to shave off as much time as possible, ignoring Illumi when he asked if it was something you wanted. He bought them anyway so it didn’t matter. He began purchasing anything you stared at, annoyed but not commenting on your stubborn attitude.

Only thirty minutes remaining.

As you walk the halls, you choose to stop and examine a statue you’ve passed at least three times. Illumi stands awfully close to you.

“You’re testing my patience, (Name).” he says. You don’t feel his aura, thankfully, but you knew you were pushing him too far.

“I don’t know what you want-”

“You know exactly what I want.” he slowly brought his hand to rest on your shoulder. You don’t sense any hints of mischief behind it, but you knew better than to trust it. “I thought this would’ve been a nice way for us to bond, but, of course, you’re obstinate.”

“Bond?” you ask, voice somewhat soft from the threat of his hand on you.

“Yes.”

“How?” you asked. Despite being held captive for months, you still fail to fully understand how Illumi thinks. You can feel his grip on you tighten slightly before resting once again.

“We bond whenever we are with each other, that’s how it works.”

You’re too tired to correct him, not that he’d understand anyway. “Tell me,” you start, “what is the purpose of this, Illumi?”

“This is the second time you’ve asked me this.”

“You never answered why you’re doing this, you only stated you weren’t inspired by anything and chose to do this on your own free will. I’m asking you why you’re doing this.”

Illumi is quiet for a few seconds before responding, “I wanted to spend time with you, that’s all.”

“Really?” you questioned.

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” you brought your hand up to your chin, trying to think of a possible ulterior motive. There was definitely more to this, but you couldn’t think of what it was. 

Only twenty-seven minutes remaining. 

“We don’t have much time left here. I believe it would be wise for you to do what I expect of you.” Illumi states as he removes his hand from your shoulder.

You go along with it, just wanting to get it over without being overwhelmed by Illumi. 

One minute remaining.

You half assed the last twenty-six minutes of shopping, but it was good enough for Illumi. He didn’t complain, or speak at all really, as he watched you hand the butlers random items you’ve picked up.

Once that was done, he led you outside and back into the truck, a weight being lifted off your shoulders when you felt the wind blow against your skin.

You didn’t bother asking him about the next location, knowing he wouldn’t tell you. He put on some music this time; he must be feeling better. 

Your tiredness instantly evaporated once you realized he was driving into the city, other Zoldyck trucks joining and forming a motorcade around the two of you. 

The car comes to a stop on an empty street, your eyes scan the butlers standing guard, locking on the pink haired one for a split second, before moving to the blockades blocking off side streets. Illumi does his chivalry deed before walking you towards the bus stop. 

Your head doesn’t stop swiveling, turning towards the buildings, to the lake, to the butlers, to the birds pecking at the ground, to the approaching bus. 

“Is this a tour bus?” you ask, instantly recognizing it as you’d been on one with your friends before. 

“Yes.” he responds flatly. 

As the bus pulls up, you get a good look at it. It was a big, red double decker bus, the windows a little too tinted to be legally owned by any company. You’re a little quick to climb inside once the doors open, it was empty aside from two butlers seated at the very back.

“Can we sit on the roof?” you ask, wanting to feel the breeze on your face but also wanting a vantage point to scout for other signs of life. 

“No. Sit here.” 

Illumi doesn’t offer any reasoning, only pointing to a row of seats on the right side of the bus. You take the window seat and Illumi sits next to you, caging you in.

Perhaps you should’ve let him take the window seat instead.

There’s a screen in front of you playing a pre recorded audio commentary as the ride begins, it was the only voice heard within the bus. Your heart sinks a little when you see people walking about and civilian cars waiting at intersections. It was a normal day for them. 

You look forward, then behind you, ignoring Illumi and the butlers’ curious eyes, as you confirm that the bus indeed was part of another motorcade. You slump slightly, looking out the window and at the curious faces of pedestrians completely unaware of what was going on. 

You had barely caught anything the audio commentary had explained about the various landmarks you’d passed, too busy reminiscing on past times to even care. The bus had done a full loop around the city, soon coming to a halt at the bus stop it picked you up from. 

Instead of walking you back to the truck, Illumi holds your hand, correctly this time as he didn’t give you time to freak out, and walks you to a nearby grassy area along the lakefront. His hold was a little tight.

There was a large blanket set out underneath a lone cherry blossom tree, Shiori setting down a singular basket, bowing to the both of you, then leaving. 

You both settled onto the blanket, Illumi sitting unreasonably close despite the vast amounts of space. You allowed yourself to relax a bit regardless, taking in the view of the lake mixed with the falling cherry blossom petals. You paid no mind to Illumi as he fumbled through the basket, using hand sanitizer but not offering you any.

He carefully unpacked the contents, laying out a meal too small to be enjoyed by two people. You silently glance over at it before looking forward again. The view was nice, various skyscrapers and buildings lined the horizon, and a few clouds decorated the big, blue sky. 

It was silent, you and Illumi haven’t spoken to each other since you got on the bus — it was better that way. Illumi savored your docile demeanor, content that you were finally relaxing around him for once. He wasn’t fixated on you surprisingly, only gazing upon the city view before him.

You’d sat there for about ten minutes, relaxing enough to shut your eyes as you envisioned yourself in another place, before Illumi finally spoke up, “Aren’t you going to eat something?”

You slowly opened your eyes, looking at the mini meal sprawled out on the blanket, then at the fork Illumi held tightly before closing them again. 

“No.” you said simply. This was a trap.

Illumi tilted his head as he looked at you. “Why not?” 

“Why aren’t you eating?” you question him instead. “You’ve been holding that fork for a while now, and yet you haven’t reached for anything.”

You were suspicious. This was a one person meal and Illumi was holding the only fork you could see yet made no move to use it. This could only mean one thing.

“This is for you. I’m not hungry.”

You sit upright. “Where are all the forks?”

“In my hand.” he stated nonchalantly. “What would you like to eat first?”

You were becoming nervous. “Just give me the fork.” you state, holding your hand out to him. 

“What would you like to eat first?” he repeats, looking down at the options before him and ignoring your hand.

“Please don’t do this to me.”

“You will eat the chicken Alfredo first.”

You retract your hand as he reaches for the chicken Alfredo, opening the container and allowing its savory scent to escape. You watch in horror as he collects a few noodles onto the fork and holds it up to you. 

His intentions were clear; he was going to feed you.

“I can feed myself.” 

“I know. Open your mouth.”

“Illumi-“

The fork was shoved into your mouth, the prongs hitting the back of your throat and causing you to choke. You cover your mouth when he pulls the fork out, coughing through your nose as you collect yourself from the sudden assault. At least the chicken Alfredo was good. 

“Hopefully you’ll listen this time. Come.” 

He scooped more noodles and chicken onto the fork, holding it out to you again. You glare at him before complying, allowing him to feed you gently this time. The cycle continues until the entire meal is gone, leaving only empty containers. 

He didn't say anything else once he was finished, but you noticed a slight smile on his otherwise expressionless face. He was happy. Very, very happy. 

Both of you sit in silence for a while, Illumi enjoying your presence and you ignoring his. Eventually he stands up, motioning for you to follow. He leads you back to the truck, performing an unneeded act of chivalry as he helps you inside, before pulling onto the road, the same Mercedes trucks driven by Zoldyck butlers surrounding the vehicle once more.

Illumi had one more activity planned for the day, one he was sure you’d love: a botanical garden. He had a slight smile on his face as he drove, eyes never leaving the road but he was definitely paying close attention to you. 

It took a short while, but he eventually reached his destination, quickly helping you out of the car before guiding you through the gates and into the garden. He seemed quite eager. The garden was huge, so he expected the both of you to be there for at least two hours, walking and analyzing all the different plants.

You were partially in higher spirits as you took in the different sights and smells, your facial features softening slightly. You were docile as you followed Illumi throughout the garden, engaging in conversation with him about all the different plants. He educated you on the purposes of different plants, ones that healed, ones that calmed, and ones that were extremely toxic but had a sweet, almost candy-like flavor. You don’t question him about that. 

He felt like he was truly bonding with you for once as you engaged with him. There wasn’t an ounce of negativity within you as you walked beside him, though you weren’t exactly beaming and doing heel clicks. You were calm; that was enough for him.

The sun had set and the moonlight bathed the garden in a white glow, fireflies fluttering about in the near darkness. You two had already begun the long walk back to the entrance a few minutes ago, silent as you listened to the chirping of numerous crickets and other critters. 

“It’s nice being able to enjoy nature like this.” Illumi stated as he stared ahead. 

“Yeah.” your tone was indifferent. “I used to go on walks like this all the time, but then something really unfortunate happened.”

“Hmm.”

Illumi only gave a simple hum in response, not wanting the mood to turn unpleasant so suddenly. Thankfully you didn’t say anything else to force an argument, quiet as he led you back to the entrance and into the car. 

The drive back was smooth, the only sounds being heard was the humming of the engine and the soft music coming from the radio. He takes you to the restaurant upon entering the hotel and dinner was just as quiet. You must be too tired to challenge him as you simply stare down at your plate. Good. He was finally able to enjoy a meal with you without getting a headache.

After dinner, he took you back to your shared suite, both of you showering before hopping into bed. You immediately roll onto your side, facing away from him as you try to escape into a deep sleep. He’s sat up in bed though, silently staring at you. 

The curtain covering the balcony door was partially opened, allowing the moonlight to flood the room and perfectly illuminate your figure. The sight causes him to reminisce for a moment.

“You were happier today —” Illumi spoke, voice a bit soft, “in the later half at least.” he’s silent for a moment as he thinks to himself. “I want to discuss something before you nod off.”

“Mhm.” you lazily hum.

You’d contemplated ignoring him in hopes he’d think you were sleeping, but you could count zero times that actually worked for you before. 

“Despite the rocky start… did you enjoy yourself today?”

He was seeking reassurance. He was being vulnerable. 

You’re in no rush to respond, allowing the silence to linger longer than he’d like. You think of all the different types of responses you could give him, ones that would please him enough to get him to shut up, ones that would severely upset him, and ones that would probably lead to him laying hands on you. 

“Would you enjoy doing your favorite things with someone who torments you?” you ask, ultimately deciding your answer would be up to Illumi. 

“So you enjoyed it? That’s good to hear.”

You don’t bother to correct him, knowing it would lead to a back and forth that would never conclude. 

Illumi, on the other hand, is completely satisfied, despite misinterpreting the true meaning behind your indirect answer. He was convinced that, ignoring your earlier defiance, today had been a total success and a step forward in the right direction. 

He’d only hoped he could make even more progress with you tomorrow.

.

Day three

.

Illumi rises very early, as he usually does, and gets himself ready for the day. His movements are silent as he walks about the suite, putting his clothes on, combing his hair, and more. He stands next to your side of the bed for a moment, gazing down upon your sleeping face and admiring your relaxed features.

He stares for way longer than he intended to before quietly making his way out the suite and to a secluded area. He makes a long phone call before returning to the suite and sliding back into bed, sitting upright as he stares at the blank TV.

You stir three hours later, yawning and stretching before sitting up. You wipe your eyes then look back at Illumi.

“Morning.” he greets.

“Hi.” your voice was softer than you meant it to be.

“Sleep well?”

“Mhm.”

You slide off the bed and head to the bathroom before he could ask you more pointless questions about how you slept. You complete your morning routine, taking a moment to stare at yourself in the mirror, before opening the bathroom door and standing in the doorway. Illumi slowly looks over at you. 

“When are we leaving?” you ask, wanting to limit the amount of time spent locked in an enclosed space with Illumi. 

“Whenever you’d like.” he responded simply.

You silently maintain eye contact with him for three seconds before making a request, “I want to pick my own outfit today, Illumi.”

Illumi taps his chin as if contemplating before sliding off the bed and heading toward the wardrobe. You watch him from your spot in the doorway as he lays multiple outfits out onto the bed, all featuring short sleeved tops and shorts coupled with some form of sandals for shoes.

“Take your pick.”

Sometimes you wonder if he’s intentionally misinterpreting you just to play mind games or if he’s really that unaware. You know it’s the latter, though. 

“This isn’t what I meant.” you state as he stares at you.

“You said you wanted to pick your outfit. I am giving you options to pick from.”

You decide not to fight it as this was the most control you’ve had over your own outfit in several weeks. You pick one that seemed to have the least of his inspiration and head to the bathroom with it. 

Illumi watched as the door shut behind you, clueless as to why you still had a problem with him even when he let you do what you wanted. He doesn’t dwell on it, packing the leftover clothes back into the wardrobe and calling the butlers to prepare breakfast. 

Once you were done and ready, he escorts you to the restaurant as usual. You feel a ping of unexplainable dread bubbling within you, but don’t think too much about it, chalking it up to the thought of having to deal with Illumi for yet another day for who knows how long. 

As you sit across from Illumi, you notice the rose petals have been replaced with fresh ones, some white and pink ones thrown into the mix. You fiddle with them as Illumi blankly stares at you. 

“We will be spending a lot of time outdoors today.” Illumi said. He figured he’d be the conversation starter during breakfast today as yesterday’s breakfast conversation led by you turned out to be very unsavory. “It’ll be good for the mind.”

“Yeah, I bet.” you continue fiddling with and even slowly tearing apart the rose petals. 

“Aren’t you going to ask what we’re doing?” Illumi inquired.

You don’t even look up at him. “What’s the point?”

“Do you not want to know what we’re doing today?”

“It’s not like you’d tell me anyway.”

“How do you know?”

You finally look up at him. “Why are you interrogating me?”

“I’m not. I’m just trying to have a conversation.”

You’d prefer if Illumi just kept his mouth shut as you weren’t in the mood for his pathetic attempt at a conversation. 

“For what? You’re not the talkative type.”

“I just wanted to talk.” he simply states. His voice had been slightly softer as he spoke with you.

“Is this another bonding experience of yours?” you mock, mentally rolling your eyes. 

“Yes.”

Of course he doesn’t sense your sarcasm.

“You know,” you start, noticing how Illumi stiffened slightly. “You know” was always your way of starting an argument. “communication in a healthy… relationship… is key. If you truly wish to bond with me, you’ll tell me everything you refused to tell me before.”

“I’ve already been doing that.” he states, referring to all the tiny bits of information he’s given you the last couple of days. 

“There is something bigger I want to know, something you’ve been refusing to talk to me about since you took me.”

Illumi looks down at the pile of mangled rose petals in front of you before looking back up into your eyes. He could already predict where you were headed with this and knew it would most likely lead to something that would put the progress he believed he made with you in jeopardy. You were simply seeking some sort of approval from him to talk, though.

“I’m not interested in this discussion.” Illumi boldly replies, the softness in his voice long gone. 

“It’s the least you could do, Illumi.”

“No.” he didn’t budge.

“You’re only going to end up sabotaging yourself.”

Illumi’s eyes narrowed at your subtle threat. You were basically telling him that if he didn’t have this conversation with you, you’d make the date hell for the both of you. 

“There is nothing positive that could come from this discussion; therefore, I see no reason to have it.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.” Illumi says boldly. You were slightly taken aback by how quickly and effortlessly Illumi pinned the blame onto you, completely believing he’d done nothing wrong. “I see no point in giving you the chance to start unneeded drama.”

“You don’t need to give me the chance, it will happen regardless. I’m throwing you a bone by trying to settle things in a civil manner.” you say, watching as his eyes narrow even more.

“There is nothing to settle. Nothing will change whether you know or don’t.”

“You’re obligated to talk to me at this point.”

“I’ve been talking to you this entire time, I’ve fulfilled that obligation. You’re only going to throw a fit and ruin what we have going on currently.”

“You think we have something going on between us simply because we didn’t argue for a few hours?” You mock, your balled up fists resting on the table.

“Yes.”

Your words are caught in your throat as you realize just how out of it he truly is. Two butlers come and deliver breakfast, gently setting the plates of food in front of you and Illumi. They quickly leave, probably sensing the tension in the air, and Illumi immediately begins eating. He’s eating much, much slower than usual, though. 

He’s staring down at his plate as he does so, avoiding eye contact with you and hoping you’d just drop it for his sake.

You don’t.

“What was… the aftermath of my disappearance?” you ask, carefully choosing your words due to past experiences with Illumi’s negative reactions. Usually bringing up this topic was punishable by strangulation. Illumi had only warned you once before not to ask him about it, not explaining why or what he’d do if you did, only leaving you to find out through trial and error. “I deserve to know that much after so long.”

The dread coupled with asking the forbidden question is building in your stomach. You instinctively hold your hands under your chin, preparing yourself in case your plan to hold this date over his head doesn’t work. 

He doesn’t look up at you, but he’s not eating anymore either. Illumi had his reasons for not wanting to talk to you about this. It wasn’t because he felt guilt or shame for what he’d done, no not at all, it was because he didn’t want to deal with your reaction to it. You were a screaming, crying mess back then and even though you’ve calmed down to some degree, you’re still quick to return to your old roots. 

He found you as fascinating as he found you irritating, no longer questioning why he couldn’t bring himself to just kill you and move on with his life. You were a breath of fresh air, someone who kept him interested, someone who kept him wondering, and someone who always managed to surprise him with how bitchy you continued to be.

The realization that you’d rather be stifled until you’re unconscious than favor his simple demand sinks into him. You truly are an unruly brat. He finally looks up at you, which causes you to stiffen.

“What do you want to know?”

Illumi was made aware that you’d never shut up about it, and he wasn’t fond of the thought of cutting your vocal cords. He caved into your threat, to some degree, thinking that if he chose his words carefully, he could make it out of this discussion with minimal damage. He’d just have to walk on eggshells for a few minutes, eggshells he put down. 

Your eyes widened slightly. Was he actually agreeing to talk with you about it?

“You’ll… you’ll tell me?” you ask, hands slowly coming down to rest on the table.

“If we can move forward quickly afterwards and you never bring it up again, yes.” Illumi responded, making sure to place clear conditions.

“I will, only if you answer all of my questions truthfully.”

“Understandable.”

Your heart was beating rapidly as you looked into his eyes, all questions you had about the subject nearly leaving you before you quickly collected yourself. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself for what’s to come. You open them again after a moment, staring straight into his black ones.

“Have you harmed any of my friends or family since you’ve taken me?”

“No.” his answer was quick and concise. You were relieved. 

“Was I reported as a missing person?”

“Yes.”

“Did you… influence my case at all?”

“Yes.”

Your eyebrows furrow slightly. Yes he was answering your questions, but he wasn’t elaborating. “What did you do?” you ask.

“I made sure your case wasn’t thoroughly investigated.”

“Could you be more specific? I want to know the details.” you say with a hint of irritation in your voice. 

“I paid detectives to ignore all the statements the police took from you and to limit how long search parties spent looking for you. You were concluded as a runaway.”

Your eyebrows furrow even more as you think how distraught your family must’ve been when you vanished, what they must’ve been thinking when greedy detectives fed them lies in order to make a quick buck. You hate him.

“Why me?!” you yell at him.

You were beyond fed up with this, beyond fed up with him. He tilts his head at you, expression neutral as he brought a hand up to his chin as if he was thinking. 

“Indeed. Why you?” he doesn’t say anything else as he continues to stare at you in that pose.

“Why me?! Tell me, why are you doing this to me?!”

He takes a moment to respond, “That is indeed a good question.”

“You don’t even know why, do you?”

“No. I don't.” Illumi admits casually. “But even without knowing, the need is still there.” He straightens himself again, hands moving to rest on his lap. "I originally intended to kill you. I thought you were using some kind of power to control me. Imagine my surprise when I found out you weren't a nen user."

“A nen user? What the hell is that?”

He doesn’t answer your question, only silently looking at you. When you fail to say anything further, he looks down at his plate and continues eating in his usual quick fashion. It’s over with. He’s relieved.

You ponder momentarily, looking down at the food before you as you contemplate what you’re about to say. It was a long shot, but did you really have much to lose?

“I want to talk to my family. I want them to know I’m still alive and well.” you say confidently, not a trace of fear in your voice. 

If Illumi wasn’t obsessed with you, he would’ve killed you right then and there for making such a stupid, ignorant request. His frustration is calmly taken out on the fork he’s holding, his tight grip bending the metal into all sorts of shapes as his neutral expression remains fixated on the plate before him. It was a terrifying sight.

“Absolutely not.” his voice is terrifyingly nonchalant. “This discussion ends here.”

His aura warns you. You don’t care, though.

“I want to talk to them.” you repeat.

“We are not discussing this any further. Eat your food. Now.”

“Why can’t I talk to my own family?”

Illumi looks up at you, you see something flash in his eyes. “If you talk to your family, they’ll come looking for you. And if they come looking for you, I’ll kill them. By keeping them unaware, their safety is guaranteed. I’m doing you a favor.”

Your hands balled into fists once more. “How?! How are you doing me a favor?!”

Illumi replies quickly, “By not killing them from the start.”

“How can you say that and expect me to be happy with you?!”

“Because they’re still alive.”

“And so that’s it?!” your voice is starting to get loud. “Because you didn’t kill my family, I’m supposed to love and accept you?!”

“Correct.” he states boldly.

His aura was becoming more suffocating despite his completely neutral demeanor. You grit your teeth in anger.

“You’re fucking insane!” you shout at him, slamming your fist on the table and causing your untouched drink to spill. Illumi watches as the reddish pink fruit punch soaks into the table cloth. “Why would I want to live the rest of my life with someone like you?! I’d rather you just kill me at this point, it would be mercy!”

This is why he didn’t want to have this discussion, you were forgetting your place. 

“Watch yourself, (Name).” he says as he looks up at you. “This is your only warning.”

“Fuck you.”

Illumi abruptly stood up, the force knocking his chair back a few feet. Your anger immediately vanishes, fear taking its place. He grabs your wrist tightly, yanking you out of your seat and dragging you out of the restaurant. He had enough, your audaciousness had gone unpunished for far too long. 

Your weak attempts to pull away were only met with him tightening his grip more, causing you to cry out. It felt like he’d crush your wrist if he tightened any more. The tears had already begun streaming down your face, but you refused to beg for forgiveness. 

He’d taken you back to the suite, practically throwing you on the floor as he slammed the door shut behind him. He stood there, staring down at you with a look that would normally kill. 

“I’ve been very patient with you, I’ve been very lenient with you, and I’ve been very considerate of you, and this is what I get in return?” he asks.

You remain on the floor, wiping your tear stained eyes before looking up at him. “I don’t owe you shit. You ruined my life.”

“Ruined your life? You don’t know what ruining a life even means.” he takes a step towards you. He was convinced he saved your life, saved you from what would’ve been a violent death. You don’t seem to understand the type of person he is. “If I really wanted to, I could make your life a living hell. You understand that, don’t you?”

You glare up at him, your intense hatred for him evident on your face. “I hate you.”

Such a childish response should not have any sort of effect on him, but it did when it came from you. His aura quickly became overwhelming, striking you with complete and utter terror as you lay frozen on the ground. His eyes wide, his pupils shrunken to dots, and his hair floating in the air. You’d activated his bloodlust. 

His aura reached far and wide, paralyzing the hotel employees and causing the butlers to think he’d finally killed you. 

“No, you don’t. You love me.” he spoke his words as if they were fact, something you could not argue with. He takes another step toward you, eyes boring into you. “Isn’t it funny how you beg for death yet freeze in terror when the possibility of death becomes a reality?”

His voice was unnaturally soft for the state he was in. He was happy, happy that your talk of wanting to die was nothing more than a bluff, a tactic to control him. You didn’t actually want to die, you were just overreacting.

After a few seconds, he calmed down. His face returned to his neutral expression, his long hair falling back down into place. It’s as if nothing had even happened.

“Hm…” he hums, looking down at your paralyzed figure on the floor. He ponders for a few seconds before suddenly crouching down, scooping you into his arms, and gently placing you onto the bed. 

Without thinking twice about it, he lays beside you, one arm awkwardly outstretched on top of you as his head sits atop of yours. He was comforting you, though he didn’t know it. He had gotten an uncontrollable urge to do so, one he’d never gotten before, and was in no state of mind to resist. 

He stares out the balcony door as you lay unconscious in his arms. This feeling was foreign to him, just as everything relating to you was. He couldn’t comprehend how he felt right now, but knew he was at ease as he absorbed your warmth and slight twitches.

Illumi doesn’t move at all as he waits for you to wake up, awkwardly sprawled out partially on top of you as he continues to blankly stare ahead. His mind was empty, he felt no desire to dwell on what had happened, only allowing time to pass as he accepted this bizarre feeling. 

You eventually begin to stir, but he still doesn’t move, only shifting his eyes to look down at you. You slowly sit up, groaning as you do so, and wiping your eyes in the process. His arm falls lower than you’d like, causing you to grab and remove it off of you entirely. Neither of you say a word, but the tension doesn’t feel as heavy as you’d expect it to be after something so traumatic. 

Illumi remains in his awkward position, watching as you slide off the bed and head to the bathroom. You stay in the bathroom for quite some time, your quiet sniffling and sobbing reaching Illumi’s ears. He doesn’t move to check on you, or rather put a stop to your crying, choosing to sit by and let you cry it out for once. 

He finally gets up after a while, thinking he’d given you more than enough time to recover and move on. He pulls out his phone, quickly texting Shiori, before moving to knock on the bathroom door. He casually states that the two of you will be leaving soon and encourages you to come out. 

You don’t respond but you do comply after a few minutes, eyes reddened and slightly puffy. He doesn’t comment on it, only silently walking you out the suite, outside the hotel, and into the truck once more. 

Despite almost brutally murdering you twice within a five minute time span and bruising your wrist, Illumi was nonchalant. He has the radio playing so he must be in a good, or at least neutral, mood. 

He parks near his next destination — the beach — and assists you out the car as usual, his hold much, much gentler than it ever had been. He continues to stand there after shutting the door behind you though, holding your uninjured hand and watching Shiori as she appears out of nowhere. Shiori doesn’t say a word as she gently takes your injured wrist. You don’t know what she does, but the pain and bruising is suddenly gone. She swiftly bows before leaving.

You’ve never verbally questioned her magical abilities but you mentally thank her as Illumi proceeds to escort you towards the beach. You think to yourself how strange this whole ordeal is but don’t feel the need to comment on that obvious fact, only remaining silent as he takes you over to two lounge chairs set up under a beach umbrella. 

You sit down, propping your head up on your hand as you stare out into the ocean. This was relaxing. Shiori appears once again, placing a pineapple smoothie inside of a hollow pineapple on the little table beside you before leaving just as quickly, a red umbrella and a swirly straw placed inside for maximum corniness. You ignore it. 

There was a surprising sense of tranquility within you as you sat in the lounge chair; the breeze felt nice, the sound of the waves was like a massage for your ears, and the occasional seagull noises gave you a sense of nostalgia. 

Your mind was calm, yet racing all at once, a feeling you were all too familiar with. You fully relax onto the chair, kicking your sandals off and turning onto your side — away from Illumi. You rest your head on your hands, shutting your eyes as the warm sun cleansed you of your stress. 

An hour passes, then two, then three.

“The view is nice.” Illumi finally speaks, continuing to stare ahead of him as he had been doing since he sat down. 

You don’t acknowledge him, not that he minded — for once — as he retained his calm demeanor. 

Illumi continued after a few minutes, ”We’re going to have dinner with my family back at Kukuroo Mountain tomorrow.”

Your heart sunk into your stomach. You immediately sit up, looking over at him for the first time since you came here. 

“What?!” you ask, clearly distraught over this unfortunate information.

Illumi turns his head slightly, shifting his eyes toward you as he repeats himself, “We are going to have dinner with my family back at Kukuroo Mountain tomorrow.” he turns forward again. “It’ll only be for a few hours, we’ll come back to the hotel once it’s over.”

“But-but why?”

“Because we have more to do here.” Illumi states. God, you can’t stand him.

You fully sit up in the chair, “I’m asking why are we suddenly having dinner with them when you’ve never introduced them to me before?” 

“They’ve been wanting to meet you since they found out about you, especially my mother.” Illumi taps his chin with his pointer finger. “I reached a compromise last night: you said the lack of people took away from your ability to enjoy time with me, and my family won’t stop pestering me about you, so by taking you to have dinner with them, I’m killing two birds with one stone.” 

Unbeknownst to you, the rest of the Zoldycks, at least his mother and father, had been extremely curious about you. Illumi had only mentioned you to his father when he was asking for permission to construct your living quarters near the Butler’s Quarters as well as when asking for his advice on courtship. The idea of Illumi being in love with someone completely caught the man off guard, but he gave Illumi what he wanted nonetheless. 

His mother found out when she questioned her husband about the construction workers, her jaw dropping dramatically before immediately bolting to find Illumi. She spread the news and hounded Illumi since then, never missing an opportunity to ask a question about you, which were all left unanswered, and even going as far as to harass Shiori and any other butlers who saw you in person. She never got the answers she wanted from them, courtesy of Illumi. 

His father, on the other hand, was patient and allowed Illumi to do his thing, thinking he was finally transitioning into the next stage in life. That doesn’t mean he didn’t order his loyal, pink haired butler to keep tabs on you, having her use her monocle to record her very rare interactions with you. He even had her join the large group of butlers Illumi took with him on his trip, giving him intel on what went on as everything unfolded.

Illumi was aware and assigned her with jobs that would keep her the furthest from you.

“What?! Why would they want to meet me?! Did you lie about me to make me seem cool?!” your voice raises slightly.

Illumi doesn’t react to it. “I only told my father that you were my partner, that’s it. I’m guessing he told my mother who then told everyone else.” 

Illumi didn’t want to introduce you too soon for one simple reason: you weren’t ready. He wanted you to be his happy, willing partner in everyone’s eyes, even those who knew better, and was concerned your lack of respect and unpredictable behavior would ruin that image. 

It made sense for them to be so curious, none of them had ever imagined Illumi of all people finding a lover and being so committed to them. They were intrigued and wanted to know who it was that Illumi thought worthy enough for his time, effort, and affections.

You’re clearly terrified at the thought. 

You sink back onto the chair, pulling your knees close to you as you think of all the different ways you’ll be humiliated and brutally tortured, how high their expectations of you must be, and how they’ll laugh when they find out you’re just a normal, average person. They probably thought you were also some kind of murderer, taking jobs and lives left and right. It was nerve-wracking.

“I don’t…” you start, “I don’t want to…”

Illumi looks over at you. “I did what you wanted, you can’t back out of it now.”

“Why'd you even bother telling me this? You never told me your plans before!”

“You said communication was key in a healthy relationship.” he answered.

You don’t say anything else to him. Whenever you thought you’d gotten the upper hand, Illumi found a way to counter it. You wondered if you would still have to meet his family tomorrow if you had kept your mouth shut the other day or if Illumi would’ve even told you about it if you hadn’t started that argument during breakfast.

He was taking you into consideration, just in all the wrong ways. 

The two of you sit in silence once again, your mind dreading tomorrow’s dinner and his mind as relaxed as can be. You continue to sit there for a couple more hours before Illumi announces it was time to head back.

Your mind never stopped racing, replaying thoughts of them attacking you over and over again. You don’t say anything during the car ride, you don’t say anything during dinner, which was much appreciated, and you don’t say anything as you ponder in the shower, only coming out after Illumi rushes you for taking too long. He slides onto his side of the bed after coming out of the bathroom, reaching for the remote and turning on the TV. You were already tucked under the blankets, trying and failing to fall into a deep slumber as your mind continued to torment you with endless possibilities.

Illumi browses through channels until he ultimately settles on a random cooking show. He didn’t particularly care for it, only wanting something to fill the silence while he waited for something. You shift constantly before laying on your back, allowing yourself to watch as the contestants on TV failed to execute a successful dinner service, a British man pointing out all their faults and demanding they fix it. 

Watching the show eased some of your anxiety so you stay up for another couple of hours before you feel yourself beginning to drift off. You turn onto your side once more, getting comfortable as you try to fall asleep again. 

Illumi sees this and swiftly powers the TV off, completely turning the room pitch black as the curtain covering the balcony door was shut. He continues to sit up, however, eyes lingering on you in the darkness. 

He suddenly moves, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you towards the middle of the bed, wrapping his arms around you and causing all traces of sleepiness to leave you immediately. You shift once, slightly pushing against his arm. He only pulls you closer to him. You shift again, pushing harder this time. He only tightens his grip. He was getting way too comfortable.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your heart rate beginning to quicken.

“Holding you.” Illumi stated simply. 

It was clear by your body language that you were uncomfortable, body tense and stiff as you tried not to rub against him even more than you already had. He didn’t mind, though.

You internally curse him for spooning you as you now find yourself unable to sleep. You lay wide awake in his arms, too nervous to move due to how close and personal he was, but too uncomfortable to stay still either. You couldn’t help but shift a bit more, eventually finding a position comfortable enough to grant you the escape of a deep sleep. Illumi, however, remains wide awake, a slight smile on his face as he absorbs your warmth once again.

Tomorrow will be one hell of a day.

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

The Witcher Masterlist

my requests for the Witcher are currently OPEN!! i'm partial to eskel, and love writing imagines/talking about my headcanons, but open to pretty much any character!!

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Geralt of Rivia

r o m a n t i c

A Quiet Moment - relationship: geralt x reader | summary: based on some prompt that asked you to write a scene between two characters just being around each other with no dialogue. Immediately thought of Geralt. | tags: fluff, angst

Extraordinarily normal - coming soon...

Scales Unbalanced - coming soon...

Geralt of Rivia NSFW Alphabet | tags: fluff, smut

p l a t o n i c

Stern - coming soon...

Eskel

A Hero from the Songs - coming soon...

Ribs - relationship: eskel x reader | summary: You're not from the world where the Witcher takes place. So, to stay alive, you stay glued to your witcher - Eskel. Catching feelings for him was bound to happen anyway. Right? Maybe a tiny, life-threatening encounter with a leshy is just the little push the both of you need. | tags: fluff, angst

Witchers

Witchers + stressed singlemom!reader - characters: geralt, eskel, lambert, coen | tags: fluff, angst

Geralt, Lambert, Eskel + drunk!so - characters: geralt, lambert, eskel | tags: fluff

Witchers + someone making their s/o uncomfortable - characters: geralt, eskel, lambert, coen | tags: slight angst, fluff

Imagines + headcanons (various)

How The Witcher characters would react to someone from our world falling into theirs - characters: geralt, yen, jaskier, triss, eskel, lambert, vesemir | tags: fluff, crack, timetravel

Modern!Human in Kaer Morhen - characters: geralt, yen, triss, jaskier, eskel, coen, lambert, vesemir | tags: fluff, crack, timetravel

How The Witcher characters would react to Lambert’s child surprise - characters: geralt, yen, ciri, triss, eskel, coen, vesemir | tags: fluff

The Witcher characters + monstertamer!reader - characters: geralt, yen, jaskier, ciri, eskel, lambert, coen, vesemir | tags: fluff

The Witcher characters + maleficent/fae!reader - characters: geralt, jaskier, yennefer, ciri, eskel, lambert, coen, vesemir | tags: fluff