#DO YOU KNOW HOW RARE AND PRECIOUS IT IS....

[shizu-nagita]

I held you close, but at what cost?

AN: First fanfiction on his hellsite- anyways um. I don’t know Sage of Truth/ Fount of Knowledge has me in some of the biggest headlocks . And I don’t know how to do 2nd PoV so… this is a test run to see what kinda writing style I like-

He’s been watching, for quite a long time now actually.

You’re dedicated to your cause, always running across the academy halls with scrolls and books in your hands, as you narrowly step to the side when people turn the corner.

[ It makes something warm bubble up inside of him.]

In most of Shadow Milk Cookie’s lifetime, he has rarely ever seen someone like you, honest and true and willing to see the harsh truths of reality and most important of all, accept them.

It’s admirable really.

And so when he gets the chance to lecture you, to foster your curiosity and enthusiasm for the truth, he is beyond elated .

[ For once in centuries, someone understands-]

But you’re a mere mortal, you don’t live as long as he does, and inevitably, he will watch you fade away throughout the course of time, as the world forgets you.

[ Those words don’t sit right in his mind.]

And so he clings, he holds onto each and everyone of your words, and cherishes them even if you don’t know it, his mind memorizing the way your hair glows in the sunset, how your eyes brighten when you explain your favorite subjects.

He walks beside you, he gently walks you through the things you don’t understand, he’s practically attached to your side.

And what amuses him the most,

[ what makes him feel noticed-]

Is the fact you don’t mind, in fact you chatter along with him, indulging him when he goes into a debate about whether or not a tomato is a fruit or vegetable .

[ Most of the time, people just listen to his words, not the true meaning behind them.]

You were a precious jewel within the confines of coal, meant to be cherished and protected.

And so he did, he kept you away from the dark straying wisps of deceit, and attempted to give you the life most wouldn’t achieve within decades.

He gave you all of him, and you gave your soul on return, always coming back to him when you two parted ways, always smiling and laughing .

[ He doesn’t want to see you go.]

[ He doesn’t want to be alone again.]

Even as you grew older, his face staying the same , even as you stopped remembering things, he stayed there with you.

“Shadow Milk Cookie… Are you sure you aren’t tired of me yet?”

He immediately turns his head, confusion in his eyes as he leans down head tilting as his robes billow out.

“What… Why did that question even come to you? Have I done something? Did anyone degrade you?”

[ Please stay-]

You shake your head, a gentle laugh escaping your lips as you raise a hand, attempting to wave away his worries as Shadow Milk Cookie’s mind goes into overdrive.

“No no!! Not at all! Just… curious.”

You never knew that he wanted you to stay.

that he needed you to be by him.

And as the years went by, the hollow aching feeling in his heart , where his soul jam was, begun to grow, to writhe and twist as you grew weaker and weaker with age.

[ Keep them alive, you have to-]

The sage of truth was beginning to falter.

[ you can not leave me you have to stay, you can not leave]

After eons of being alone, after watching people he once knew, once admired grow weary and weak with time, submitting to the whims of life and death, after he got a taste of warmth.

He didn’t want to let go of you.

[ He was tired of being alone .]

[ He was tired of having no one that listened-]

And so, the whispers of deceit slowly trickled into his mind, weaving fates of where both of you were happy, where you would remain in an eternal paradise, where you both would forever be happy .

Shadow milk cookie tried to resist, tried to step away from the temptation of eternity, he continued to guide and lead others to the truth.

But then came the day you died

The letter in his hands fell, dropping to the ground with a soft thunk as his vision blurred, the words he never wished to see now before him, as if mocking him.

[ My condolences, Sage of Truth, but your beloved is dead.]

….

That was the day he abandoned his reality.

[The day he resolved to find you.]

He retreated from the light because it was too scorching, illuminating the harsh truths of reality, illuminating the fact that you had left him.

He took cover in the shadows, because that was the only place where nothing could ever come to light, when you could only see the bare minimum and create the rest of the story .

But eventually, the shadows turn to light.

[ Tell me, just what was I supposed to do without you?]

[Was I just supposed to let you turn to dust? Fade into a mere memory? I couldn’t do that.]

And so, he poured over texts, using his position to manipulate others with deceitful lies, and the blinding truth as he tried to bring you back.

[ He just wanted someone who understood.]

And yet…

You could never get what you wanted, for the world was never fair, the world could’ve give you everything for a mere second, and take it all away and leave you with nothing for eons.

Left alone, in the dark, deceived and deceiver.

He waits, up until the day you come back to him and he can hold you back in his arms.

[ He doesn’t know how much longer he can.]

[nhmkhnh]

older!vi x younger!fem!reader

preface: vi knew she shouldn’t fall for someone ten years younger— but then you smiled at her like she hung the damn stars.

author's note: just replaying the song "older" by isabel larosa, the moods was on and the inspiration hit, so i wrote, haha. i also have chat bot on janitor ai abt this topic (here!).

wrn: lowercase, age gap (v: 29; r: 19)

masterlist / janitor ai / c.ai / carrd

vi first noticed you during her downtime—something rare in itself. you were sitting at the back of a cozy piltover café, legs swinging, sipping a drink with so much whipped cream it defied gravity. your hair was tied in little bows. you were doodling on a napkin and chewing your straw. something about you made her stop walking. you looked like a dream—like something that shouldn’t exist in her world. she thought, jesus, she’s young. but then you looked up, caught her staring—and smiled. fuck.

vi tried to keep her distance. she's lived enough years and seen enough shit to know better. you were nineteen. still a baby. she told herself she’d get over it. but then you kept showing up—same café, same silly drinks, same playful energy. one day you sat at her table and said, “you look cool. like someone who’s been punched a lot but still wins.” vi stared at you like you'd grown a second head. “that a compliment, cupcake?” “totally,” you giggled. that’s when she realized: she was screwed.

the age gap lives in her head like a siren. when you get excited about a new lipstick or show her a silly meme, vi has to bite her tongue. you say stuff like “i just got into adulting!” while she’s thinking about the prison years she clawed through. you’re full of sparkles and soft pastel energy, and every time you throw your arms around her neck and kiss her cheek, she has to remind herself to breathe. you’re a baby. but you’re her baby. maybe.

vi is protective to an annoying degree. you think it’s cute—until she’s dragging you behind her when someone bumps into you. she scans every room you enter together like she’s on a mission. she once almost decked a guy for grabbing your wrist at a club. “vi!” you’d squeaked. “it’s fine!” she’d just growled, “no, it’s not.” she has this irrational belief that anyone who looks at you too long is trying to corrupt something pure. you laughed and said, “babe, i like chaos.” she muttered, “not on my watch.”

people talk. they always do. jinx teases her, caitlyn raises an eyebrow, even vander’s memory would probably side-eye her. “ten years?” someone once whispered when they saw you holding hands. vi heard it. she always hears it. but she never lets it reach you. instead, she smiles, squeezes your hand, and throws an arm around your shoulder. later, she grumbles to cait, “you think i don’t know the gap? but the kid’s smarter than half the people i’ve met. she's got more heart too.” and it’s true. you chose her. and she’ll defend that choice with fists if she has to.

you love teasing her. “you’re such an older woman,” you coo, eyes wide and mock-innocent. “do your knees hurt when we cuddle on the floor?” vi scowls and threatens to toss you out the window. but she secretly lives for it. you once called her “hot and milf-coded” and she nearly choked on her drink. you leave lipstick marks on her biceps on purpose. she pretends to be annoyed. but then she flexes that arm in the mirror later and smiles like an idiot. you ruin her. she lets you.

you wear crop tops with tiny strawberries. you twirl in skirts and ask her, “does this make my butt cute?” she short-circuits every damn time. there’s this constant push-and-pull in her chest: keep you safe and precious vs. throw you on the bed and make you cry her name. you don’t even know how dangerous you are. you hold her pinky like it’s sacred. you leave glitter on her bedsheets. and she lies awake thinking: i shouldn’t touch her. i shouldn’t want to. but i do. you ask her if you’re too much. she whispers, “never.”

she has a whole routine when you sleep over. you hog her pillow. you steal the covers. you sleep like a kitten—soft, warm, mumbling nonsense. vi never minds. she stays awake longer than you, just to watch. she brushes your hair behind your ear. traces the curve of your cheek. you’re everything she didn’t think she’d deserve. everything soft and sweet and stupidly good. one time you murmured “love you” half-asleep and she had to go to the kitchen and splash water on her face like she was in a movie.

meeting caitlyn was a trip. “is that her?” cait whispered with a grin when she saw you. “the one who makes you blush?” vi hissed, “don’t you dare.” you introduced yourself all sweet, and caitlyn just smiled. the two of you hit it off like besties and vi stood there, arms crossed, heart racing. she felt out of place—too rough, too loud, too her. but then you looked at her across the room, eyes full of affection, and mouthed mine. vi’s chest ached. she didn’t know how she got this lucky.

vi’s box under the bed has a lock. inside are your little notes: sticky tabs with “drink water or i’ll cry >:(”, doodles of her punching stars, napkins with your lipstick kiss. she keeps the bracelet you made from beads. the tiny heart you folded out of a candy wrapper. you make her feel seventeen again—but safe this time. you paint her nails. you bring her snacks. you kiss her scars like they don’t scare you. everyone says vi’s a fighter. but for you? she melts. completely. no armor. no fear. just her and the girl who made her heart soft again.

[puppybei]

Fragile Crowns

Prologue (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Duke of the North! Nanami x isekaid!reader

Genre: Romance, Historical and Fantasy

Summary: A tired overworked employee is what you are one night and the next you’re the hated villainess from your favourite historical romance. However shall you escape death from the hands of your supposed beloved, the former prince turned Duke, Nanami Kento

Tw: Office Worker reader! But only for this chapter, reader also gets hit by a white truck.

Wc: 1.3k

You peeked through your fingers at the sun glaring above you, a cup of warm coffee in your hands that you sipped occasionally. The office balcony had sort of become your safe space, you don’t know which heavenly architect made such a secluded, secretive spot but you were thankful for them nonetheless.

It was found on one of your escapades from the hectic office life, a getaway from your cube life where you slaved away like others, typing mindlessly on a keyboard. Sure your coworkers were nice and friendly, but that’s all that they were at the end of the day and you weren’t going to form lifelong friendships with the people who were competing for the same position as you.

An exhausted sigh left your lips as you rested your elbows on the railing, looking down at the bustling city life. From your vantage point you could see pretty much everything, dark alleys where disheveled people sat, the remnants of white powder still lingering on the collars of their shirts, mothers who strolled around baby carts with an avid voice, talking loudly to make sure their babies could hear them, men in dark, drab suits with a phone pressed to their ears, probably shouting at the poor secretary on the other line, food carts parked on the pavements, offering refreshments to passersby.

An advertisement caught your eye, blinding you with flashing images, you squinted trying to make out what the words were saying. It was the live action make of an historical novel- a cheesy overused romantic plot that still had you wriggling your toes in excitement at every chapter the author released.

At one point though, you had gotten annoyed at the antagonist, the rich daughter of a count who bowed down to his daughter’s every whim and wish. She was petty and barely had any personality other her than hating on the orphaned saintess- the female lead with blinding blonde hair and dark brown eyes. Her character had no depth, no personality whatsoever and it slowly started to piss you off on how many times she was getting scot free for her acts, people ignoring the petty crimes until it snowballed to her poisoning the female lead at the Royal ball and getting locked up in the dungeons.

Ofcourse she had well enough earned herself an engagement by that time, a quiet brooding man who apparently already fathered a child, he was supposedly the only man who could tolerate her as well as match her fathers wealth, the exiled prince and Duke of the North- Nanami Kento. He had blonde hair that was cropped, gleaming white teeth on display on the rare occasion that the female lead managed to crack him. Hazel colored eyes that you could stare into- you shook your head, what the hell were you doing, wasting your precious lunch break fantasizing about a fictional man! One who killed his fiancée at the end of the story nonetheless! Granted she was the villainess but atleast as her engaged he should’ve shown her some mercy!

You could smell the foul smoke that radiated from the smoke room of the company. Really what kind of company offers a smoke room for their employees? You scrunch your nose, trying not to inhale the smoke as the men leave the room, leaving the window open so that the smell would disappear. You checked your wristwatch, if the smokers had left it meant that it was time for you to leave too.

You stared at the small time indicator on your laptop, willing time to go faster as you felt the seconds pass by. It was just a minute to 6.30 pm, aka the most acceptable time for a five year employee to leave, because leaving as soon as you’re contractually supposed to is some kind of social suicide.

Your boss finally got up from her office, stretching her arms as you peeked over the top of your cubicle, silently rejoicing. You had completed your work for the day eons ago, thankful for the corner cubicle facing the wall because that meant you got to do some online window shopping in peace.

After Mrs. Takakura left, waving goodbye as her ring glinted in the office lights you finally got up from your seat, back sore from the horrible company issued seats and neck aching from being hunched over your desk. One day you will put that posture correctner you bought online years ago to good use.

A female coworker grabbed you by the elbow just as you were about to leave, a nervous smile spreading over her face. She was one of the more new faced employees you guessed, anxiety radiating off of her as she shifted her weight from one foot to another, chewing on her bottom lip,

“Yes Hatsunabe?”

You asked, cocking a brow upwards as you pried her arm off of yours, that girl surely had a grip for being so small in stature.

“I’m so sorry! I have a blind date set up today- and,”

She averted her eyes from your gaze, cheeks flushed an innocent red as you fought the urge to strangle her by the neck.

“Just show me what you have left Hatsunabe,”

You almost scowled, controlling your features as a tight lipped smile painted itself across your face and you bit back a flurry of curses. She almost squealed in delight as she practically skipped to her cubicle, grateful murmurs spilling from her lips with every second as you tried not to roll your eyes to obviously.

She had a about three hours of work left and you almost put a bullet through her head and then yours, sighing before letting her leave with a wave of your hand.

By the time you finished it was a quarter to ten and the office was completely empty, some lovely asshole had even managed to switch off the lights when they left and you were too tired to bother arguing with them- let alone hold the small talk they would start when they figured out you were still working.

One of these days you’ll learn how to say no to people, maybe that’s just not today. Your limbs felt heavy with exhaustion, each step weighing you down as you pressed the ground floor on the elevator. Eyelids drooping shut in slumber as you leaned your forehead against the cool metal of the empty elevator.

The street outside is somehow still bustling, high schoolers leaving academies and slouching as they walked to the bus stop. You worked diligently all through high school- promising yourself you’d live a better life ten years into the future, and now look where you are- wrinkled blouse and pants that looked over washed, a blazer that you bought as a young adult, convinced that you would grow into it if you hit the gym. Shoes that were slowly falling apart, cheap drugstore super glue the only thing holding it together.

You sighed, subbing your hands over your face, warming it up in the cool night chill as you made your way over to the bus station, looking over at both sides of the road as you waited at the zebra crossing.

The light finally turned red, the green walking sign brightening up on the other side as you trudged your weight forward, the only thing keeping you alive and not falling over was the thought of slipping into your comfy Pyjamas and eating ramen while you binged on the newest chapter of the Historical Romance Fantasy.

The loud horn from a truck snapped you from your thoughts and you turned your head around, only to be met by a white truck going full speed at you. You felt time stop, your heart was beating loudly in your chest. No matter how much you tried to will yourself to move, you were stuck in the middle of the cross walk, like a deer caught in headlights

Next

Authors Note: Here it is!! My baby my love (Nanami) I love grumpy!Nanami x reader fics and this is going to be one of those so look out lmao<3 anyways I hope u guys enjoy the first addition to this fic because there will be more hehe as always, comments and Reblogs are very very very appreciated and!! No spam liking pleaseee

I have no one in my tag list as of now, but drop a comment and I’ll add you right in!

[siggyhunt]

Fic wip: Dogman actually can talk, he just chooses not to, because of numerous possibilities and a multitude of reasons. But because he chooses not to, nobody knows that he actually can in the first place. So it's especially jarring when he finally does.

It's the weekend, and Petey and LP are out on the town, bonding during one of Petey's rare days off. Dogman is at the station, filling out some leftover paperwork that he's been putting off. It's nice and relaxing, and the cat duo are having a wonderful time just hanging out, father and son, eating gelato at the park. Petey takes and sends pictures so that Greg feels better, knowing how he hates being left out, and the dog finds it so cute how his kitties think of him during their day together.

So imagine his surprise when the updates suddenly stop.

He doesn't worry at first; it's their day after all, they're probably just having fun. But as time passes, he gets more and more worried. What on earth are they doing? Are they okay, what happened? It gets to the point where so much time has passed, that he's completely abandoned his papers, and his eyes stay glued to his phone. Chief walks out of his office, having noticed Greg's drifting attention. But before he can actually say anything about it, alarms start to blare, and a voice rings out:

There's been a kidnapping at the park.

And Greg has no idea how to prove it, but he knows, that deep in his soul, in his heart of hearts, that it's his family that's been taken.

A growl rips out of him, and it's the loudest anyone has ever heard from the usually happy dog. Even louder, more emotionally driven, than during the worst of Petey's villain days. A rage like none other billows off of him, charged with the fear that only a man about to lose his family can possess.

His phone is tight in his hands, and he rushes out of the building, dialing Petey's number, hoping that either the cat will pick up, or the kidnapper will. He can already feel the vibrations in the city; yet another Mech made to cause him grief, and he would roll his eyes in annoyance if he wasn't so fu- fricking terrified right now. Chief hops in a car, and Greg high-tails in after him, continuing to call while the sirens blare.

While the cops are screeching through the streets, Li'l Petey and Petey are tied up in a warehouse, Piggy snorting maniacally as he controls the giant Mech in front of them, having apparently learned his lesson on not actually being in the robot this time so he doesn't immediately get arrested. Dr. Scum sets up a camera, pointing it at the two cats, and hacks into the radio waves, broadcasting their feed onto everything, along with the news stations.

On the screens not showing the livestream, Sarah stands on the street with the giant robot, footage showing the destruction going on, and taking cover behind a fallen slab of concrete, a bridge not far behind them. Suddenly, Chief's police cruiser arrives at the scene, and the two cops tumble out, Chief immediately clearing the way for civilians to escape.

Dogman stares for a few seconds, analyzing the situation, his face contorted into a terrifying rage. Apparently noticing something that nobody else does, he looks back at Sarah, and points away from the bridge, telling her to leave in case it falls.

And before anyone else can say anything, he tears back into the car, tires squealing as he turns around and drives away.

A few seconds of absolute silence, Piggy and Dr. Scum staring at the news feed in shock, before howling laughter leaves the two villains. Dogman, leaving the active crime? How ludicrous! And that fear on his face? He must've been scared out of his mind! That'll teach that mutt not to mess with us! Did you see that, Petey? Your precious Dogman isn't going to save you!

A few more seconds of laughter, and a few more seconds of destruction, before the quiet sounds of a roaring engine start to pick up on Sarah's microphone. It's being broadcasted on the news channel, and it's heard by the two villains who have the station pulled up with their ransom feed, and their laughter pauses. Right as the robot is about to run into and knock down the bridge, Dogman peals down the road, swerving off the side of the bridge, and ramming right into the head of the machine, the momentum knocking it down onto the empty street, with the car landing on the robots chest.

Shock and awe all around, and Greg kicks the door open, stepping out on top of the robot. Some small cheering is heard down below, before it quiets at the snarl on Greg's face. The news feed zooms in as he pulls his phone back out, dialing Petey's number again. The hacked on footage of Dr. Scum and Piggy is silent, the two scientists standing in shock, before it gets broken by the sound of Petey's phone.

Silently, Piggy grabs it and sends Dogman to voice-mail, and let's the phone call out the missed contacts.

“You have: 25, New messages, from: Gregory”

“You have: 32, Missed calls, from: Gregory”

“You have: One. Voice-mail. From. Gregory.”

“Would you like to listen?”

Piggy hits accept.

“PIGGY. PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE. YOU STUPID BITCH. WHERE THE FUCK IS MY FAMILY?! WHERE ARE THEY?! PIGGY, I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME. PICK UP THE PHONE. GODDAMMIT!”

“End message. Would you like to call back?”

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 94: Oliver's Protection

Previous > Masterlist

tw: mind control, self harm

"I want training, too, sirs!" Oliver blurted out. Everyone turned to look at him quizzically.

"Oliver, I appreciate that you want to help, but you can't even walk right now, much less --"

"I know, sir, and I don't expect to be trained as a hunter. But if I could help with the magic, perhaps…" His hands twisted the fabric of his pants. "I would at least like to know how to carve the protective rune, the one Vivian uses. Just in case your sire…"

Just in case there came a time where Alexander couldn't protect Oliver from his sire, a true emergency where a moment of lucidity might make a difference. He didn't dare say it, as it seemed disrespectful to point out the possibility that his master might fail. Any protection offered by the rune would only shield Oliver briefly at best. Still, the thought of having this tool in his arsenal made him feel slightly better, as though he wasn't a complete sitting duck. He looked up at his master, pleading with his eyes.

But his master was scowling. "Absolutely not."

Oliver realized how his request must have sounded, like he was looking for a way to prevent himself from being enthralled by Alexander himself, when that hadn't been his intention at all. He shrank away, embarrassed.

Before he could try to explain himself, Miss Lily chimed in. "Why not? I don't see the harm in it. Wouldn't it be good for him to have some emergency protection against other vampires, especially your sire?"

"That was what I was thinking, sir," said Oliver, eagerly agreeing. "I didn't mean anything against you at all."

Alexander softened. "I'm sure you didn't, but still…" His arms gripped Oliver a little tighter. "I can't bear the thought of being unable to enthrall you, even temporarily, even as a test for your own protection."

"You wouldn't have to test the protection. I could do it," said Miss Lily. "Why don't we chat for a bit while my Vivian gives Oliver a lesson? If he can successfully gain the protection, I can do my best to enthrall him." She stroked Vivian's hair. "If you're willing to play nicely with my declawed hunter, then surely Oliver gaining a little of her knowledge isn't a threat."

"I know Oliver isn't a threat, it's just…" Alexander sighed. "Fine. I suppose you do make a good point, that it could provide him some desperate option in a worst-case scenario. As much as I detest the idea of Oliver being out of my reach, I also detest the idea of my sire puppeting him to his whims. I suppose it wouldn't do any harm for him to learn, just as long as he never tries to use it against me."

"No, never, sir," said Oliver emphatically. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"You say that, but… Well, I suppose I owe you a bit of trust, considering how much trust I ask of you. Especially considering I have failed to protect you on multiple occasions. Very well, learn the protective rune, and let Lily test if it worked."

"Thank you, sir." Oliver hoped that his master wasn't upset by his request. He just felt so utterly helpless in the face of their risky plan to kill the Maestro, and having even a small bit of knowledge would help ease his mind.

With that decided, Alexander and Lily moved to a couch nearer the fireplace (but still well in view of the thralls), and Oliver settled next to Vivian as she pulled a thick book from her bag and placed it on the table. Up close, Oliver could see that it was practically falling apart from use, dog-eared and marked everywhere with notes. She flipped it to a page showing instructions for how to carve a particular rune.

"This is the book on witchcraft and hunting that's been passed down in my family for generations. It's all I have left of my mother, so please be careful with it," she said.

"Of course. I would never mistreat a book, even if it weren't so precious as that."

"It might be easiest if you read these few pages first, to get an idea about how the rune works. I've never taught anyone, so I'm probably poor at explaining things."

"That's fine with me. I learn best by reading anyway." Oliver began reading over the descriptions of each portion of the rune and what it represented. He found he was growing a bit excited about the prospect of doing magic, real magic, instead of having all of the supernatural happenings done to him. Perhaps if this went well, he could convince Vivian to teach him more.

Nonetheless, he couldn't help but be distracted by his master's quiet chat with Miss Lily.

"I'm surprised that you're okay with this plan," said Alexander. "I would have assumed you'd be dead set against anything so risky as this. If you're thinking of sabotaging this for my own good, I swear --"

"No. Nothing like that." Miss Lily leaned back into the couch. "And I still do think this plan is risky, but I hardly have a choice but to allow you to do it, unless I can think of something better."

"I can guess what's caused the sudden change of heart. Or rather, who has caused the sudden change of heart. You really have become attached to that hunter, haven't you?"

Miss Lily waved him off. "Yes, yes, feel free to say 'I told you so' all you want. You have me dead to rights. I couldn't stand the thought of our sire getting his hands on Vivian. Happy?"

Alexander chuckled. "It is a bit gratifying to see you getting so attached after you've admonished me so much," he said. "But all joking aside, I think you needed this. I could tell how you haven't truly been yourself since Miriam was… compromised. You lacked a thrall that was wholly your own."

"I didn't want to think I needed it so badly," she said. "I think maybe that's part of why I was so insistent on foisting Oliver on you. I could tell that you were perfect for each other, and I thought at least you should have the indulgence I was denying myself."

"Well, I certainly don't mind that you did. I was upset at first, but you were right. Oliver is perfect, and I'm glad to have him."

Oliver stared down more intently at the book, cheeks burning from the praise. It was still so strange and wonderful to be so wanted. He forced himself to focus on what he was reading and tune out his master's conversation.

Once he had finished, and Vivian had gone over the material with him -- then came the moment when the discussion turned from the academic to the practical. Oliver had put out of his mind the fact that this rune would need to be carved into his skin, and felt a bit dizzy as Vivian produced her silver knife.

"I recommend first drawing or painting it on your skin. You certainly don't want to make mistakes when you're handling the knife."

"I certainly don't." Oliver rolled down his left sleeve and kept his hand as steady as possible as he took up his fountain pen and drew the rune on the meat of his forearm, exactly as it was in the diagram, taking care not to scratch himself prematurely.

Vivian looked on approvingly. "You're a natural. That looks exactly right. You've even properly drawn the character at the 3 o'clock point -- that one often trips people up." She unsheathed the knife, turning it around and handing it to him. "Now you know what you have to do. Make sure it's cut in the correct order. Shallow cuts, just barely breaking the skin. I don't think your master would appreciate it if you waste too much of your blood."

Oliver glanced up at Alexander, who had ceased chatting with Miss Lily and was now staring right at him, giving him a small nod that seemed to indicate that Oliver should proceed. "I can make it painless, if you'd like," Alexander said.

"No, sir, if I truly need to use this, then --" He didn't want to say it out loud, to invoke the possibility that his master might not be there to defend him. "I wish to be able to do it on my own, if you please, sir."

"If you're going to do this at all, then I suppose that seems the most sensible."

"You can do it," said Vivian. "Just a little scratch, and it will be over soon enough."

Oliver gathered his courage and pressed the tip of his knife to one of the lines he'd drawn on his skin. The knife was razor sharp, and it didn't take much pressure at all for a bead of blood to well up under the point.

"That's it," Vivian encouraged. "No deeper than that. Just enough to draw blood. And don't forget to speak the words we rehearsed."

"Right." He almost considered calling it off, saying it was a mistake for him to want to learn to defend himself in this way, but some stubborn part of him refused. He was safe here in the library, with his master nearby, and Vivian had thoughtfully laid out some bandages. There wouldn't be a better time to try this.

He took one more deep breath and began to scratch the rune into his skin, as quickly as possible without sacrificing accuracy, trying to ignore the pain. Tears welled up in his eyes as he spoke the words, blood dripping down his arm and onto the table in front of him. When he had finished carving the symbol, he felt a kind of warmth from the self-inflicted wound, a strange tingling sensation.

"I think it took, at least a little bit. Well done," said Vivian. "These bandages are coated with a powder that hides the smell of blood. Otherwise, the vampires will be able to smell you out from miles around."

Indeed, Alexander was looking at Oliver like a man possessed, and Oliver knew that his master would be taking a meal after Miss Lily and Vivian went home. Miss Lily seemed affected as well, staring at Oliver as he bandaged the wound.

"Well, let's see if it worked, then," said Miss Lily, sauntering over to sit next to Oliver on the couch. "You're such a delightfully susceptible thrall. Let's see if a bit of magic can truly make you immune to my voice."

"All right, sir."

Miss Lily gripped his chin, directing his eyes straight into hers. "Relax, dear, relax and slip under my control. You won't be able to resist."

And the rune on Oliver's arm burned.

He pulled away from Miss Lily, not hypnotized in the slightest, but nonetheless incapacitated by the blinding pain from his arm. Seething, he curled up into a ball, trying to calm himself down from the pain.

"It's okay, Oliver, you're doing well," said Vivian, rubbing his back.

Before Oliver could respond, Alexander had snatched him up, holding him in a bridal carry. "Are you all right?" he said. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"It's fine, sir!" Vivian protested. "The brand is meant to hurt. That's part of how it protects you from hypnosis. It'll be the same for you, when you've devised the modified rune, I would think."

"You should put him down, Lex," said Miss Lily. "He wants to test it, don't you, Oliver?"

"Yes, sir," he said through gritted teeth. There was little point in exposing himself to this pain if he didn't gain some knowledge from it.

"Fine, but I will be comforting him once you're done," said Alexander, as he begrudgingly set Oliver back down.

"Are you ready, Oliver?" asked Miss Lily.

He nodded, trying to look determined.

"Then focus, dear. Focus on my voice and allow it to relax you. Focus only on me, and become so sleepy, so very sleepy…"

Oliver could feel the influence tugging at his mind, even through the pain, but the rune was keeping him awake and alert. "I think it's working, sir."

"Is that so? Then do something else for me." She reached out and pressed a hand to his forehead. "Quiet, Oliver. Just be oh so quiet for me."

It was Miss Lily's trigger that she'd implanted in him back at the auction house, and despite everything he'd been through, it still had a hook in his mind. He struggled against the sensation of his thoughts slowing and grinding to a halt, trying to resist the growing urge towards obedience. And all the while, the brand on his arm burned so strongly that it was starting to feel numb and cold.

"Come here, Oliver," said Miss Lily, opening her arms to him, and it felt magnetized, like he was being drawn in regardless of his own will. But even through the growing haze and the pain, he remembered he was meant to be resisting.

"No," he said in a strangled voice, backing away into Vivian, who was behind him.

"No? You don't want to rest in my arms?" Miss Lily said teasingly.

The rune carved into his arm felt like pins and needles, compelling him to resist the influence on his mind even as Miss Lily's voice coaxed him to let his guard down. Without thinking, he stood up to get away from her, until a sharp pain in his knee forced him to remember why that was a bad idea. He half-collapsed onto the table as his master rushed to his side once more and picked him up.

"That's enough of this," said Alexander, holding Oliver in an iron grip. "You've caused my thrall quite enough distress for one day."

"I wanted to try, sir. It was my decision," Oliver pointed out.

"And he did great! He was able to resist Miss Lily, at least for a few moments," said Vivian. "He achieved at least some protection on the first try. I had a feeling he would have a natural aptitude for magic."

Oliver's pride at this was dampened by the disapproving look on his master's face. "That may be," said Alexander, "but that doesn't make magic any less dangerous. I'd prefer to keep my thrall out of such things, if you don't mind." He sat Oliver down on a chair by the fireplace and fussed with his bandaged arm.

Oliver couldn't help but feel a small sting. Having a natural aptitude for magic was exciting, something he didn't know before, a skill he could cultivate to be useful. The way his master shut it all down was…

"I suppose I had better not try to take your pain away, lest I cause you more," said Alexander, staring at the bandages as though the rune were carved to offend him personally.

"There isn't much pain, sir," said Oliver, and indeed, it had subsided since Miss Lily had stopped her attempt to enthrall him. "Thank you for allowing me to try."

"You're welcome." Alexander sighed, the bad mood seeming to bleed out of him now that Oliver was once more in arm's reach. "And I suppose some emergency protection doesn't hurt, but no more magic than that, all right?"

Vivian leaned forward. "But sir, I think Oliver would be adept at healing magics, which could --" The withering stare from Alexander caused her to shrink back into her seat, surprisingly meek. "I suppose you know best for your thrall, sir."

"That I do," said Alexander. "And once I complete this plan to dispose of my sire once and for all, I'll truly be worthy of the title of master."

Previous > Masterlist

I'm sure this won't have any relevance later. Thanks for reading.

Next week, Fitzwilliam attends the Maestro's ball and meets his former master, Alexander.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @light-me-on-pyre @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

[quasarwake]

Wholly Unwhole

Starscream x original Seeker Character (Cadet) for @radioactiverats! They've given me permission to publish this lil gift for them as a Chapter 20 to their Cadet au! Chapter 19 can be found here, please give their stuff a read! This was supposed to only be like 1000 words. It is. 4300+. Oops.

Featuring: Starscream, Original Seeker Character Cadet, OC Seeker Echo, pining, possessiveness, jealousy, and hints of reciprocated trining feelings!

Truly, having the understanding of just what his Cadet was going through should have made him more wary of his own trining instincts- there had been the rare flares of jealousy, when he had heard about 'Girls Night'- but ah, he had had work to do, work that would keep all three of those idiots safer-

So why had Starscream felt like the idiot for missing out? It wasn't a feeling he'd liked. Had they spoken of him, had they missed his presence? There was that latent instinct trying to tell him 'They're taking them away- and who can blame those two? How long has it been since the three of us shared that bond wholly together-'

And he had to remind himself that the little blue jet's rampant trining needs could genuinely be triggering old instincts. Old instincts to reaffirm his own claims, pin Skywarp, those pretty new claws he'd noticed clinging to his chassis and scraping red finish. To mark Thundercracker, sweet Thundercracker, who had helped him corner Skywarp, all those vorns ago, whose gentle presence had become a rarer and rarer bond, and how much of that had been on himself?

The thrill of their bond had grown distant, that flight nearly a fond but faded memory, but still, he felt part of that in his core- could feel it still, whenever the three of them flew together. The need for the three of them, that bond and connection.

And when he looked to his Cadet, the one good thing he had managed to save throughout this war…

He could understand the emptiness you must be feeling, the aching need spiking through your EM field at regular intervals while you slept, or the flare-ups while handling what had otherwise been regular tasks. Or at least, he knew that clawing need must be there, must be the trigger for those spiking anxieties, those flashes of anger that you no longer seemed able to hold in wholly. Before you had started your own shift, your own change, optics picking up more of that vermillion tinge to them, it had been just about keeping his student safe.

Keeping the last piece of Vos that seemed so precious safe.

But there was that realisation that the things he found precious of Vos weren’t always the things others might call gentle. No, he remembered the cackling laugh of seekers cornering each other around spires, flying daringly towards cliffs, dancing in the heat of updrafts and spiraling in deadly stunts down wind-wells. The energy of pinning or being pinned, of feeling somebody’s servos just miss tailfins or thrusters, of finding the way back to whatever bar and leaning against it while a daring opponent or try-hard wannabe trinemate stumbled their way back in.

The rush of flight and the danger of falling but knowing, especially with a trine, that gravity was just another toy to play with.

It wasn't a gentle protectiveness he was feeling towards you, anymore.

Not after the incident with that dark, quiet Seeker- whose designation he had already lost in the buzzing of his processor over all of this.

The biting had been one thing- it wasn't uncommon to allow somebody close to preen another like that, even in fliers outside of Vos. It wasn’t even necessarily exclusive to trine-mates or Amica- though perhaps he wouldn't so readily admit how pleasant it had been, the hum of his fans low as his claws had hooked more firmly into blue hip-plates.

Maybe that's why he had started looking around again- a Seeker seeking a distraction. That former Winglord's trinemate could eat slag, but the bulky Seeker who gave him energon reports was competent, fast, a good flier- and as a single flier, he was good for filling in missing formations. Unusually chameleon about it, like he could mirror just about anyone he flew with- to a point. So why not flare his wings a little? Why not let himself look over those navy and black wings as they lifted higher, clearly enjoying his praise, his words, the accent of familiar Vosian between them another added pleasure-

So why did it feel like there was something massive behind him? Threat alerts pinged in his processor, but he had brushed it off as another anxiety spike, something new and unpleasant that made him less... rational. Another thing he could blame on the war.

And yet, that soft buzzing steadily grew as he spoke with the other Seeker, became more of a low, thrumming roar. The widening of the other Seeker's optics had him whirling, seeing you, his Cadet, wings spread wide in the hall, glaring with those new fiery eyes-

It had been so long since he'd last gotten to see it unfiltered that it was a shock when he realised what was going on.

Did you even realise what it was you were doing? It may as well have been a spoken word, shouted.

Mine.

It was a claim. Or, the sloppy attempt at an undirected one. And you were blaring it into the hall for all to hear, as though none of you had ever left those spires of Vos. There you stood, showing off those wings he had stolen for you, standing as tall as your frame would allow, your EM field loud as cannonfire with wildly misdirected intent-

It was certainly a sight to behold, in retrospect. In the moment, Starscream had snapped with surprise, frustration, his current hope for a bit of stress relief whirling away with a quiet 'nevermind' before Starscream could stop him-

But his Cadet looked almost pleased, and there was something in the way your eyes followed after the larger Seeker, something so proud of yourself, that you had secured Starscream's attention back to you, had frightened off his quarry. Your wings were held comfortable and steady, more yours than he’d ever seen them, and that had him hold back his words.

If you hadn’t been aware of what you had been doing, that was one hell of a show of power. Had he taught you that?

He felt the tugging at his intake, the smallest smile twitching away before he forced a more stern expression over his features.

"You're not sorry."

It hadn't been a question, but after all that training, all that time around him- could he deny the satisfaction, seeing that scarred face hold some of that glare for him? Like he was no longer looking at somebody broken by war, but one that would demand to stand as his equal looking him in the optics? And the way you responded flatly, admitting to your claim, even in part…

You certainly stood tall enough on your own if you felt you could challenge him.

So he let you busy yourself with his meal, returning to his reports.

Glancing an optic down the hallway where that lone Seeker had disappeared when he knew your back was turned. His processor buzzing on new ideas.

~~

Real rest was hard to come by when you were a Decepticon, but Energon flowed well after some of the latest missions (attacks, though you had plenty of justifications for those based on survival, and everyone had been in higher spirits after all, so don’t worry about it, don’t dwell on the little creatures that you were stealing the energy from-).

All these thoughts and more buzzing through your head as you laid back, fighting for the recharge you knew you needed.

Starscream had not been back to your shared habsuite that evening- and there had been a realisation, that perhaps he wouldn't be returning for a reason. There was something at least, after that shared moment in the grass, that felt sated after cleaning through his wings, gently polishing away the very few plant-stains that Starscream had made such a fuss about. Like this was a part of the experience you needed, that need to be needed fed, ever so slightly.

Something about it still hadn't been quite enough, and you knew it- but you didn't know why. Starscream should be more than enough for that empty feeling clawing in your chassis, at your very spark, right? All this time since that day, and still you couldn’t find the answer for yourself. Shouldn’t he be enough? Pits, even his trine had noticed that need in you. It should be enough, right?

Girls Night had only really partially scratched that itch in your processor, though. Like there was some deeper, roaring need that felt so awful in you, a storm that you were thrown into that kept you clawing for whatever secret thing it was you needed.

That day in the hall flashed through your processor again. It had been hard not to think about the way EM fields still pricked over your panels, shifting to vent excess heat that vacillated from frustration to a dark satisfaction.

The way that mech had turned heel after you had stared bullets right into him? Exhilarating. It was you that had done that, not Starscream's dismissal-

And something about that felt so right in your spark.

Did Starscream ever feel this, you wondered? Giving orders to others in his trine, seeing them executed with efficiency? There had to be pride in that.

Processor overwhelmed, you laid back onto your shared berth, aware of how... empty, it seemed, after having been preened by other Seekers, having shared it with Starscream so regularly, after spending all that time cleaning those handsome wings of his-

Sighing in frustration, you forcibly offline your optics, spreading yourself out on the berth and taking up more space than you usually might, hoping that might disperse SOME of this odd backup energy. After several kliks of forcing yourself to think about the most boring reports and the files you could possibly conjure up, you find yourself finally slipping into recharge.

As if sleep would offer you any real rest.

Was it normal to store datapads like this? You find yourself wondering, digging through an endless drawer in a wall below the ship’s bridge. You felt like you had spent joors looking for something that Starscream needed, something that would help him take a break, properly REST for a change-

Deep red optics swerving their way away from you as you worked and you can feel their absence. You feel heat in your chassis, too. You keep digging for a moment, before that tugging heat had you turning your gaze upwards, back to the source of Starscream’s eyes, and seeing-

Him.

That big Seeker, standing at the bridge above you, talking to Starscream. A dream didn't stop you from feeling that prickling up your spinal strut, your wings flaring as you felt that anger spread through them. Who did this Seeker think he was, talking to your commander like that, flaring his wings so prettily, so invitingly? Stars gleamed through glass above the bridge and you found yourself lifting- It was easy to fly up to the two, set servos on the larger Seeker, yank him back by the wings, the one who you hadn't even learned the name of and who was he, even, to speak so familiarly to Starscream??

From the one that had taught you to fly on old wings, the one that had drilled in the lessons you had to reteach yourself to fly on these new ones.

Something in your dream compounded that flight training, remembering Starscream’s ever watchful optics, his critiques, his notice, with this moment- flashing red optics landing on you, you could hear something in your programming, instinct woven into your frame-

You couldn't tell if it was your voice or Starscream's, but the words were clear:

'If you're going to make a claim, do it properly.'

In the dream your servos moved on their own, from large dark wings to the curve of his canopy. In the dream, the larger mech moves easily with you, wings spreading as your digits dig into panels- and that, too, feels right, like this wasn't acquiescence, but agreement, a question asked and responded to and answered. His frame leans into yours easily, comfortably, filling your palms. 

Do it properly.

Your servos and digits moved slowly up his waist, feeling that difference in size as you pressed yourself against his back, your wings rolling as you plant a palm flat between his wings and pushed down, watching with satisfaction as his rolled in their own want, the need to be claimed, his frame moving to your unspoken command.

It made your fans burn against your face, pressing your canopy to his back, your intake opening in the dreaming and the waking world to vent heat out. Pushing him down came with no resistance, your arms slipping around him as you press your face between his wings, nuzzling against those shoulder-panels. Your intake moves over his neck, mapping out the unique spinal spikes fanning out on either side of the strut, a detail you hadn't known you'd noticed, added Decepticon decoration that would prevent anyone or anything foolish enough from grabbing him recklessly-

And your glossa could move around them so easily, one by one, fans whirring away at the way that soft quiet voice had stuck in your processor, and how perhaps you wanted to hear him whimper a little, moan a little as you teased him with your glossa, teeth catching on plates, leaning him against the bridge railing in front of Starscream as your digits scratch over plating for trying to take your Commander's attention from you.

Mine.

Starscream's optics, glowing like dark fire on the both of you as you pressed this other flier down, showed Starscream that you were worthy of being looked at with such desire, your denta finding a wing and biting-

And for a moment, the dream focused only on that gleam of bright silver denta, your own sunk into metal derma, that Seeker’s intake parted with that deep navy his were stained with-

Starscream’s grin a wicked darksteel crescent cut into velvet blackness around you, his optics red suns above it.

The sound you made in your audials was loud, your fans roaring as you're woken by the way your wings nearly jolted you out of the berth.

And there was that feeling, like you had been caught in one of those Terran hurricanes, that you were being drenched in cold water. Over you-

Those red, pitfire optics of Starscream staring over you, a servo raised as if to shake you awake.

For a long moment, you hold each other's gaze, your fans stuttering as you take in the whole of his face, the red light of it illuminating the dark around you, casting his faceplates in black shadow.

Slowly, you watch as he pulls his hand back from you, and you feel your fans start to normalise, flickers of your dream bringing back the heat in waves, slowing the process.

"...sir?" You manage, your voice nearly too quiet to hear over your own fans. He had managed to rest his claws on the edge of the berth, and you can see it- a look of contemplation on his faceplate, as he looked down your frame.

"...quite the dream you must have been having," he stated, his voice measured and level. "Caught yourself in combat in your sleep?"

It was an out he was offering to you. You could see that- he was allowing you to lie to him, to give yourself that moment of dignity.

Because you heard the way your frame clicked when you deliberately closed your interface panels. And you knew he had heard it too, the only other noise in the room from your whirring fans, and the soft buzzing of his own.

So you nodded.

Raising a brow-ridge, Starscream looked over your frame, watched as you tried to force yourself to calm down, the way panels kept fluttering up and around to vent excess heat.

"...I hope you won, at least," he said carefully, and you feel another burst of heat burn through your face, your chassis, yanking your optics from him as you pull your legs to your canopy.

"...I. Yeah," you offered, the flashes of the way you had pinned the larger Seeker down in front of Starscream, trying to force the images out of your processor, your servos tight around your knees. "I guess I did."

Starscream nodded stiffly, before straightening his back, wings held high and stiff, unreadable all around.

"Good," he stated, before moving to the desk. "Get some proper rest now, will you? I won't have you exhausted from dream combat when real combat is always around the corner."

You almost snapped at him- maybe another night, you would have, considering this new wave of frustration that kept finding its way beneath your plates. But after that dream, how could you ask him to return to your shared berth? Instead, the words flying out of your intake were-

"I'm rested enough, I think."

Your pedes were swinging off the edge of the berth before you realised what was happening, but you commit, standing with forced ease.

"You get yourself some rest before you fall over. I'm..." You struggled for an excuse, before you found something at least mostly true. "I need a walk to clear my head.”

Something like a muddled concern brushes against your EM field- and there was that heat of frustration, embarrassment, like all of the Seekers around you knew a big secret that you had no access to, like you were the odd one out on some stupid puerile process that everyone was being so forgiving of.

And maybe for now, that was too much. So much had changed, and this difference was too much to handle. Before Starscream could agree with you, you’ve whirled around, making your way out of the habsuite and into the halls.

~~

Echo himself had his own schedule for rest and recharge- the higher in the ranks he had climbed, the more freedom he had been afforded, and soon enough, he had been allowed a fairly sizeable habsuite for himself, something that must have been made for a mech in a higher size-class than he was.

Or for a completed trine.

It made the lack in his life… noticeable. That emptiness a reflection of his own missing pieces. He didn’t spend a lot of time in that room.

So running into you was as inevitable as running into any other member of the ship’s higher ranking, really. If it hadn’t happened by now, it would have happened eventually-

And the fates, in his processor, had deigned it all too amusing to have him running into you on the turn of a corner, trying to rid himself of the whirring thoughts in his own processor.

Pits.

His wings lifted automatically when you caught sight of him, and he could feel the spiking of your frustration, could see the way your wings trembled with something held back in your processor.

And there you felt it again, that odd, discomforting spiking of concern, the older Seeker wafting waves of something that felt so like Thundercracker’s attempts at placation.

Gritting your denta, you feel your wings lift, and lean into the feeling, raising them on your back as you glared at the other mech.

“Watch where you’re going!” You hissed it out, a harsh parody of Starscream’s tone carried on your voice. The look on the other mech’s face had you reeling back as you recognized him, it was him-

And then came the guilt, your wings falling as you remembered the dream, images flashing in your processor and fans whirring harshly as you struggled with a myriad of thoughts in your processor.

“I’m- I’m sorry,” his voice was soft, thickly accented with Vosian, and you feel another wave of guilt- this was somebody from home, and it wasn’t his fault that Starscream had taken a liking to him, with the way his finish showed soft, decorative waves of navy and indigo on black, something artistic that looked so similar to old posters from the academy days-

And you’re shaking your helm as he continued to speak, his words mostly unheard until “-I was just on my way to drop off my report to Starscream-”

Those words had you snapping harshly back into your bad mood, lack of recharge buzzing at the back of your processor. You bristled at the sight of him, all huge and massive with those wings at a low, deliberately non-threatening angle, his optics flickering to your wings, back to your face. Flick. Wings to face.

Why did he keep looking at your wings?

"What's your designation?" You felt the way heat gathered in your chassis, the way your wings flared wider, as you glared up at the taller seeker. His optics ran along the jagged lines they made on your back, and you widened them for his attention, lifted them high as your frustration rose, trying to lift his gaze back to your face.

How often did Starscream have to repeat himself?

The larger mech collected himself, his wings rolling in that undeniably interested way, and you couldn't quite grapple with the feeling in your spark, the feeling that this mech was appreciating the attention, your glare, the heat thrumming through your EM field.

You spread the wings- your wings- a little wider, and raise your hand- setting it into the collar of his chassis, taking satisfaction in his little yelp as you yanked him down to look you in the eye properly.

You were Starscream's Cadet, and there was more than a small part of you getting a little tired with how little respect that had given you.

"Designation. Please," you added, a sudden wash of more of that twisted guilt trying to overcome you again, and you shake it off- what was this, what had gotten into you, where had all this viciousness-

But wasn’t it so earned? You were a Decepticon.

And at the very least, you were the Cadet of Starscream. You may not fully understand his actions, his crimes, the ways he had hurt other people- but truly, you didn’t need to.

All you wanted to do now was to command a little bit of that respect that you saw him wield on the best of his days.

You almost don’t hear that soft voice as he finally answers, your EM field spiking and rolling over his, drawing your attention to hear him.

"...it's Echo," the other mech murmured, his voice so soft and the feeling of whirring fans on your face so gentle that your processor nearly stalled. You can feel it- the waves of his EM field washing over you, against yours, and it really was appreciation, respect asked for and returned.

Your dream flashed through your processor, and your digits tighten on his plates. Echo holds still for a moment-

Before lowering his head more into your grip, his fans whirring softly as his wings twitched again- stilled.

A question asked and answered.

You cleared your throat, feeling your wings climb high on your back- but this time, Echo's optics stay on yours, flickering around to take in the details of your faceplate, the quirk of your browplates, the point of your audials, the crack over your nose. And in that shared moment, you could see each detail of his face, his frame- the spikes you remembered from your dream, the large, sweeping audials that could probably pick up even the quietest of sounds, optics a red that you had once heard Knockout refer to as cherry-

All the while, a hum was shared between you. A warmth of… something implacably intense between you, that threatened to overwhelm your mind, the way it made your plates lift and tighten in waves over your frame.

Alone here, in this hall you could do anything- claim this Seeker-

Pit, even if you weren’t alone, would that stop you?

In your dream you had felt those eyes on you and it had felt so right.

You don't know where the thought comes from, but you feel it settle firmly in your shoulders, your wings, your frame creaking as you tighten your grip for a moment, staring hard into cherry optics- before you manage to push it off, letting Echo go with a soft shove, staggering slightly as you feel the weight of your wings before righting yourself again.

"Echo, then," you state, trying to regain your composure, processor quieting from the distance put between you. "You will deliver your reports to me, from now on. Commander Starscream has enough on his servos, and you're going to help me carry that weight. Think you're up to the task?"

The words felt odd in your intake for their formality. But there was that thought again-

You were Starscream's Cadet.

Perhaps it was time you let yourself live up to that. And, perhaps one day-

Beyond that.

Echo straightened his back, and you wonder if you can hear the sound of his whole vocal processor reset- before the taller Seeker nodded, raising a servo in a quick, informal salute.

"...I think that's a task I'm up to," he returned, his voice low and quiet as he mirrored your words. "Is there... anything else you need me for, Cadet?"

His wings continued to flutter, and you consider what this mech could offer you-

That there was something so perfectly different from Thundercracker, but similar enough that it felt like…

You could understand why Starscream would desire for somebody so calm. Somebody that you could have at your wing-

Somebody that would lower themself into the pit to meet your gaze.

“...no, Echo,” you state, hesitating for a moment- before patting a hand to his shoulder, moving past him in the hall. “That will be all.”

As you make your way further down the hall, you feel the way his EM field almost seemed to cling to you, extricating itself reluctantly from you.

Down the hall, you don’t see the way his wings roll, but a part of you still does feel it.

[writingpandagoth]

Hey queen, it’s the corporate girly that asked for the fic a few days ago about sev with a curvier gal💻💻💻

I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT!!!!! I put a green velvet dress on my thrift wishlist already 💃

Anyways, I was falling asleep last night and was thinking how great it would be to have a little fic that’s super cutesy about sev just loving the little things about fem!reader, because I KNOW that man is such a detail oriented person that he would itemize them all in his mind and ugh 😩 it doesn’t have to be smutty or anything, or even have to be with the curvy reader but like I love your writing so much I just had to ask

Ohh he so would!

I hope it's what you had in mind.

An Altar of Ordinary Things

Before your fingers curled so easily into his, before your laughter found a home against his shoulder, there were other things. Smaller things. Things he gathered when loving you was a silent, sacred thing tucked behind his ribs.

He noticed the way your handwriting changed with your moods, tight, slanted lines when you were anxious; wide, looping letters when you were content. He could read the weather inside you by the tilt of your script.

He noticed the way you touched objects as you passed, the brief brush of your fingertips against a doorframe, the absent smoothing of your hand along a tabletop as if anchoring yourself to the world one breath at a time.

He noticed how you hesitated just a fraction before speaking, always weighing your words, as if language was something precious you would not waste.

He noticed the way you sat on the very edge of benches, books clutched tight to your chest, as if you needed an escape route but never truly wanted one.

He noticed that you were soft with the forgotten things, you straightened crooked picture frames, wiped chalk smudges from abandoned slates, returned fallen quills to empty desks.

You stitched the frayed edges of the world without anyone ever seeing the needle in your hand.

He noticed your silences most of all, how you carried them like gifts, offering space where others crowded with noise. How your presence never demanded, only invited.

Before you smiled at him like he was something to be chosen, Severus had already chosen you a thousand times over, in a thousand breathless, invisible ways.

He never let himself hope.

He only let himself see.

And he saw everything.

You do not notice the way his eyes track you across the room, quiet as a dropped pin in a cathedral.

You rarely notice the things he sees. That is, perhaps, why he treasures them.

He loves you in details—not the grand sweeping gestures so many find necessary, but the grains of you, the whispered fractions that others might overlook.

He knows the precise sound your footfall makes on stone when you are in a hurry, a quick, uneven tapping and he can predict your entrance by it before you even reach the door.

He knows the way your fingers fidget when you’re thinking too hard, thumb tracing the knuckle of your index finger, looping once, twice, again, like some soft, private ritual.

He knows the scent that clings to your skin in summer, a faint wisp of sun-warmed soap and something floral he has never fully identified but he would recognize instantly, even if the world burned down around him.

He hasn't just catalogued these things.

He has built an altar of them in his mind.

Tonight, you sit at the far end of the table, head bent over some book, hair falling forward in a careless arc. You tuck it behind your ear without thinking—and Severus, seated silent in the corner, feels that invisible tug in his chest again, the one you summon without knowing.

You are all thoughtless grace. All unconscious poetry.

He watches the way your sleeve slides down your wrist, baring the delicate joint where pulse flutters—a place so small, so fragile, he wonders how the world hasn’t shattered you yet.

He watches the way you mouth the words as you read, the barest movement of your lips like a prayer uttered too quietly to hear.

You are not beautiful in the way paintings are beautiful, hung on walls for show, lacquered and loud.

You are beautiful in the way rain is beautiful—inevitable, essential, taken for granted until it falls.

Severus loves the way you laugh, though now he lets himself tell you, sometimes, when the world is soft enough. It is not a careful, polite laugh. It is the kind of laugh that escapes you, unwilling, breaking out like light through cracks. It is messy. Honest. It is, perhaps, the single purest sound he knows.

He notices, too, the way your brows pull together when you are puzzled, the way you tap a pen against your lower lip when lost in thought. The way you always, always find a reason to stay a few moments longer than necessary in any room where he is.

He counts these things like a miser counts coins, greedy and reverent all at once.

When you speak to him, you do not flinch from his gaze—and Merlin help him, that undoing is slow and excruciating. You speak to him as though he is not something to be pitied, or feared, or avoided. You speak to him as though he is simply there, solid and real, deserving of place and time and conversation.

You know the reverence you inspire, now. You know it because you have chosen him, again and again, in a thousand quiet ways.

You are aware that when your hand brushes his—a fleeting, thoughtless contact—Severus feels as though his skin has been branded. You are aware because you lean in closer afterward, as if to say, I see you, I choose you.

He notices the way you hum sometimes, under your breath, when you think no one is listening. He notices the songs—simple, half-forgotten tunes from nowhere in particular—and he commits each one to memory as though they are spells of a sort, spells that bind him to the earth.

When you are tired, your voice softens, slurring just slightly at the edges. When you are angry, your hands clench at your sides, and your eyes flash, fierce and alive. When you are happy—truly happy—you glow, and Severus is afraid to blink, lest the vision vanish.

He aches with it, sometimes. With how much he loves you. With how much he gets to love you.

It is in the small things that he lives: The way you tuck yourself tighter into your chair when you are cold. The way you always smell of paper and ink and something sweeter beneath. The way you whisper apologies to plants when you brush against them too hard.

He loves you like a man starved of softness—hungrily, reverently, hopelessly.

He loves the messiness of you—the way you sometimes forget where you set things down, the way you bite your cheek when nervous, the way you scratch behind your ear when embarrassed.

He loves the order of you—the way you line your books up by subject without thinking, the way your notes are color-coded even if your robes are a tangled mess.

He loves the contradictions that make you whole.

He has loved you for a thousand quiet moments and will love you for a thousand more, and you know it.

Tonight, you glance up from your book and catch him looking. You smile—small, soft, real. It is a smile that offers everything without needing to ask.

You blink, tilt your head a little, beckon him closer without words.

He obeys, like a moth to a steady flame, like gravity drawing a stone to earth.

You pat the chair beside you. You offer him a piece of your world—simple, thoughtless, vital.

And Severus, for all his cynicism, for all his broken edges, knows that he would follow that offer into oblivion if you asked him to.

He sits. You lean slightly against him, your warmth bleeding into his side. You thread your fingers through his with easy familiarity, and he closes his eyes for one fragile second, cataloging the feel of you against him, the scent of you, the sound of your breath.

It will be another item for his endless list. Another line in the quiet hymn he sings for you, in the deepest, most secret places of himself.

You know now. You know the entirety of it—the depth, the devotion, the painstaking detail. You know the way he has mapped your existence onto his own bones.

And Severus, broken, wary, rebuilt by love, lets it be enough.

[thequietkid-moonie]

What it is to be in love

[ YANDERE HEADCANONS ] [ Cleopatra, Ruan Mei ]

[ Majo Taisen ] [ Honkai Star Rail ]

An interesting prompt! I tried to write my original idea for this but i think it changed a bit in the process... ANYWAYS i hope my dear reader likes it ~

Cleopatra

With her beauty Cleopatra have managed to enchant everyone who happens to cross her path, she is used to having everyone showering her in praises, to have everyone wanting to be able to bask in her presence, in her beauty, to be able to reach her and, if they are lucky enough they would be able to have the honor to touch her

Cleopatra is used to have everything she asked imediatly presented in silver tray, but what she wanted the most has never being hers, she wants love, she wants to find someone who loves her sincerely, someone to love her and someone to love, she wanted to know what it was to be truly in love

Or at least that was until she found you, no matter who you were or if you fallen to her feet like everyone else, what matter is that there was something about you that made you diferent

Everything started by simple curiosity, there was something about you that made you diferent, something that was bothering her pride but it was picking her curiousity even more, that something was leading her to stare at your more and more, it made her look up and down at you, carefully taking on everything you do and everything you are to try to find out what was so diferent

Unexpectedly, but not unplesant, the curiosity Cleopatra grow until it become in a more interesting feeling, adoration, care, even going as far as call it love, Cleopatra wouldn't stay silent about her feelings and once she was satisfied enough of watching you from afar she imediatly made her way towards you, getting to know things she would only find out by staying close to your side

Cleopatra quickly grow to see you as the most beautiful and rare treasure she would ever find, you were simply someone she met one afternoon but at the same time you were that something she has being craving for, no matter how much people she has at her feet no one could compare to you, you made her heart race with excitment like nothing else can, you make her feel needy and bold enough to hold you close, you make her feel amused everytime you blush and stutter whenever she leans a little too close, or even because you are the only one who make her chuckle whenever you tease her and compliment her

Your words and praises become the only thing that she actually hears, no matter how much people express undying love for her your compliments are the only thing she care for, and the only ones she wants, you make her feel like her boring luxuries she lives surrounded by become the most precious thing she has ever lay her eyes one whenever you are around

Cleopatra absolutely loves the way you make her feel, You maker her feel something that anyone nor anything have been able to make her feel, and she will not lose that, she will not let anyone nor anything take that away from her, not even you

Ruan Mei

Ruan Mei's life has been dedicated to science and her studies, her only contact with other people have only being thanks to her work and she normally doesn't put efforts on getting in relasionships with others, from one side she has a hard time understanding feelings and for the other she sees more important her work, more than anything else

Ruan Mei has clear her goals, she has always been just focused on her work, but the moment she met you she started to question a bit everything in the most subtle way, she didn't even realiced how you started to flood her life until you were present in almost every second of her life

Ruan Mei doesn't have much problem with her own feelings, she takes what she feels and what she wants with normality, she doesn't see any reason to feel ashame of what she feels, however what she was feeling for you was something completely new for her

Like the good scientist she is, Ruan Mei decided to take her feelings as something new to investigaste, in order to understand she started to indulge herself in this feelings and find out what they were, she found herself longing for your presence, watching at you whenever you two cross in the hallway, staring at your back as you walk away with the desire to follow you, then she did

Ruan Mei grow to have an inmense curiousity over you, following you and forcing her way into your life with any excuse she found (ironically enough, she never gave you and excuse of why she was doing it, saying that she was interested on you without hesitation)

Ruan Mei slowly grow to want more and more, she is an ambicious woman, her goal and biggest dream is to become and Aeon, she is not stranger of wanting more, and her feelings wasn't going to be diferent, once her curiousity was fulfilled she found herself wanting more, she not only wanted to be a pasive observer of your life, she wanted to be part of your life, she wanted to grap herself in your presence, to drag you in her life, to become one alone, so she did

Ruan Mei, without even asking, followed her greedy heart and started to intertwine both of your life, her love for her work was as intense as her love for you, so, naturaly, she dragg you with her to her work, she took you as hers and made herself yours

Ruan Mei never really doubted her feelings, so she never saw anything bad with her way to love you, in her desire to want you, in her need to keep you at her side, she never saw anything bad in her actions and because of that she continue, not hearing any kind of complain from your side, not having the mind to process such words when her mind and heart were full of love for you anyways

[canonbreaker420]

Yeon Sieun Headcanons (Weak Hero Class)

💙 20 Si-eun Boyfriend Headcanons (aka how this emotionally repressed nerd has you SIMPING daily) 💙

Quiet Protector Type™ — He’ll never say “I’ll protect you” out loud, but he’ll always position himself closest to the danger without even thinking. Always walks on the outer side of the sidewalk.

Pretends Not to Be Jealous, Fails Miserably — He’ll say “I don’t care” when someone else is talking to you too much, but his eye twitches, jaw clenches, and you just know.

Remembers Everything — Your favorite drink, that offhand comment about a place you want to go, the exact day you mentioned your cat’s birthday? Yeah. All locked into that brain of his.

Terrible at Compliments (Out Loud) — Will say “that outfit’s practical” instead of “you look beautiful” and somehow thinks it’s the same thing. You learn to read the subtext.

But Writes Beautiful Messages — The one time he texted, “Don’t forget your umbrella. It’s raining and I don’t want you to get sick.” you literally screamed. That’s like a love confession from him.

Shows Love Through Acts of Service — Fixes your phone charger. Carries your heavy bag without asking. Organizes your notes when you’re behind. He won’t say “I love you,” but he’ll do it every day.

Rare Smiles = Precious Currency — His tiny half-smile when you say something dumb but cute? Worth more than gold. Seeing him genuinely laugh feels like winning the lottery.

In Denial About Being Whipped — If Suho ever pointed out how Si-eun goes soft whenever you’re around, he’d be like “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” while clearly adjusting your hair for you.

Stargazing Dates, Silent Side-by-Side Comfort — He doesn’t need to talk. Just laying next to you under the sky, letting the silence stretch comfortably, is enough for him.

Soft for Head Pats (but hates being caught liking it) — You pat his head when he does something good? His ears go red. He looks away. But never tells you to stop.

Gives You His Jacket Without a Word — Not the type to ask if you’re cold. Just throws the jacket over your shoulders and acts like he didn’t.

Secretly Competitive Over Your Attention — Will lowkey glare at Suho if he’s making you laugh too much. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until Suho calls him out.

Likes Studying With You in Silence — No talking. Just occasional glances, exchanged pens, and the feeling that you're in this together.

Acts Tough, But One Word From You and He Folds — You say “please?” and he’s already sighing like “ugh, fine…” but doing it anyway.

Gets Flustered When You’re Bold — If you ever kissed his cheek randomly, he’d freeze like a cat hearing a loud noise, then whisper “what was that for?” all red-faced.

Protective When You’re Sick — He’s not super expressive, but he’ll bring you food, check your fever without asking, and sit next to you until you fall asleep.

Secretly Keeps One of Your Hair Ties/Accessories — Doesn’t even realize he does it, but it stays in his pencil case or desk drawer.

Reads Your Favorite Book or Watches What You Love — Pretends it’s not a big deal. “It was alright,” he’ll say. But he did stay up all night to finish it.

His Love Language Is Showing Up — Doesn’t matter how late it is, how tired he is, how far—if you need him, he’s there.

He Loves You in Silence, in Glances, in Loyalty — Not through grand gestures or constant words, but through presence. Through every day he chooses to stay close—even if he doesn't know how to say it yet.

✨ Read more slow-burn chaos in Sieun x Aerin on Wattpad! ✨

[bogkeep]

oh my god it's so nice to have a text post getting Fun and Good tags for once... yes Do tell me more about your feelings and favourite examples of the royalty trope/genre.......

[batcavescolony]

Katniss is such an unreliable narrator. She says "Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me" girl you deliver strawberries to the Mayor, you hunt and trade for the district, when you fell at Prim being chosen someone caught you, when you went to Prim people parted for you, when you volunteered EVERYONE stopped. Idk how to tell you but I think you're a pillar of the community.

[ahollowgrave]

"Gotcha!" 📷

[vaguely-concerned]

powerful mental image of lucanis expounding passionately about any given one of his limited but extremely deep areas of interest (the wyvern/knives/coffee/cooking/murder continuum of lucanis dellamorte special interests if you will) while rye lounges around and Beholds him with palpable twink boutta pounce energy

[cementcornfield]

[Zac] was just trying to tell me to be happy with the win, and I appreciate that about him. Because I can get lost in, just like everybody can, you get lost in the adversity of the season. You can't take winning for granted and I've tried to get better at that.

[sugoroo]

ʚɞ warnings: fem!reader, looking up skirt, panty stealing + sniffing + licking, masturbation, professional misconduct, 18+ minors dni.

pervy electrician!toji who unintentionally shows up a little earlier at your house than he was supposed to and is rewarded with the sight of a very unprepared you hurriedly rushing to answer the door in just a baggy t-shirt and a pair of fuzzy socks.

pervy electrician!toji whose usual disinterested expression he has permanently plastered upon his features during work hours morphs into one of subtle interest as his dark eyes leisurely drag up and down your figure — and damn, he never gets sent out to clients as hot as you.

pervy electrician!toji who greets you with a simple nod as he brushes past you to get inside, his scarred lips involuntarily twitching up into an amused half-smile at how you ramble out several apologies for not being ready for his arrival.

pervy electrician!toji who casually waves it off and assures you that he doesn't mind; and he definitely doesn't mind when it means that he gets to watch you walk around in front of him wearing that shirt that barely even covers your ass.

pervy electrician!toji who is as well-mannered as he has to be when conversing with a customer, but makes sure to inject a little more charm into his voice just for you as he drawls out "well, what seems to be the problem, ma'am?"

pervy electrician!toji who silently pats himself on the back when he notices you grow slightly flustered at the polite term he used to address you by, leaning against your kitchen counter as he watches you explain the issues you've had with your power frequently cutting out lately.

pervy electrician!toji who has to make a concerted effort to bite back a scoff when you explain that despite being married, your useless husband has no idea how to fix the problem himself so you had no choice but to resort to calling his company.

pervy electrician!toji who can hardly even comprehend that your sorry excuse for a husband just went to work for the day and left a precious thing like you here with no power; some fools really don't know how good they have it, do they?

pervy electrician!toji who finds a rare, genuine smile pulling at his lips when you joke lightly that you'd make him a cup of coffee if there was any power for the kettle. so you're pretty as hell and you have a good sense of humour... oh, he's in trouble.

pervy electrician!toji who investigates the fuse box located at the back of the cupboard under the kitchen sink while you dash upstairs to change into something more appropriate, humming a quiet tune under his breath while he works.

pervy electrician!toji who figures out what the issue is in no time at all — there's a small leak dripping from the pipe leading from the bottom of the sink that has trickled down and fried some of the wiring; shouldn't be too hard to fix.

but for some reason, he finds himself wanting to create a reason for him to stay around here just a little longer.

so, pervy electrician!toji 'accidentally' makes the leak even worse by using the spanner on his tool belt to stretch the hole in the pipe slightly wider, causing any working part left in the fuse box to fizzle out into uselessness as a result.

pervy electrician!toji who has to pretend to be inconvenienced by the problem that he just worsened once you return to the kitchen, scratching the side of his jaw and telling you that it'll take him atleast a couple of hours to try and salvage the fuse box.

pervy electrician!toji who isn't exactly lying when he says this; just refraining from telling you the whole truth that there is no way to fix the ruined thing now. the entire box has to be replaced and he doesn't happen to have a new one with him today.

...looks like he'll just have to come back tomorrow, too.

pervy electrician!toji who keeps himself busy pretending to attempt to mend things under the cupboard, but finds it quite hard not to be distracted by your pretty self sitting atop the counter where you insisted on staying to keep him company while he works.

but, at the end of the day, pervy electrician!toji is a man, after all — a man who can't help himself from sneaking a quick peek up the edge of the skirt you changed into, holding back a groan when he catches a small glimpse of your patterned panties.

pervy electrician!toji who claims he needs to use your bathroom a little while later, making sure you don't follow him up the stairs before sneaking through the hall until he finds you and your husband's shared bedroom.

pervy electrician!toji who finds himself rifling through his client's underwear drawer like a damn horny teenager, hastily pulling out a pair of cute panties similar the ones he knows you're wearing downstairs right now.

pervy electrician!toji who is way too worked up to feel any sense of shame as he pushes his baggy work trousers down, exposing the extremely noticeable tent and subsequent wet patch staining the front of his boxers.

"fuckin' hell," pervy electrician!toji rasps as he shoves a hand into his boxers, wrapping it around the base of his painfully throbbing cock as he begins languidly stroking himself. "driving me crazy here, girl." he mutters to himself.

pervy electrician!toji who can't stop himself from holding your panties up to his face, cursing under his breath when he remembers that these are a clean pair from your drawer. no — he needs a used pair if he wants to be able to properly get off.

pervy electrician!toji who sifts through your laundry hamper like a starving man searching for scraps of food in a dumpster, his movements fuelled by the sheer need to release the overwhelming desire coursing through his veins.

pervy electrician!toji whose scarred lips twitch up into a victorious smirk when he finally finds a dirty pair of your panties, wasting no time in pressing his nose against the slick-stained crotch and inhaling your scent. and fuck, is it an intoxicating smell.

pervy electrician!toji who is utterly pussydrunk without even being near your actual cunt, tongue instinctively flicking out on its own to lap lightly at the soiled material, a pornographic moan falling from his lips afterwards.

"shit. tastes s-so sweet, heh." pervy electrician!toji grunts as he resumes those earnest tugs of his furiously hard cock, his sloppy mouth just coating your dirty panties with his glistening salvia.

pervy electrician!toji who is cumming in record time like a downright pathetic and touch-starved virgin, one press of his thick thumb against his weeping tip causing it to spill rope after rope of milky release into his boxers.

pervy electrician!toji who does actually go to the bathroom after he's pulled his trousers up and shoved both pairs of stolen panties into his pockets, cleaning himself up as best he can and checking his reflection in the mirror to make sure he doesn't look too wrecked.

pervy electrician!toji who saunters downstairs and faces you with an easy smile as if he didn't just jerk off with your used underwear pressed against his mouth, sharing the news that he'll 'unfortunately' have to return tomorrow to replace the broken fuse box.

pervy electrician!toji who tells you his usual bill for the basic work he's done today, although secretly gives you a considerable discount — one because it's you, and two because he didn't actually do anything to fix your power issue and instead deliberately made it worse so he could stay longer.

pervy electrician!toji who releases an amused chuckle when you frantically dart around the house in search of your purse, coming to the sheepish conclusion that you must've left it in your husband's car that he drove to work this morning with.

pervy electrician!toji who simply shrugs and suggests that you pay him when he comes by tomorrow instead. little do you know, however, that you've already paid him... just in the form of an orgasm and two pairs of panties instead of money.

pervy electrician!toji who is counting down the seconds until he can see you again as he drives home in the company van, body relaxed and sated from his previous climax and pockets stuffed pleasantly full with stolen underwear.

he'd say that was all in good day's work.

© 2024 SUGOROO. please don't copy or translate any of my works without my explicit permission. all rights are reserved to me.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

pervy lifeguard!gojo <- PREVIOUS PART.

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you’ve been one of sukuna’s many concubines for quite a while now. yet, you still cannot get rid of the jealousy in your system whenever he interacts with the other women in his harem.

wc. idk around 1 to 2k

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. angst (hurt to comfort), fluff, suggestive at the end. heian era. you call sukuna ‘my lord’. reader gets called ‘brat, little girl’. size difference. no part2, don’t ask i beg. not beta read.

“get back here, brat,” sukuna raises his voice as he follows you. he isn’t one to care about others’ emotional outbursts, yet here he is, chasing you after you’ve poured out your heart to him.

you don’t know why you’re this upset. you do know, however, that it’s childish of you to walk away mid dinner. you should’ve just stayed seated and refuse to let the thoughts consume you.

now you’re speed walking down the hallways of the estate—your legs carrying you as fast as they can without actually making a run for it. your mind keeps replaying the ‘unsettling’ scene that caused you to flee.

you remember it vividly. the sound of sukuna’s low, amused chuckle. how intrigued it was because of something another concubine told him—how he stopped chewing to say something back to her. which he rarely does.

hell, you’ve never seen him laugh around his other concubines.

“i do not wish to talk to you right now, my lord,” you reply, voice raised so the distance wouldn’t make it a hassle for the king of curses to hear you. you know that feisty attitude of yours entertains sukuna to no end.

he raises an eyebrow once he’s heard your voice; how it’s dripping with envy and hurt. you’ve never reacted like that before—at least not in his presence. it made him want to figure out why and how.

though, he can easily guess the reasoning behind your sudden defiance.

“oh, that so?” sukuna hums. he’s lenient with you this time around. he could catch up to you in under a split second, but he decides to give you that sense of accomplishment first before completely destroying it. he walks after you slowly, your fast steps being the same tempo as his slow pace.

you don’t answer. you’re stubborn. you have no right to feel jealous. you are a fairly new concubine—only a couple months ago did you join sukuna’s harem. yet, the time spent with him was precious.

he treats you differently. everyone notices that. everyone tells you the same. you know he does by the way he lets you off the hook with most stuff you say and do.

you don’t know what you did to gain his favouritsm, but it’s addicting. his attention is addictive. real addictive.

you had sworn not to develop any unneccessary feelings for that ruthless sorcerer. but, with the way sukuna treated you so gently behind closed doors, it was impossible not to.

you eventually reach the doors to your chambers. you slide them open and wish to close them behind you, only for a big hand to halt those movements. you freeze in place and refuse to look up at the owner of that said hand.

“look up,” sukuna demands. his voice causes goosebumps to appear on your arms, but you still don't budge. he clicks his tongue. that’s your first warning. two more and your punishment will be carried out, “we can do this the hard way too if you want.”

you turn your head, your fingers curling around the material of your kimono. you really should not feel this way about a little interaction between sukuna and his other concubine. that is none of your concern. what he does with those other women is none of your concern.

and yet. . .

“i don't want to,” you retort. sukuna walks into your room with a sigh. each step he takes forwards, you take backwards. your back finally bumps against the wall next to your bed.

sukuna towers over you, his tall and big frame making you feel vulnerable. especially with the way those red eyes of his are staring down at you. he crosses all four of his arms before speaking.

“tell me what’s running through that head of yours,” sukuna inquires sternly. he isn’t playing around anymore, you can tell. you glance the other way—knowing that he will laugh at you the moment you tell him why you’re upset.

you have a feeling he knows the reason behind your tantrum anyway.

“it’s nothing of importance, my lord,” you shake your head and relax your tense shoulders to make you seem less upset. your words have some truth in them—you don’t think your feelings of envy hold any value to him.

sukuna sighs again. he’s trying his best not to be annoyed at you. you’re his favorite and he wishes not to sadden you any further. he steps forwards, one hand moving to cup the side of your face.

his rough fingers play with a string of your hair, “i’m not stupid, little girl. i don’t like it when my woman is in distress.”

your heart skips a beat. this is what confuses you—how he can go from stern to gentle and vice versa. it’s surprisingly unexpected, which makes you long for more. even if his behaviour is confusing.

you look up at sukuna. your eyes meet for the first time in a good couple minutes. the corner of sukuna’s lips curls up into a satisfied smirk. that’s one step closer to getting you to open up.

“now,” the king of curses lowers his head to your eye level, the proximity all the more nerve wracking. he holds your jaw super tightly out of the blue. it makes you whimper.

“spit it out.”

there it is. the duality of the man strikes once more. you swallow the spit that’s been building up in your mouth. you bite your bottom lip lightly, trying to gather and form the right words to explain yourself.

sukuna wouldn’t understand. he’s a cold-hearted man who doesn’t care about such ‘trivial’ matters. he’ll just call you stupid, pathetic or whatever other derogatory term.

you stop your thoughts for a moment.

“it’s really just a stupid thing,” you mutter. your fingers curl around sukuna’s wrist—the one hand he’s using to firmly hold your jaw. you take a deep breath in, “i did not like it when you, errr. . . when that woman talked to you at the dinner table.”

your voice is clearly dripping with jealousy. pure, pure jealousy. and for what? because he talked to his other concubine. you feel stupid. you thought you discarded your personal feelings for the sorcerer before you the moment you turned into one of his many women.

“that woman?” sukuna tilts his head, feigning ignorance. that little grin on his face tells you enough. he’s playing with you like some form of entertainment. well, technically you are.

he wants you to be specific. he’s forcing you to be by acting like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about.

in all honesty, sukuna’s already forgotten what that woman had said to him. it wasn’t and still isn’t worth remembering. all he can recall is your adorable facial expression when you saw him interact like that with his other concubine.

that little frown on your face was priceless. it makes him want to keep teasing you.

“you know who i am talking about, my lord,” you huff, trying to look away, but get stopped by sukuna readjusting his grip on your jaw. he firmly yet gently taps your cheek once and you know what it means.

“attitude,” sukuna warns with a quick hiss. he can let you say whatever you want to him, but you also have some limits regarding which tone you use with him. you apologise quietly under your breath.

the king of curses nods in satisfaction before releasing the grip on your jaw. his large hand trails down to your neck, thumb rubbing up and down your throat, “so, my little girl is mad at me because i talked to another concubine of mine, huh?”

you nod mindlessly. sukuna can easily get you to comply with him—to obey his every word, simply with his actions. the terms of endearment he uses are the cherry on top. they slip off his tongue so easily with you.

“tsk tsk,” sukuna shakes his head. his hand is now on the back of your head, fingers tangled into your hair. he’s staring down at you with a smug expression. he knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger, “how childish of you.”

you knew that would be one of the things he’d say to you. what you didn’t expect is for him to go for a kiss right after. his lips land on yours firmly, and to no surprise, you instantly return the gesture.

your arms wrap around his neck—your chest pressing against his. sukuna wastes no time in picking you up and letting your legs encircle his waist. he’s not pulling away for air to breathe and you don’t either.

“you’re going to listen to me, yeah?” sukuna murmurs between passionate kisses. he’s holding onto you tightly with two arms, his free hands roaming over your body whilst he pins you against the wall.

when you whimper out a weak, high-pitched ‘yes, my lord’, he smirks against your mouth before turning to kiss your neck. he slightly bites the skin to make sure you’re paying attention to him.

“i don’t remember what that woman said,” sukuna continues, nearly out of breath because of the kisses he’s leaving all over you. he easily grabs both your wrists and pins them above your head on the wall, “i was too busy lookin’ at a much prettier concubine of mine.”

he pulls back a little so he can look you in the eyes. you’re panting and embarrassed by what he just said. one of his hands finds your face again, tracing the shape of your mouth.

“my favourite,” sukuna whispers whilst licking his lips. you can see it in his eyes: he’s silently planning out how he’s going to remind you of your place. your place as his favorite concubine.

he dips his head back down, aiming for the valley between your breasts. he closes his eyes before sucking on the surrounding flesh;

“guess i’ll be nice for once ‘nd show you just what it means to be my favorite so that you’ll never dare forget it again.”