#I could never know how to optimize tagging these two

[okiroash]

Redlucas just before classes starts again

[peachylynnie]

you make him lose his cool

word count: 900-1k per lead synopsis: in which you provoke them, and they love it. (inspired by kiss of life's igloo) contains: fem!reader x lads men (separate, non!mc), established relationship, downbad men, NSFW CONTENT MDNI (i'm talking grinding, oral sex implications, etc), song lyrics, and cursing. a/n: UPDATED WITH CALEB AS OF 2/1/25 i feel hot whenever i listen to this song. i hope you do too while reading. enjoy! do not plagiarize or translate. lads men do NOT endorse plagiarism. reblogs & comments appreciated. lads masterlist | tagged: @vvintqz (ik this is technically the reader teasing xavier but u said to tag u when i write xavier so i hope u enjoy)

caleb

What you heard? (What you heard?) But it's never what you think, trust

it's impossible to surprise caleb.

he always knows what you're up to.

whether you're just waking up from a heavenly two-hour nap or going out to get your hands on the latest edition of your favorite blind box series, he's always there.

last time you tried to cook yourself a meal (ever since you started dating, he hasn't let you lift a finger), he came home early and snatched the spatula away from you, insisting that you sit down and look pretty for him while he makes his signature braised wings.

you're not sure how he does it. maybe he has a secret camera or a tracker installed (ha). though, you don't have any complaints. you think it's fucking hot how he's never away from you.

even so, you've been wanting to surprise him for a while now. blame it on your desire to fluster him as much as he flusters you. you're going to surprise him AT LEAST once in your lifetime.

which explains why you're in an apron right now, with absolutely nothing underneath.

to be honest, you were hoping to surprise him with homemade apple pie since he's always cooking for you. but again, you want to fluster him. thus the apron, a long piece of denim fabric wrapped tightly around your waist and hung dangerously low at your chest. you can't deny how delectable you appeared when you looked in the mirror, admiring your exposed arms, legs, back, and neck—anything that would drive the esteemed colonel insane. you felt jittery just thinking about the look he would have on his face when he walked in through the door of your shared home.

however, your joy is short-lived when your phone rings while you slice up some apples in the kitchen.

"what's with the apron, pipsqueak?"

you put the knife down with a sigh. "do you have a camera installed in here or what?"

caleb chuckles into the phone. "wouldn't you like to know?"

"i would like to know so i can turn the damn thing off and actually surprise you for once, dipshit," you retort playfully as you adjust your phone between your ear and shoulder, picking up the knife to continue chopping. you suppose you should still make the pie since you already got the ingredients out.

"aw," he mocks, his voice dripping with arousal. "did my little pipsqueak dress up just for me?"

"yes," you snap, rolling your eyes. "but this little pipsqueak is about to change since you ruined her surprise."

your threat does little to faze caleb, as evidenced by his endearing laughter.

"don't be upset, pips," he teases into the phone. before you can scoff at his audacity to tell you not to be upset, your ears catch the hurried footsteps in the background of the call. it doesn't take long for you to hope your boyfriend is on his way home—on his way to you. sure enough, his next words cause heat to pool between your bare legs.

"keep the apron on. i'll be home soon."

after he hangs up, you put your phone down with a giggle, eager for what's to unfold once he arrives. however, you still can't help but wonder if he actually has a camera installed because how the fuck does he always know what you're up to? you frown as you turn your head left and right. you don't see any red flashing lights in places that could provide him an optimal view. nope. nothing in the corners of the ceilings and nothing in the walls either. before you can convince yourself your boyfriend is somehow omniscient, you notice something out of the corner of your eye.

his dog tag. seems like he forgot to put it on after putting on his uniform. you pocket it, hoping to give it to him when he gets home.

but your mind is truly one of a kind. as caleb likes to put it, resourceful during the most critical moments.

because when he's balls deep inside of you, coaxing your second orgasm out of you, you get the bright idea to fish your shaky fingers into the pocket of your bunched-up apron and put. it. on.

caleb's eyes widen upon seeing his dog tag on you. there it was, the important item he forgot this morning, resting between the delicious valley of your breasts, bouncing up and down while jingling an enticing melody.

"fuck—pipsqueak, you—" he thrusts harshly, pistoning into your sopping heat. you throw your head back at the sensation, allowing him an even better view of his chain, mingling with the beads of sweat on your collarbone. shit, he's so turned on right now. not only were your swollen, sweet lips adorning his name, but so was your pretty little neck. it filled the young colonel with pride. and enough vigor to bring you to your third release, as evidenced by the endless slamming of his hips and the clenching of your thighs.

"good girl," he helps you through your high before letting go of your waist, hoping to give you a break. "i'll go get a towel. stay here."

but when your pilot of a lover goes to leave, you wrap your legs around him and pull him to you, causing him to collide with you. caleb hisses at the contact, sensitive more than ever.

"don't push it, pipsqueak," he warns as he plants both of his arms on the kitchen counter, caging you in. "you need to rest."

"i don't think so, colonel," you prop yourself on your elbows, meeting his eyes boldly. "i don't think so at all."

caleb swears he feels his mechanical arm short-circuit because what you do next is just fucking tantalizing.

you pinch his dog tag and bring it to your mouth.

his breathing quickens substantially when your teeth take the shiny piece of metal as their prisoner. it's not long before his dog tag is trapped between your seductive canines and your thighs are tightened around his waist.

with a shameless smile, you jut your chin towards the man, signaling to him to make his move.

caleb growls, seizing the chain with both hands and bringing you to his face.

"i warned you, pips."

extra (in honor of his official installment)

as you munch on some apple pie in caleb's embrace on the couch, you can't help but ask.

"how did you know about the apron but not the dog tag?"

your boyfriend sniffs before answering, a little bit of pie still in his mouth.

"i couldn't check the cameras on the way home."

"oh that makes sense."

"…"

"wait, what?!"

sylus

Glass room, perfume, Kodak on that lilac (alright) Slipping on my short dress, know he like that (like that)

there's nothing like getting ready in sylus' bathroom. not because of the sheer size of it (it takes at least a day to explore his residence), but because of how good you look in the mirror right now. you can't help but smile as you step back to get a full look at yourself.

sylus went all out for tonight's auction.

he gifted you a tight-fitting ebony dress, its gorgeous silk straps accentuating your shoulders perfectly. he also gifted you a pair of evening gloves, its velvet fabric wrapping around your arms flawlessly. of course, the dress came with priceless jewels and heels. as you twirl in front of the mirror, the scarlet gems on your ears glimmer, and the cherry kitten heels on your feet click. oh, you look so good, you can kill.

but what seals the deal is the neck accessory he got you.

an intricate, black choker made out of lace. fucking lace. a scoff leaves your mouth when you notice the ruby medallion hanging at the center. his taste is as clear as day.

as you reach behind your neck to clip the choker, the man of the hour walks in. you meet his eyes through the mirror, your hands still at the back of your neck. "sylus."

"miss," he acknowledges in return, an unmistakable smirk appearing on his lips. his eyes trail down your figure. "you look stunning."

"thanks," you giggle as you hook the choker clasp. "you don't look bad yourself."

and you're absolutely right. although he has his usual dress shirt on, his outerwear is completely new. a gorgeous red blazer, adorned with inky brush strokes, sits proudly on his shoulders. moreover, his accessories are new (he's never worn any before). cuffed around his right hand is a sleek platinum watch, spotlighting his forearm deliciously. hanging from his left ear are silver chains, shining unashamedly. you can't help but bite your lips as you admire your lover in the mirror.

yeah, sylus went all out tonight.

catching the hazy look in your glittered eyes, he tilts his head before grinning, "like what you see, sweetie?"

you roll your eyes playfully before returning to the sink. "yes, actually. didn't know you were capable of wearing something other than black."

sylus chuckles as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. "i've worn colors other than black before."

"if you're talking about the two outfits that have the belt around the sleeve," you list nonchalantly as you pick up your lip gloss. "they don't count. they have black on them."

"i'm talking about the red cardigan, sweetie," he counters smoothly, eyeing the lip gloss in your hand.

"ah." you run the wand over your parted lips, enjoying the feeling of gloss on them. "touche," you say, bending over the sink to see if you missed a spot. you do, however, miss the way sylus' fingers tighten around his arms when your dress hikes up. smacking your lips together, you lift the wand to reapply. "but you barely even wear that. so that doesn't count either."

sylus hums, barely paying attention to what you just said. his eyes are transfixed on the wand. he's mesmerized by how it travels across your lips, slathering them with sticky, shimmery syrup, leaving him thirsty for a taste. not to mention the sounds leaving your lips whenever you press them together. sweet, squelching sounds that have him pressing against you in mere seconds, his hands gripping the edge of the sink.

at first, you were taken aback by his sudden proximity. but after feeling something prod at your back, you smile amusingly before placing the wand down. "i'm assuming," you swiftly turn around and wrap your arms around his neck, his eyes widening as you pull him closer. "there's been a change of plans." you slowly lick your lips, collecting some excess gloss. as it drips from the tip of your tongue, you ask with a tilt of your head, "how late are we going to be?"

that's it.

sylus crashes into you, his tongue desperately trying to lap up the excess gloss. his hands haphazardly roam all over your body before lifting you onto the sink, pinning you down as his lips smear your lip gloss everywhere. you moan, trying to match his fervor. the sinful mixing of breaths, saliva, and gloss floods your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around him and bring him closer to you. he welcomes the action, gasping and grinding into you.

by the time he pulls away for air, both of you are left panting like dogs, mouths and chins smothered in sheen.

your eyes never leave sylus' as you wipe your chin, a string of gloss and saliva hanging prettily from your gloved palm. with a groan, he dives into your neck and sinks his teeth into your collarbone. you throw your head back at the pain, whimpering when he soothes the spot with his tongue.

but when sylus traces a finger up your back, you freeze immediately.

why?

oh, because he's unzipping your dress.

"sorry, sweetie," he chuckles into your perfumed skin, savoring your surprised reaction when he drags the zipper all the way down. "we won't be late."

you look at him in confusion, barely processing the silk straps falling off your shoulders.

he leans in and whispers into your ear.

"we won't be going at all."

xavier

Heart attack, IV when I walk the street Vitamins that D, I'm good, I'm healthy

your starlight of a boyfriend collapses onto the bed, his legs hanging off the edge and his pants dangling pathetically from his ankles.

you giggle at the sight, wiping your lips clean of his release. as you rub a drop between your index finger and thumb, you notice the texture's a bit thick, almost like jelly.

"xavier," you call lovingly, rising from your knees and crawling on top of him. he barely responds; his eyes are screwed shut with beads of sweat trailing down his face, neck, chest, legs, everywhere. shit, what did you do to him? he can't get his chest to stop heaving, his mouth to stop watering, and his ears to stop ringing. he can't do anything. not with the way you looked so pretty on top of him, especially after making him release so intensely in your mouth.

"xavier," you repeat as you cradle his face, making his dazed eyes meet yours. "when was the last time you drank water?"

"water?" he pants. "i'm not sure. why do you ask?"

"well," you show him your fingers. he gulps, flushing a deeper shade of red. "this tells me you haven't been drinking enough water."

you get up to retrieve some water from the kitchen. xavier whines at the loss of contact. although he tries to stop you from leaving, you easily slip out of his weak embrace (he literally got his life sucked out of him; cut him some slack). after you reassure him with a kiss on his forehead, you open the door. "i'll be back soon."

he responds with a whimper before closing his eyes. before he knows it, he falls asleep.

not even five minutes have passed when you return to the room, a glass of water in your hand and a packet of vitamins in the other.

"xavier?" after placing the items down on the nightstand, you sit on the bed to admire the view. there he is, sleeping soundly with his shirt unbuttoned and pants unbuckled, his chest slowly rising up and down and his cute nose scrunching every so often. you almost feel bad when you wake him up. almost. as much as you like watching your boyfriend sleep, he needs his water and vitamins, considering how much energy he uses to fight wanderers.

"wake up, xavier," you coo. "you need your vitamins."

he stirs, peeking one eye open to look at you. cute, you think. "i'm too tired, angel." he whines before closing his eye again. "i'll have some later."

"come on," you chuckle. "at least drink some water. you're dehydrated."

hoping to keep him awake, you litter his face with kisses, repeatedly pecking his adorable features. his droopy eyelids, his button nose, his fluffy cheeks, his moist forehead, his small chin—not a single spot is missed.

his little laughs repay your efforts. before you can continue your bombardment of kisses, his arms wrap around your shoulders, successfully pinning you down to him. you're surprised by how quickly he replenished his strength.

"you're trapped," he points out cheekily. "now we can both sleep."

"xavier," it's your turn to whine. "you need to drink some water. besides," you try to get up but fail miserably due to his tight embrace. "you need to scoot up, and i need to lay down properly if we both want to sleep." still no signs of letting you go.

you sigh before poking at your boyfriend's waist, causing him to yelp.

he immediately lets go of you, rubbing the spot you just touched. taking the chance to escape, you stand up and reach for the glass and vitamins.

"meanie," he pouts. "i thought we agreed to not tickle each other for today."

"that's because you try to tickle me all the time," you retort playfully, opening the packet of vitamins. "besides, i only tickle you as a last resort. unlike you, i'm nice." you pop the vitamin in your mouth and bring the glass to your lips.

"as if." he yanks up his pants and crosses his arms. "last time i checked, being nice means letting your boyfriend sleep peacefully," he quips as he turns away from you, hoping his grumpy little act will coax more kisses from you.

instead, a hand comes into his view and grasps the sheets. furrowing his brows, he shifts back to ask what's wrong but is startled to find your face hovering above his. 

"angel, what—"

you press your lips into his, your free hand gripping his chin. on instinct, xavier opens his mouth, expecting your tongue to greet his. however, his eyes widen when he feels something pour in. oh. he greedily swallows the water and vitamin, his fingers weaving into your hair.

you pull away abruptly, a drop of water trickling down the corner of your lips. before he can say anything, you grab the glass of water and drink from it again, your hooded eyes never leaving his. xavier groans at the sight, his chest heaving for the third time today. and it's barely afternoon. oh, you're going to be the death of him.

he's sure of it when you return to his lips, water flowing into his mouth so sensually as his tongue reaches out for more. this time, you rest your entire body on top of him, allowing him to grab at your hips and thrust upward, desperately rubbing against your clothed core and seeking any type of friction that could relieve him of this growing desire you satiated with your mouth less than ten minutes ago. he never wants to drink water alone ever again.

“a-angel,” he moans when you pull away again. “why?” 

“you need more water, xavier.” you tease with a lick of your lips. “gotta make sure my boyfriend is hydrated, ya know?”

with that, you go to stand up and reach for the glass. however, the room spins as xavier pins you down, your positions switched and your wrists restrained above your head. your eyes widen, realizing you might've pushed your boyfriend too far. 

"angel," dark, cerulean eyes burn into you before glancing at the glass. “that's not enough water.”

rafayel

Yeah, white tippy-toe summer, I make him go dumb, duh He doubled down on that text, says that I'm the only one

(heads up, reader doesn't have to be mc but they know about rafayel's identity as the sea god and he calls you his beloved bride)

rafayel isn't sure how he got here.

you, on top of his bare chest, nibbling at his neck and dragging a finger down his clenched abdomen.

"c-cutie," he stammers. "someone might see."

he's not wrong. you're at the beach after all. but it's a private beach, one the artist rented for a date. so really, what's the harm in pinning your boyfriend down in the sand and showing him how much you appreciate him?

"you're the one who said this place was private, raf." you giggle before sinking your teeth into him, eliciting a moan. "besides, we both know why you suggested a date at the beach. don't tell me you forgot." you trail your finger along the waistband of his swim trunks. he jolts, his half-lidded eyes meeting your misty ones.

of course, he didn't forget. but considering the current, scandalous situation he's in right now, his memory is a bit hazy. as you twirl the drawstring with your index finger, rafayel bites his lip and tries to remember how exactly he got here.

last thing he remembers is you excitedly texting him about your package coming in.

a package, pft. no big deal, right?

wrong.

he almost dropped his phone when you sent him a picture of the package, more specifically, you wearing its contents.

a gorgeous two-piece swimsuit in the color of his hair. fuck, lavender has never looked so good on you. the way the tight, skimpy fabric hugged all the right places, making you seem so so malleable. the way you posed in front of the mirror, your face bridling with innocent excitement but your body positioned so so temptingly. shit, he hopes this exhibition ends soon because his slacks feel suffocating all of a sudden.

it wasn't long before he spammed you with a hurricane of texts consisting of flattering emojis and praises about how you're the only one he'll ever love (dramatic but heartwarming) and how he would love to take you on a date at the beach as soon as this stupid exhibition is over so you can swim in your new set to your heart's content (totally not because he wants to see the real thing).

yeah, now he remembers. he got himself into this situation. you even tried to stop him.

"uh," he recalls you hesitating through the call. "aren't you tired from your exhibit?"

"nope," he immediately answers, causing you to raise a brow. "not at all, cutie. i'm in tip-top shape. what better place for us to test your swimsuit than the beach?"

"us?" you repeat amusingly. "since when was testing a swimsuit a two-person thing?"

shit, he got caught.

"raf," you giggle at his silence. "if you want to see me wear this in person, you can always just ask, you know?"

"w-what?! no!" he acts as if you insulted his artwork. "i just thought it'd be a good opportunity for us to go on a date and to test the quality of your swimsuit! what if one day you go into the water and it gets untied or something? what if i'm not there to protect you from prying eyes? you can never be careful enough with swimsuits, especially shipped ones!"

"uh-huh," you drawl skeptically. "i'm sure a triple-knotted bikini will SOMEHOW get untied by the waves."

"come on, cutie," rafayel whines. "i know a perfect, private place! i'll even bring the food, the blankets, everything! please?" (he purposely emphasized "private" because no way in the seven seas is he going to let anyone look at you in a bikini)

you sigh before observing yourself in the mirror once more. the bikini DID look good, and you DID buy it for future swimming dates with rafayel. might as well, right? besides, you can't say no to him, especially when he begs so cutely like that.

"fine, raf," he remembers you giving in with an endearing sigh. "send me the address of the beach once you're done. i'll stop by your place to pack your swimming trunks."

and here you are, resting on top of him and drawing figure eights with your fingertips IN his swimming trunks.

he would laugh at the irony if it weren't for your provocative actions. you were the one who brought him his swimming trunks, and now, you were the one making him wish you didn't bring them so he could see how pretty your fingers looked right next to his—

yeah, he definitely got himself into this situation. he has no one to blame but himself for his predicament. it's his fault he's currently twitching and throbbing underneath you as you breathe into his neck and tease doodles into his thighs.

"oh fuck, cutie—" rafayel jerks his head back when you suck on his adam's apple. your mouth felt so good. you felt so good. 

after pulling back with a 'pop,' you trace the red mark with your free hand, admiring your artwork on your artist of a lover. unfortunately for him (fortunately, really), this causes him to squirm uncontrollably. the simultaneous stimulation from your right hand on his thigh and your left hand on his neck was just too much for the lemurian. he swears he's this close to bursting all over the sand like a messy, wet bubble. 

suddenly, you stop, withdrawing both of your hands from his body. 

"c-cutie?" he lifts his neck to look at you but finds himself confused as to why you're sitting up. though, his confusion is quelled when you reach behind your neck. 

oh. 

your hands come into view, each one tugging on the strings of your top.

oh fuck. 

he doesn't even see your top fall. no. he's completely frozen (and hard) when you lay back down on him, smushing your now-exposed chest into his abdomen, allowing him a view that brings roses to his cheeks. (he can feel your nipples rubbing against him).

"oh, god of the tides," you purr with a smirk as you press your ear into his chest, relishing in his rapid heartbeats. "you promised you would test this swimsuit with me." before he can deny your reminder of his mistake from the earlier call, you grab his hand and bring it to rest against your swimsuit bottoms, causing his breath to hitch. "won't you make good on your promise?" 

rafayel swallows shakily before nodding. 

"anything for my beloved bride." 

zayne

Mm, yeah, I make him lose his cool Yeah, I make him go mmmmmm ah! ah!

doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, reduced to this.

a red-faced mess, losing his cool in a rocking chair, thanks to his lover shaving his chin on his lap.

his lover, who just so happens to be wearing a nightgown, a silk, sapphire nightgown with lace ruffles and ribbons that drove the man insane.

to make matters worse (better), your bare thighs were on either side of his hips, caressing and stroking him whenever you would move to shave his chin.

don't even get him started on the fact that you're sitting right on top of his crotch. he prays to any merciful soul out there that you don't feel him growing down there-

he inhales sharply when you reach behind him for a towel, your chest mere millimeters from his face.

"you okay, zayne?" you ask with faux concern.

"yes," he clenches his jaw. it's taking him everything to not dive in and lick, suck, bite—anything to relieve him of this torment. "please hurry."

"hurry?" you pout with a tilt of your head. "but why?" you lift his chin to wipe some excess shaving cream. "do you not want me to shave you?"

"no, darling. it's just—" his hands fly to your waist for stability when you place the towel back in its place. shit, every time you lift yourself onto your knees to reach behind him, the chair moves more and more, resulting in a pattern where when he leans back, you press into him, and when you lean back, he presses into you. it's not helping that this pattern deliciously resembles a certain rhythm in bed.

"it's just?" you repeat to him, stroking his jaw to inspect for stray hairs.

he doesn't say anything. how can he? he can't just spill about how badly he wants to kiss your sweet lips, squeeze at your delectable chest, rip your enticing nightgown apart, and take everything you have to offer. no, he can't. not when you approached him so innocently with a cute smile on your face after he came home, asking if you could shave him. (he almost fell to his knees when he saw what you were wearing). not when you look so beautiful gazing at him from above, handling his skin with addictive yet gentle touches, and glowing underneath the moonlight from the open windows. shaking his head, he grips your waist with renewed resolve.

"it's nothing," he closes his eyes. "please continue." he would rather drink alcohol than misinterpret your innocent intentions.

except there was nothing innocent about your intentions at all. you admit, it's fun to tease zayne like this. the way his lips would chase after your fingers whenever you traced them, the way his eyes would falter whenever you leaned in, the way his breath would hitch whenever you moved your hips, oh it all made you feel wanted. and who could want more than a gorgeous, capable doctor who looks at you as if he's going to die if he can't have you?

you. you want more. you WANT him to have you, take you, right here on this rocking chair. you thought teasing him with a few shifts of your hips and some purposeful closings of distances between his face and yours would relay the message. but no. he's either completely oblivious or has the will of a steel that's been fortified ten times over. because even though he's made it incredibly clear that he wants what you want (his blushing cheeks and shortage of breaths are hard to miss), all he's done is sit there and take your teasing.

you frown, retracting your hand. what's it going to take for doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, to give in?

a lightbulb flashes in your head.

"hang on, i missed a spot," you lie, lifting yourself up once more to reach for the shaving cream next to you. "i'll make this quick."

and with that, you slam your hips down.

he groans out loud, eyebrows furrowing and fingers tightening around your hips. he still hasn't opened his eyes though.

"are you sure you're okay, zayne?" you ask innocently, twisting left and right. "i'm worried about you."

"w-why," he starts hoarsely, his fingers gripping for dear life, trying to stop you from moving so damn much. "why would you be worried?"

"oh, i don't know," you smear shaving cream all over his jaw before trailing your fingers down to his neck. "you just seem so…" you slowly trace a heart on his collarbone, eliciting a pretty gasp from him. "out of it."

zayne's eyes jerk open, glaring at you with unprecedented focus. you smile cheekily before pressing yourself deeper into him, eager to bear witness to what he'll do and say since he finally opened his eyes.

though, your smile doesn't last long. in an instant, his hands pin yours behind your back, causing your back to arch and your lips to part.

"i'm starting to think," he secures your wrists in his right hand and brings his left to his face, wiping away the mess you made. "you're doing this on purpose."

you grin. finally. he finally got the message. unable to hide your excitement, you lean in next to his ear and whisper, "what are you going to do about it, doc-tor?"

he inhales sharply, yanking your wrists.

"perhaps," he growls. "it's time you get a taste of your own medicine. prescribed by yours truly."

[finniestoncrane]

Virginal vault dweller reader you say?? I'd eat that up (and so would Cooper, heh) but seriously I would read the hell out of that if you're up for it <3

Different Up Here

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 6.3k anon thank you lmao i had already started drafting this, so vault dweller reader isn't quite a virgin but they are definitely inexperienced and have never known pleasure like the kind that cooper can offer 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: power imbalance, dubious consent because once you've said yes to cooper you can't change your mind, overstimulation, crying, oral sex, fingering, instructional, full penetration babiessss i realised i never tag that shit but yeah it's in here lmao, cumming inside, no protection, sweet coop afterwards but only briefly

If anyone else had asked you in that moment how you were, you couldn't have answered accurately without any hint of sarcasm and irritation. You were being worn down, like buildings by the sands of the desert. Each little molecule of your optimism being torn away from you, painful like plucking a hair. But when Cooper asked you, you tried your best to push down your knee jerk response.

"Let's see, shall we? Since leaving the vault a month ago, bravely in search of resources and supplies for my friends, I have killed, maimed, and eaten things I hope to never think of again. I'm in a constant cycle of very, very stressed and then very, very bored where there is no happy medium between fearing for my life and wishing for death. And oh, by the way, I'm sweating buckets the whole time because it's deathly fucking warm. Thank you for asking, Cooper!"

Instead, you shrugged and offered him at least a partial truth.

"It sounds silly... but I'm kind of bored."

A dry chuckle passed over Cooper's lips.

"Heh, that's a new one for out here."

Sensing an opportunity to at least get some conversation out of him, you sat up on the rusty bed frame, your body sinking into the almost entirely flattened mattress as you crossed your legs and did your best to get Cooper to talk more than a sentence at a time.

"Really? I would have thought you'd be bored a lot, especially when there's no raiders, or mirelurks, or scavengers, or feral ghouls, or super mutants, or roving gangs of-"

"See, this is why I'm never bored. Always somethin' or someone to be killin'."

"But what about like... now? When there's nothing else to do. There's no magazines, no books, no TV."

You watched as Cooper turned from you with a slight smile. You knew the one, the familiar grin that meant you'd divulged some information about your life in the vaults, something he always found so amusing. It was your naivety, your optimism. He was endlessly fascinated by it, as though listening to you talk about it reminded him of something he had before.

That fascinated you. It made you want to stay around him, the way he listened silently as you talked about the old films that were on the holotapes, the food that was still fresh and available, the music you could hear whenever you wanted to, not reliant on some two-bit radio host. He paid attention to you. And any time his deep, brown eyes focused on your lips it made your heart flutter in an admittedly unexpected manner.

Remembering that feeling, you tried again, hoping that your next approach might be something that interested him a little more than just conversation.

"You know how we used to pass time in the vaults?"

Over the sound of the evening breezes that whipped up the sand you could still hear Cooper sigh before he spoke.

"Now if you tell me that you wanna go out there again tonight to find an old blast radius board... well I am just going to have to shoot you."

You laughed at what you hoped was a joke and waved him off, despite the fact that he was still turned away from you, unable to see your gesture as he tried ignoring you in what you assumed was the hope that you might shut up and leave him alone.

"No, no no no no no. Just..."

The lump in your throat felt like it was about to choke you, so you swallowed the clump of nerves quietly, your voice trembling as you finished your sentence.

"... fooling around... y'know?"

Cooper turned to face you. You had piqued his interest, and you couldn't help but show the giddy glee on your face, the smallest smile crossing your lips as your eyes widened. But his words wiped away all hope that you had garnered in that short span of time.

"Oh... oh darlin'."

He laughed a little, each little sound of the short, sharp giggle like a slap to the face.

"I don't think you're ready for that at all."

You raised an eyebrow, defiant, irritated, and keen to know how he thought he had you pegged so quickly. You'd never talked about anything like that with him before. Was he assuming that you were a virgin based on how you behaved around him alone? Maybe he figured that the lack of flirting on your part was down to a complete lack of experience, when in reality, it was because every flirtatious quip he threw your way made you so nervous and flustered you felt like you might throw up.

"How come I'm not ready? I mean, I've... I've done stuff... I've done it!"

"The fat you're not saying it how it is makes me think that you are absolut-"

"I've had sex, Cooper. I've fucked before. I've been fucked."

Blinking off the irritation at being interrupted by you, Cooper pushed up the brim of his hat and stared directly at you, as though he was examining your, to see if you would stand up for yourself any further.

"By who? One of your little buddies underground? Fucking like little bunnies? I don't think that qualifies you, sweetheart."

"Why? Sex is sex..."

You said it with such confidence. As if you really knew. As if you hadn't spent your teenage years practising on your hand, holding a pillow close, lining up for that one girl in the vault who would sell practice kisses for extra bubble-gum. You'd had sex before, of course. You weren't a liar. Just because you'd only ever done it once didn't render it nonfactual. Just because it had only lasted for all of four minutes. Just because you weren't sure you even orgasmed, and your friend had told you that you'd know if you'd orgasmed. Just because it was all over so quickly, and he'd run off before anyone could catch you both, avoiding you at every opportunity after that.

"... Isn't it?"

"Oh no it ain't. Besides, like I keep telling you, it's different up here. Everything's different up here. And that includes fuckin'."

The way he said the word, consonants enunciated with such grit and vigour, filled your stomach with knots that began to tighten as you considered in what way things were so different.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

Cooper sighed, exasperated, resigning himself to the fact that you were going to keep talking to him regardless of his short replies and attempts to end the conversation.

"You are a dog with a bone, huh? Ain't gonna let it go."

His yellowed teeth were exposed as his lips pulled back in a baring, mischievous smile. Those knots doubled, the ends being pulled by tension in your nervous system as Cooper's smirk put you into a dazed stupor.

"No, sir."

"Now, I don't remember signing on to be your personal tutor in all things apocalypse. Do I really need to show you how everything works up here?"

As your cheeks began to blush, you nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, sir."

You were hopeful for just a bit of a distraction. Something to help take the stress away. To relieve the tension that had been building up between you and Cooper as of late. You'd been studying him, watching the way he looked at you, fascinated by your perceived, and frankly obvious, innocence. The way his fingers moved, contributing to the skilful way he handled his gun and his ropes. The confidence, the charisma, the charms.

You wanted him, but you weren't quite sure how to broach the situation without it seeming desperate. But you were past that now. You were desperate For anything, just something. Something to cure the monotony of walking and hiding and fighting and surviving. You didn't want to just survive. You wanted to at least find a semblance of fun and pleasure in this nightmare you had found yourself in. And in the vaults, when board games and books and debates got boring, there was always fucking. That was what you desired most right now. The fact that Cooper happened to be the closest target for your desires was just a sweet miracle, or a cruel tease depending on how willing he was.

And luckily, he seemed agreeable.

"Well then, how about you come over here and let ol' Coop show you a little thing or two about how dirty you can really get up here in the mean, dusty Wasteland, hm?"

Your excitement was palpable, even though you were trying to keep your composure. There was no escaping the echo of the giddy squeal you let out as you jumped up from the bed and made your way over to Cooper. He waited in the far corner of the room, setting himself down on an old armchair as you stepped towards him, slapping his thighs as an indication of where he wanted you. And you did as you were told, following his instructions, knowing they hadn't led you astray so far in your time together.

It felt awkward at first, being so close to him. You shifted your weight nervously, trying to get comfortable while making sure Cooper was still at ease, which of course, he was. He always was. Nothing stirred him, he was forever at peace. Competent in any situation. Quick to adapt. And as you fidgeted and fussed, you felt his strong hands pushing you forward on his lap, until your chests were practically pressed together, his hands skirting over your lower back as he held you still. In command. In control. The sudden sensation of his hands on your body made your breath hitch, a soft, surprised squeal on the inhale that had Cooper raising his brow at you.

"Now... you agree that you asked for this, alright? Because I am not going to put my effort into entertaining your little whims if you're gonna get fussy and decide it's too much for you. I did warn you."

"Yes, you did, and I really don't think you needed to. I doubt there's too much different about it, and I've picked up what I needed to know pretty quickly from your other lessons, haven't I?"

Your retaliation to his insistence that you needed him to teach you everything, and that some things just might prove themselves a little too hard even for your levels of enthusiasm, had irritated him when he'd first met you. But now your optimism and sheer refusal to believe anything was too much for you were a source of entertainment for him. A challenge.

"That's fine then, darlin'. But I'll remember that."

His eyes bore into your soul, keeping your focus on him as he dared you to look away. They sparkled as he ran his tongue over his lips, the pretence of preparing for his next words covering the obvious flirtation in the way he dragged the flat muscle along his chapped skin.

"So, gimme a benchmark here, lil lady. How much foreplay was involved in your previous encounters? I'd hate to leave you high and dry."

"Foreplay...? What... uh, what is that?"

Cooper sighed, rolling his eyes before closing his eyelids over gently.

"Well, it's something like this."

He pushed a loose strand of hair back behind your ear, rough fingers following the curve and grazing over your neck as he let them drift down the front of your chest, tickling the exposed skin as far as your jumpsuit would allow before he took a hold of the zip at the front. A quick flit of his eyes up to you seemed to ask for permission, and your small, almost imperceptible nod, told him to keep going.

Slowly, painfully so, he pulled the zip down, watching as the centre of your torso was slowly revealed to him. Smooth skin, in comparison to his anyway, clear of any unnatural blemishes or war wounds. One calloused digit followed down your sternum to your stomach and back up, hooking under the left side of the fabric and pulling it over, then the other, exposing the top half of your body to him.

Cooper traced his fingertips over the top of your breasts, watching as your chest moved in and out, slowly, but exaggeratedly. The knots in your stomach felt like they might burst with the tension as his sharp, ragged nails crossed over your hardening nipples, a gentle tingle coursing through your veins.

"Well?"

"No... n-nothing like that... just grabbing..."

"Oh yeah? You like that? How about this?"

He closed two fingers around your nipple, one hand still on your back to keep you balanced as your body reacted to his touch. Between the two digits, you felt your nipples heating up, the slight, burning pain from the way he squeezed them sending a signal down your spine that seemed to affect every part of you. Tighter, tighter, and then as your eyes closed a little more, eyelids pressed tight, he would ease up to offer some relief.

"You like that? Like it rough?"

"I think... I think I like both."

"So, something like this?"

He teased your nipples once more, pressing harder with his fingertips, pulling them out and jiggling your breasts as he tugged at them, this lewder act interspersed with a gentle caress as he held your breast against the palm of his hand, carefully cupping it as he flicked his thumb over the sensitive and completely erect nipple.

You bit your lip, trying to keep quiet, Coop's hand moved swiftly from your body to your cheeks, popping the lip back out as he pressed his thumb and forefinger into your face. Understanding the message, and seemingly showing this in your wide-eyed gaze, he let his rough, leathery hand make its way back down to your breast, cupping it once more as he spoke.

"Different, see? Pleasure is hard to come by out here. You gotta do it right when you've got the chance."

Cooper leaned into your neck, whispering the words low and slowly, his dry, chapped lips skimming over your skin as he continued.

"I bet down there they didn't know the first thing about real pleasure. Takes time, something like that. You gotta learn the body, gotta make it feel good."

His teeth grazed over your shoulder and back up along your neck before he pulled back, watching your eyes refocus from the haze of arousal.

"Did they make you feel good?"

"No."

You were confident in that statement. It hadn't felt good. It felt rushed. Clumsy. Shameful. And as you pondered it, your mouth remained open in a slight pout which trembled as Cooper asked his next question.

"And what about your pretty lips... did they kiss them?"

"A little..."

Cooper leaned in, his rough lips pressing onto yours with firm contact, his tongue staying in place as though he imagined that might be a bit too much for you right now. But that same level of restraint didn't keep him from letting his teeth catch onto your bottom lip, pulling it out, only letting go when you winced in surprise as the suddenness of the action.

"Didn't bite them either. Of course not, what am I thinking? That would be a little too adventurous for your kind."

His face took on a darker tone as he smiled knowingly towards you.

“And what about these pretty lips?”

Before you could piece together the question, his hand was diving into your jumpsuit, pushing down the front and past the waist, stroking against the front of your underwear which, by now, was soaking wet with your arousal.

“They touch these lips, huh?”

You gasped as he pushed your underwear to the side, stroking his fingers along your slick, plump pussy lips, withdrawing them soon after to taste you on his tongue, the way you had watched him taste the blood of enemies, the blood of victims.

“Stand up, darlin’… Why don’t you take that suit off, hm? Get yourself comfy.”

As you raised yourself up from his hips, your legs wobbled under you, not quite steady enough to support you so soon after being reduced to jelly by Cooper’s touch, his caramelised words that filled your ears, the sharp twang of his accent, the delicate cadence, the power rumbling underneath like an almost silent bassline.

“Do it slowly though.”

Cooper watched carefully as you stood nervously before him, shuffling out of your suit, stripping for him, your hips moving from side to side slow and steady, unintentionally sultry in the way you moved. Without taking his eyes from you he reached for his canteen, taking a long sip from it as you let your suit fall down over your legs, stepping out of it and pushing it to the side with your feet.

“That’s it, darlin’. Can’t do this half-hearted. I need to have access to all of you there. Now come sit back down.”

You held your arms in front of you, feeling far too exposed for the shelter you’d found for the evening. No windows, no locks on the doors. But it was difficult to focus on that worry for too long as you watched Cooper’s tongue flit back out over his lips, clear strands of drool sparkling in the light as he took you in, hungrily, dreamily.

“Turn around though. You face that way.”

The metal buttons on the front of his duster coat were cold against the skin of your back, but you leaned into them anyway. Cooper’s hand curved around your neck and up under your chin, holding your face forward.

“You keep an eye out, holler if you see anything coming. I’ll do everything else.”

A faint clicking sound, the safety on his gun being flicked to off, before those same fingers draped over your mound and down on to your lips, spreading them apart, the cool air of the decrepit room cooling the heat of your hot, aching cunt. With two fingers holding your lips apart, he let the middle digit tap against your clit, each tiny sensation turning your blood cold before heating it exponentially, a cold sweat beginning to form on your brow as you felt a tingle in your abdomen.

The finger that tapped the sensitive bud began stroking it from side to side, laying flat against it length wise as Cooper strummed your body, still holding your chin in his hands, smiling to himself every time your back arched away from him in intense pleasure. Every nerve-ending was at his mercy. He was right, it was different up here. But you wondered how much of that was the Wasteland and it’s effect on sexuality and pleasure, and how much of it was just him. Cooper Howard, Wasteland bounty hunter, a past life he refused to talk about, the most charismatic monster you had ever met. His fingers, daintily crossing over your clit, as you felt his breath, silent except for an occasional hum of satisfaction in the form of a long moan. Maybe it was just Cooper who was different.

It was hard to focus on this new line of though as his hard fingertips clamped down on your clit, pinching it as he rolled it between his fingers. Even harder when he let his hand drop from your neck and instead began teasing at your nipples once more. Soft, cruel flicks over the hardened bumps, his fingers at work on your body, his lips kissing at the back of your neck. Moans growing louder, more frequent, as he let himself enjoy the act of making you squirm. You could tell he was having fun, as you rolled your hips back a little, feeling the thick bulge of his stiffening cock against your rear. You wondered how it might feel, how it might look, and what he could do differently with it.

“Cooper… Coop… I think I’m going to cum…”

His movements quickened, cock twitching against your body as he pinched tighter and pressed his fingers harder against your cunt.

“Don’t you dare, little lady.”

“Ok I’ll… I’ll try but… you have to… stop… please stop… Coop…”

He ignored your please, the whining, desperate begging as you tried to stop your body from the natural, encouraged reaction.

“Have some self-control, sweetheart.”

“Cooper, I really can’t… please… please stop touching me…”

“I absolutely will not.”

Your fingers dug into his thighs, but you noticed that you refused to move away from him. You wanted to do as he asked, wanted to hold yourself back from the brink of orgasm to prolong his touch, but you couldn’t risk him actually stopping, fearing that your body might crumble if his fingers left your quivering, pathetic body for only a second.

Each stroke against your increasingly wet and sensitive pussy had you trembling and shaking, and Cooper had to remove his hand from your breast to keep you steady, placing it under your chin and holding you steady by the neck.

“I am warning you, missy.”

“Cooper… I can’t stop…”

You shuddered and whined as your body gave in to the temptation, feeling a rush of heat and relief as you came on his lap, your arousal coating his pants, adding to the collection of stains and wear on them. But he didn’t stop then.

“No wait… seriously, Cooper… I can’t… I can’t take much more, honestly…”

“Listen, I told you. I said you better not cum. I wasn’t done with you yet.”

Your eyes began to sting with tears of exasperation as your body kept on pushing to its limits, conjuring up another wave of climax, tormenting you with never-ending bouts of arousal that kept you rutting against him, despite how painful it was to keep writhing into his body. You could feel your stomach knotting again, not much time between each orgasm to relax, and you dug your hands into his thighs, pushing your body up off of him as you tensed completely.

“Ok, this time, you do it on my command. You do it when I say you can, alright?”

“Cooper…”

“Don’t give me that pleading shit, you asked me to show you how things are done. Well this is how Cooper fuckin’ Howard does things. So are you ready? You gonna come for me?”

“C-coop… I’ll… I’ll try…”

“Good girl, now you keep that mouth making those whines and moans. I don’t need you to call out my name or anything, I know I’m all you’re thinking about.”

The praise, the self-confidence, the way his fingers seemed to be pulling your orgasm out, motioning for it to come closer to him.

“Come on, darlin’, come on…”

Your vision blurred as the climax came over you, body rolling and convulsing as you came once more at Cooper’s insistence, your cheeks stained with tears, salted water rolling through the layers of grime and clearing paths to your chin.

As you settled back down onto his lap with a shudder, you felt Cooper’s fingers stroking through your hair. He was surprisingly gentle, oddly calm, but you supposed that you deserved his kindness as you had done as he had asked, making up for your previous indiscretion. He was almost cooing, shushing you as you found your breath, establishing your sense of self once more after the overstimulating orgasm that shook your core.

“You seen enough of the big bad world for one day then?”

You probably had, but you still found yourself shaking your head, ignoring the way your body reacted with a violent twitch at the notion of Cooper’s hands delivering intense pleasure.

“A glutton for punishment, hm? Or just keen to learn?”

As you pondered your answer, Cooper seemed to have come to the conclusion for you, as he tapped your hips and began to shift underneath you.

“Alright then, get onto your knees.”

Positioning yourself at his feet, you couldn’t help but look up at him, catching his eyes as he looked down at you with that unique brand of disdain and intrigue he had somehow mastered. You knew what was coming, what was about to happen, and your mouth began watering at the thought. What he might taste like. What he might look like.

You didn’t have to imagine for long though, as you could see his fingers working the belt of his pants, loosening it, unzipping his fly, and gripping his semi-erect cock at the base as he took it out, brandishing it. He kept close attention on your own eyes, a soft sigh of relief imperceptibly escaping his chest as he noticed your pupils widen, your mouth opening in preparation for him.

It was exactly as you had expected. The texture of the shaft was similar to that of his cheeks and his forearms, a similar colouring, though darker at the base and on the shaft which was tinted red. Thick, purple tinged veins covered it, winding around the length, cutting across the ridges of the scars.

“You can come closer, darlin’. I don’t know what they told you about mutations and radiation effects down there in your little utopia, but I can assure you… it doesn’t bite.”

The fear was palpable, clearly, but it was nothing to do with Cooper’s body and everything to do with your lack of experience, which, despite you arguing otherwise, was becoming plainly obvious even to you. You had only ever touched a cock with your hands outside of being quickly fucked. Several times you’d been cajoled into quickly stroking an erection under the blankets before your partner ran off to the bathroom, clean and tidy, flushing away the sins. And you were very well aware that there was always the option to suck on one, but it had never presented itself. It had never seemed that appealing to you. Until you were faced with Cooper’s.

He hadn’t even asked you to do either yet, but you found yourself curious, salivating over the thought of him, mind racing as you imagined how he might feel against your tongue.

“Can I taste it… you?”

Cooper smiled warmly, one of the few times you had seen him look at you with genuine pride.

“Now that is using your initiative. Of course you can.”

You kept your hands to yourself as you leaned in towards his body, content to let Cooper wield his length at you, his hand firm around the base as you inched closer, tongue pressed out over your lips. A strand of drool collected and spilled forward, hitting the floor in a soft patter just before the tip of your tongue came into contact with the tip of his cock.

A lot of the movements were instinctual, following your desires more than what you thought might be protocol as you dragged your tongue up the shaft and swirled over the blushing head of his cock. It tasted bitter, but in a pleasant way.  Savoury, not sweet. Salted, a tang that stayed there for a few seconds after your tongue had moved on to another spot. A flavour you found yourself craving now.

Cooper gripped tighter and pushed forward, taking you by surprise as he slid himself into your mouth, his free hand moving to the back of your head, fingers curling into your hair. As the taste of him hit the back of your tongue, cock almost touching your throat, you coughed and spluttered a little.

“Fuck me, darlin’… do you need me to show you how to do this too?”

He looked down at you, filled with pity as he saw your face. Red cheeks, puffed out, lips stretched over the girth of his cock, tears welling up in your eyes as you struggled to breathe.

“Breath through your nose… breathe in…”

You followed his instructions, instantly calmed when you found your lungs filling with air once more. Almost immediately back to enjoying yourself, the feeling of Cooper inside of you, the control he had as he held your head against him.

“Now… you don’t want to choke too much, so keep your tongue flat… yeah, just like that…”

It was so much easier like that, and you could feel your cheeks getting warmer and redder as you realised that not only had you embarrassed yourself with your spluttering and lack of knowledge, but that Cooper had clearly done this a lot.

“And your teeth… well, usually they’ll tell you to keep ‘em outta the way, but you know me… gotta be different…”

Taking the hint, you let your jaw close slightly, the pain of the stretch lessened, your teeth scraping along the top of his shaft as your tongue worked the underneath, sucking and rolling as much as you could while keeping it flat.

He didn’t say much else, and you couldn’t tell if he was particularly enjoying himself. It worried you, the fact that he had specific preferences, the way it was so clear how much more experienced he was than you. How many others had there been? And were they all better than you? As your mind wandered to your anxieties, you completely missed the fact that you had begun to drool all over yourself until Cooper relaxed his grip on your head and wiped at your chin with his thumb. Catching your eyes and sensing some of your worries, he was surprisingly quick to soothe you.

“You can swallow or spit or let it all spill out, I don’t mind makin’ a mess darlin’. But whatever you’re doing, you keep that up.”

You were so pathetically grateful for the encouragement, for the tiniest semblance of praise, that you felt yourself moaning involuntarily. The soothing motion of sucking on his cock, the taste of something new, the comforting knowledge that he was happy with your efforts. You could feel your clit throbbing, aroused by Cooper’s satisfaction, how pleased he was with the way you worked him over.

Which is why it surprised you so much when he pulled his cock from your mouth, your lips slipping off of it with a disgustingly lewd popping sound, drool spilling onto your chin in long strands which stretched from your lips to his cock and tore apart as he distanced himself from you.

And again, that sympathetic gaze, the way he could tell what you were thinking before you even said it.

“Oh, don’t you look at me with those big, sad eyes. You got nothin’ to worry about, sweetheart. That was good, ‘specially for a first try…”

He winked to you as he spoke, causing your heart to skip enough beats that you thought you might die there and then.

“… It’s just that I’m all slicked up and ready to go now… so you wanna bend over for me? Or do you wanna come sit on my lap?”

“Uh… lap, please… I was kinda bent over for the last… first time.”

“Well, you come and take a seat then, darlin’, let ol’ Coop show you something new.”

You nervously settled your entirely nude body back down onto his thighs. Cooper’s hands were gentle against your shoulders as he pulled you backwards with him, leaning at a slight angle in the chair, his cock rigid and firm as it sat against your waiting cunt, coated in your drool which almost seemed to shimmer with the dancing light of the fire.

Then, so carefully, so gently, far more than you’d ever seen him be before, Cooper took hold of his cock at the base and slid it inside of you, one hand on your stomach as he braced you, keeping your body steady as he inserted himself further and further between your clenching walls.

“Bigger than before?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you felt the distinct stretch, his rough, textured cock forcing its way inside your cunt, pressed up to the hilt, testing your limits.

“Better?”

“Mhm…”

“Speak up, darlin’.”

With your voice strained and breathy, you managed to form some words.

“Yes… it’s better.”

“That’s it, good girl. Now, I’m gonna buck my hips, ok? You just try and keep your balance.”

Below you, Cooper shifted a little, his hips rolling backwards, inches of his cock escaping your tight, aching cunt, before he rolled them forwards and upwards, back into you. A slow, steady pace that he focused on keeping until you felt warmer, more relaxed.

“You got this, it’s like riding a horse.”

“I’ve never… hm… ridden a horse…”

Cooper chuckled, a low and rasping sound that sent shivers over your skin and seemed close enough to you that it was coming from inside of your body.

“Never ridden a ghoul before either, but you’re handling it alright for a first timer.”

You were coping ok, you had to admit, but you could feel your stomach muscles tensing, the knots back in full force as they tensed and tightened, loosened and frayed with each pump of his cock within you.

“Ah… Cooper…”

“Too much, darlin’? Does it hurt?”

There was a sense of genuine care in his tone, as though he had taken it upon himself to show you that yes, things were different up there in the Wasteland, but that didn’t always mean they were worse. Some things were good, if not a little bit difficult to take at first.

“A little…”

Cooper tilted your chin up, forcing your head to lean back completely against his shoulder. In a delicate move, one far more romantic than you imagined from him, he ran his thumb over your lips, angling his neck to look at them, his own mouth open ever so slightly, a monotonous panting as he kept his hips moving, increasing the speed and the force at which he entered you.

His eyes flicked up suddenly, looking into yours, catching your gaze and holding unblinking eye contact as he spoke.

“I know… I know… Just a little longer, though…”

He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling of his cock pushing against your body, enveloped in your hot, wet, velvety interior.

“I know it hurts… but I ain’t stopping, so don’t even ask… here…”

You watched as he brought a finger to your lips, offering it up to you.

“…you bite down on that if it gets too much, ok… but don’t hold back on those sweet sounds… I wanna hear you scream.”

With that vaguely threatening remark, he thrust up into you, banging against your body, spurring on your orgasm but unleashing a dull ache that spread through every sensitive part of you.

“Won’t… be long… keep it together… good girl…  good girl…”

It felt good, the pain, the sting, the ache, the shivers. The fact that he was using you, finding pleasure in you. All of it culminating in Cooper’s nearing orgasm which you could sense was closing in on him. His movements were becoming more frantic, sloppier, and he was mouthing all manner of sweet nothings as he let his façade slip away.

And those soft mumbles opened up into a wide roar as he clung to your body, the hand on your neck cutting off the air to your lungs only briefly, one hand on your lap pressing sharp indents into your skin as he forced himself into you. The last few moments of his fevered thrusting, fucking you wildly, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth as he rutted into you in a dazed stupor before his body gave in. His cock throbbed, each pulse sending another rope of cum against your insides, filling you with his seed as he shuddered finally, slinking backwards into the chair and taking in a deep breath as you removed yourself from him.

You’d only managed to take a few steps forward before Cooper addressed you, opening his eyes to watch you standing there awkwardly, his cum dripping down your thighs, a warmth that quickly turned cool in the air of the room.

“Did I say you could get up?”

Panic settled in your chest, aware that you had waited until you felt his muscles relax, his body retreating from you, before you slid off his cock, expecting him to push you away anyway, like your first time. You assumed he was finished, and you weren’t sure you were ready for the idea that he might not be done with you.

“Are we… oh, Cooper, I really can’t take anymore.”

Even as you stood, you could feel your legs shaking, weakened by the intense orgasms, the way they tightened against his every movement.

“That’s different up here too then, I suppose.”

Cooper stood up from the chair, pacing towards you with a purposeful stride as he pushed his cock back into his pants, zipping them up as he reached you. You inhaled sharply as he placed his hand at the back of your head, those knots in your stomach beginning to form again, worried that a further, albeit pleasurable punishment was on the cards. But you were surprised as he slid his free hand around your back, tugging at your waist as he pulled you in close to him. A quick smile before his lips were on yours, the brim of his hat pushed upwards as he leaned into the kiss. Warm, gentle, the kind of kiss you’d seen in movies. Practised and confident, meaningful, sincere.

When he pulled back, your body following him a little before you settled back onto your feet, he smiled warmly.

“Sweet with the sour, darlin’. You gotta keep ‘em wanting more.”

“M-more?”

More as in now? Or more as in the idea that Cooper had enjoyed himself and would be willing to offer that kind of pleasure to you again. And he answered with a wink.

“Definitely. There’s a still a lot you’ve got to learn.”

[teamatsumu]

where we left off. (hinata shoyo x reader)

summary: “you confess because you think you will never see him again, so it doesn’t matter ” - for my valentine’s day event - theme: confessions

word count: 1981

tags: @nishayuro @kitas-tapioca @kakashineedstotouchgrass s @amisuh @avis-writeshq @samanthaa-leanne @akaashi-todorki @sp1ng @kur0obaby @bleach-your-panties

event masterlist

There is a light in Shoyo that just won’t dim. Not that you want it to. It’s your favorite thing about him.

There are ten million reasons to like Shoyo (though Tsukishima would disagree and say he can barely find one. He’s lying. No one can dislike Shoyo. It’s not possible). But you like him for the simple reason that he is the best person you have ever met. He is dedicated and kind, loyal and friendly. You have known him since your first year in high school, and you have seen him face every adversity that comes his way with full confidence and optimism.

It’s no wonder you’re hopelessly in love with him. How could you not be? Shoyo entered your life and made everything ten times brighter and easier to deal with. From day one, he was your confidant and your cheerleader. In all those three years, Shoyo stood by you like you stood by him. You had grown by leaps and bounds with him as your friend.

Friend.

The sun was low in the sky, spreading a warm orange light over the clouds as it set. The color reminds you of Shoyo’s hair, and you have to curse yourself. It seems you can never stop thinking about him, and the world is adamant on making sure you didn’t even try to. You sigh and lean back on the bench you were seated on, closing your eyes and mentally preparing yourself for what was coming.

High school graduation had come and gone. Tomorrow, Shoyo will leave for Brazil. For two years minimum. And who knows? He says he will return, but there is a very real chance he won’t. An up-and-coming volleyball player like him, he could be snatched up by a local club. Or he could fall in love with beach volleyball and continue living there so he could keep playing it.

Two years is a long time for a person to change. You can change. He can change. You can’t trust yourself to leave this until then. Now, before Shoyo leaves, you will confess to him all of your closely guarded feelings. Before he potentially leaves your life for good, he has to know that he is the reason you are where you have gotten.

Heavy footsteps slowly fade in, making you turn your head to follow the sound. You spot Shoyo barreling down the sidewalk towards you, skidding to an abrupt halt when he reaches your bench. He takes a few deep breaths before grinning wide, and just the sight of his million watt smile has your own lips tugging up to return the gesture.

“Ready for dinner?”

Homey, comforting ramen is Shoyo’s choice of last meal in Japan. You both trudge into his usual ramen place, one that he loved to frequent often after practice. He talks your ear off all the way there, telling you about his day. He had been getting his affairs in order, saying goodbye to all the important people and packing up some last minute stuff. You let him catch you up to every tiny detail, (He is like that. He doesn’t like leaving anything out) and you hum along to his stories.

When steaming bowls of ramen are set down before you is when Shoyo finally shuts up, instead choosing to immediately wolf it down. You watch him with blatant adoration in your eyes. You know you do, and you don’t bother to hide it. Sharing this one last moment with him, you don’t want to hold back. This might be the last time you can look at him in leisure. So you drink him in the best you can, trying to seal this moment in your memory forever.

“Are you excited for beach volleyball?”

He nods around a mouthful of noodles. “I have just two years to learn it, so I’m a bit nervous. But I can’t wait to start!”

You smile at his usual unending enthusiasm. “You’ll be great, Shoyo. I have never met someone as hardworking as you.”

And there is that smile again, so bright you almost have to squint to withstand it. He was so different from how he was in first year. He had come such a long way in just three years. Imagine how much he would change after two years in a completely foreign country, on the other side of the world.

You can feel your shoulders drop.

After dinner, Shoyo insists on dessert and you both end up getting ice pops. He finishes his before you can even take one bite of your own, and then ends up finishing half of yours as well when you tell him you are full and he can have it. No wonder he has unending stamina. He eats the food of three people. You smile at the thought.

As per routine, Shoyo walks you home afterward. The sun has fully set by this time, and the streetlights periodically illuminate the two of you as you walk along the sidewalk. Your figures cast long, moving shadows on the concrete, and you keep your eyes on them as you walk. Shoyo is humming something under his breath, occasionally breaking the silence to comment on something. You bask in the moment.

When you slow to a stop at your front door, you realise it is finally time to do what you had been psyching yourself up for all this time.

“I have something to say.” You comment. Shoyo blinks and nods, encouraging you to continue. You take a deep breath.

“For the last three years, you’ve been the best person in my life. By a long shot. I can’t believe I met someone like you. You’re always so supportive, Shoyo, and you’ve really helped me be the best version of myself.”

You cringe at your corny statements, but Shoyo’s face has softened. He stays silent. You muscle on.

“I like you. A lot. A lot. And before you leave, I just wanted you to know this.”

Because I may never see you again. You let the last sentence die in your throat.

Shoyo looks down at the ground, fiddling with his hands a bit. You realize you have made him nervous. And no wonder. You just dumped a huge revelation on him the day before he leaves the country.

“You don’t have to say anything!” You add on, as soon as Shoyo opens his mouth to speak, trying to soothe his nerves. “I don’t want you to reciprocate. I just wanted to tell you all this before you left.”

You step forward to wrap him into a hug, feeling him freeze at the gesture. You don’t let yourself linger, pulling away mere seconds later. Shoyo opens and closes his mouth like a fish. You giggle.

“Do your best in Brazil, Shoyo. I’m counting on you.”

And then you pull open the door, shutting it behind yourself with one last smile at his surprised face.

……………………

Tokyo is a big city, and you lose yourself in the hustle and bustle of it.

Miyagi was quiet, peaceful, and you knew more or less everyone there. In contrast, Tokyo is continuously moving, and you have to run to keep up with it. It’s a big change, going from Tokyo to Miyagi, but it is a welcome one. You can feel how you change and blossom along with the city.

Your apartment is small. One bedroom, open kitchen, tiny bathroom. It’s a starter apartment and you are still a student, so it doesn’t matter. Every night, you cook yourself a modest meal and plop yourself down in front of the television, continuing some show you have been watching for the last few days. Afterwards, you have a warm cup of tea and then begin your nightly routine, ready for classes the next day.

Today that routine is disrupted by loud knocking on the door.

You pause your chewing, reaching for the remote to mute the TV. You don’t hear any sound, not even shuffling, but ten seconds later you hear another, longer knock. Sighing, you set your bowl down on the coffee table and throw your blanket off, trudging to the door. When you look through the peephole, all you see is one shoulder. You roll your eyes at the person who chose to not stand in your view.

You undo the lock and pull the door open, immediately freezing on the spot.

He has grown so much taller, and broader. His skin holds a wonderful bronze tan, and his hair is shorter than the last time you saw him. But his smile is the same. Bright and blinding, endlessly welcoming. Your heart skips.

“Hi.” He breathes. His voice is deeper too. A little scratchier. You continue to stare, mouth agape. You cannot believe it, and your brain cannot process it.

“Shoyo…” Your grip on the doorframe tightens. A small silence extends between you two. Shoto shifts a bit.

“Can I come in?” He asks sheepishly.

You abruptly jerk back, nodding vigorously. “Of course! Sorry, sorry. Come in.”

You allow Shoyo to pass through the threshold, toeing his shoes off and stacking them next to your own before looking back at you expectantly. You lead him into the living room, mind racing with a thousand thoughts.

He was back. From Brazil. Taller and tanned and just as bright. And he’s back. You reel with the revelation.

“How have you been?” He asks, seating himself on the couch and looking up at you with a small smile. He seems…. calmer somehow. More present instead of how flighty he used to be. More grounded. You nod a bit.

“I’m- I’ve been good. You?”

“Me too.”

“Okay good.”

Awkward silence stretches between you two. You feel your face heat up.

“I’m going to make tea!” You announce, bustling towards the kitchen before Shoyo can protest, trying not to think about the last conversation you had with him right before he left, over two years ago.

Once you settle before him with two steaming hot cups, the awkward air disperses a bit. You aren’t surprised. It always did with Shoyo. He had a talent like this. You ask him about Brazil and he goes on a whole storytime for it, telling you about the vast beaches and the burning sun. How much he learned and how much he changed.

That part is true, you can tell. Shoyo has changed. But despite all that, you can feel the way your heart skips, the way your palms get clammy. All those old feelings are coming back, and you cannot stop them. As you watch the way Shoyo laughs and reminisces with you, you’re not sure you want to.

A lull hits after Shoyo stops talking, and you watch as he fiddles with his hands a bit before speaking again, his voice lower this time, more serious.

“Can we….. pick up where we left off?” He doesn’t glance up at you, playing with his hands.

You blink at his words, trying to process them. He gives you a crooked smile that lights your nerves on fire.

“You never let me reply that day. And…. I didn’t think I should either, because I was leaving. But now…”

He trails off, you feel your breath catch. Is he implying what you think he is? You try not to get your hopes up, but Shoyo’s next words seal the deal.

“I like you tons.”

You can’t help your breathless laugh at his choice of words. Your skin buzzes. Shoyo scoots closer to you. You let him. His leg brushes against yours and you can feel the way electricity zips through you at the feeling.

“I like you tons too.”

Ten minutes later, when Shoyo drags huge suitcases into your lobby from outside your front door, you realize he came here straight from the airport. And it only makes you love him more.

[jweekgoji]

Can you do another part of yandere D-16, please 😭 I love the stories so much! Make us pleasure him so bad until he's wimpering, then tons of aftercare! And make us love him, not just a one-night stand 😭

Yandere!D-16/Reader

tw: some minot changes in canon, slight yandere themes, valve fingering (MDNI), gn!reader, D-16 has a valve, sub!D-16, soft dom!reader, power dynamic cogged!reader/cogless!d-16. word count: ~1650 a/n: this can be considered as a second part to this. but I think (??) it also can be related to this. probably somewhere between the other two I wrote before. there are a few similar requests about d-16, but I want to do all of them differently as much as my creativity lets me. tagging since I was asked: @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main

The day D-16 met you felt like experiencing one of those vivid dreams he constantly had. His whole body was in pain; the loud ringing in the processor made his optics see the tiny stars circling around him in the air. Thank you, Pax, this is exactly how he wanted to spend his day! And totally not to ogle your sleek, shiny alt mode from his seat..!

Oh no, oh, Primus. You probably saw it all too, aren't you?

D-16 groaned in pain as he tried to sit up. He leaned his frame against the wall, holding onto the dented shoulder. Orion left him waiting here, all alone, as the blue-and-red mech tried to endlessly explain the situation they were in. The optimism this guy sometimes had...he can only pray in his mind that somehow you hadn't seen him failing on the race.

Maybe you had never noticed him, just passed through without paying attention. Yeah, this is more like true. After all, he's so  gray in every sense of the word; among all the other miner bots, how is he any different? Too small in this world to be noticed.

The day was a disaster of any means. The cold looks he received from other racers as he waited for the repair, that awkward meeting with Sentinel, and of course, Darkwing just had to be there too. The moment Orion and him leave this area and go back to mines, there's no escape from their supervisor. How much more lucky does he get today again?

D-16 was nervous to the core of his spark. The thoughts of “Why did I even follow him...especially on the day when Sentinel Prime arrived?” or “I hope they don't know it was me” flooding his mind.

Another worst thing was, you hadn't even won the race! Chromia got before you just in mere seconds, and the possibility of him, being the reason behind this fail only made D-16 sigh in disappointment. 

“You and your friend put on quite a show today,” your voice suddenly came from beside him.

D-16 almost jumped up from his seat at the sight of you, and for a moment, his spark stopped beating. He barely had time to process what you told him before suddenly, the little miner rises to his feet and looks up at you with those big optics.

You saw that his mouth was open, but not a single word came out from his mouth. The poor thing was so scared, he had so many thoughts running through his head, but he couldn't pick a single one to voice it to you. You could only calm him down slightly by holding your hands in the air, trying to show that you didn't mean any malice.

“I'm sorry, I probably ruined your chance of winning this race,” his optics ran his eyes around as if he was trying to find the right words to say to you. “I'm a big fan, and I would never want-”

“I was going to say that you two actually made this race a little more interesting than usual,” you interrupted him. “Racing against the same bots isn't as interesting as it used to be. I admire that.”

You admire him. D-16 falls silent again, but even though he's stopped saying anything then, his optics perfectly captured all the thoughts in his processor. Love.

He never thought he'd ever meet a bot in a higher position than him who would treat him with a speck of kindness. That brief moment when the Sentinel shook his hand was the first such occasion. His idol, standing right next to him, shook his hand. Somebody pinch him harder!

Then there was you. Someone who had always held a special place in his spark. So small, incredibly fragile in your hands, but every time D-16 is near you, it beats so hard, as if your mere presence is enough to give him more strength.

He doesn't know what you see in him. He's an ordinary and insignificant miner, there are hundreds if not thousands like him. Even Primus didn't give him any bright colors.

He never had a chance to think about standards of beauty, certainly there was barely enough time to rest after hours of non-stop work. There were one time he could hear the conversation between the supervisors as they discussed the celebrities of Iacon. Blurr, Windblade, Rosanna, they all just glowed in relation to the dull, battered frames of his coworkers, definitely not the ideal of beauty that exists on Cybertron.

And yet, here you are, right next to him, and your hands are holding him so gently, so close to your chassis. He moans softly as you move your fingers inside him. Only two, no more, no matter how often he begged and whimpered for you to add another, you always denied him.

“Just relax and feel every touch from me,” you kiss the corner of his mouth softly.

Right. Calm down, D. You're already giving him too much time, begging you for more would be wrong, he doesn't want to seem pushy to you. If this continues, you'll just get disappointed in him and walk away.

“Mgggh...!” D-16 instinctively arched his back. A loud, needy moan once again escapes his lips.

Sometimes he feels like, aside from your obvious charm, you can definitely read his mind, and your every slightest movement is calculated to make him forget his rank.

He's so wet, the lube coating your fingers and already managing to slowly flow down his inner thighs. For a second, you think about just flipping him over on his back and burying your head between his legs, making him scream and beg to give him a break from the endless round of overloads you're giving him.

But no, that would be too much for the first time, wouldn't it? You don't want to scare the poor, little miner away with your twisted thoughts. Not now, anyway.

In the time it takes you to give yourself to daydream, D-16 only gets more impatient. Moving his hips, he practically fucks himself with your fingers. His head is thrown back, and the servos cling tightly to your shoulders, squeezing gently, each time he lowers his own body down.

He feels so full, but that small, carnal desire for more can't help but pollute his mind. More, more, please give him more. Perhaps because of a sliver of fear that you're about to leave again, he'll be left alone and with nothing, and all he'll have are memories. He wants to get as much as he can while there's still a chance.

“Careful, or you'll hurt yourself,” you gently lay your other servo on his waist.

Tiny. You can't help but want to run your finger over every little bump on his body, every little rough edge...something about him fascinates you, that slight naivety and eagerness to make you proud. He's just hard to say no to.

You gently guide his movements. He's inexperienced, but the desire for something more, even though he hardly knows what he's doing, clouds his mind. You feel his tight, small valve squeezing your digits like a vise. His initially quiet, needy meows grow louder, and by the little blush on his cheeks, you realize he's embarrassed.

“Can I overload? Please,” he whimpers shyly, hiding his face in the curve of your neck. “Ahhh...I'm so sorry, I can't take it anymore.”

How sweet. You've convinced him so many times that it's okay, he shouldn't have to keep hiding his pretty face every time you hold him like this. You don't care what position he takes, miner or not, you want him to feel like an equal. He deserves to be pleasured just as much. To love and be loved.

You nod, making a mental note to talk to him about it later. His habit of pleasing bots ranking above him just kills you.

D-16 wraps his arms around your neck, leaning slightly closer, as much as he can. He so wishes it was your spike instead of your fingers, stretching his valve with every thrust.

But he'll never admit it, he'd rather take whatever you offer him, because he loves you so much. Every touch from you, every glance in his direction, it's all so overwhelming.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you-” he repeats over and over, his hips desperately meeting every thrust of your fingers inside him.

You feel him squeeze your digits again, his breathing halting for a moment before he exhales heavily and then nearly collapses on top of you.

D-16 leans his forehead against yours, closing his optics to slowly gather his thoughts. You barely move your fingers, still deep inside him, and even a slight twitch earns a whimper from him. Still very sensitive, you should definitely work on his stamina.

You gently take his chin, tilting his head up to give him a small kiss. He moans softly, but reciprocates the kiss.

D-16 has never seemed plain to you. Unusually strong despite his height and lack of t-cog, his body covered in many scratches after cycles of hard work. But now you are treating him with such care.

 He cherishes it so much. Sometimes he wonders if you have any idea how many times he's touched himself, with you in mind? How an embarrassingly lot of pictures of you he keeps plastered all over the wall? I guess that's a question for another day.

You may not have won the race, but you got more than that today.

[pomegranate-theater]

USURPER / YANDERE KAMISATO AYATO — part two to [Sufferance], and the final

Summary: Ayato’s plans for you get ruined when your mental health collapses. He believes he can fix you, however, a tragedy occurs.

CW: fem reader / past non-con mentions / eating disorder / suicidal thoughs and idealition / suicide attempt with graphic depictions / gore / injuries / thoughts about abortion and self-mutilation / self-harm / heavy depression and other mental suffering / tokophobia / forced pregnancy mentions / mentions of infanticide / forced feeding / vomiting / suggestive / ayato is really selfish and manipulative / forced marriage / body horror / groveling / nightmares / heavy angst with no comfort and there’s not really any happy ending. Word count: 14,4k.

Not suitable for minors or anyone uncomfortable with the mentioned triggers! You’re reading this at your own responsibility. Reader is really going through it all along with losing her mind, and the story is very dark. Check the tags twice before you read it.

I will not lie, I myself have cried while writing this, but I think this is how realistic reader's suffering would be, considering what has been mentioned in the first part.

Doing an inspection on your belly in front of the mirror has become a regular routine for you. Every day, in quantity of multiple times, your mind forced you to stand here and watch out for any change in the lower body’s size — any bloating or roundness, small or terrifyingly going ahead of your feet.

Seeing your reflection was the most difficult after eating — naturally, your stomach would expand being full — making you paranoid that it’s the pregnancy you’ve been willing to escape. Your phobia has reached a point where you decreased your food intake just to avoid the sight you’d dread the most.

However, sometimes you had to quickly move away from the mirror, being reminded of what had transpired few weeks ago. Ayato stripping you, both figuratively and literally, imprinted a memory in your mind so vivid and harsh the visions of it constantly haunted your imagination.

It shouldn’t have made any sense any other day, considering you were used to Ayato repeatedly forcing you to bed with him under an excuse of participating in a marital duty — in his words, not one sided, supposedly with an effort from his side too. But this one time, being exposed and made to finally witness what he’s been doing to you almost everyday thanks to that cursed mirror, reminding you of how bad the act actually was, or how shameful your body was to still react to it, is what pushed you to be scared to close your eyes in case you’d be hit with the picture.

You didn’t like seeing yourself naked in the mirror either, not willing to see a bump or invisible marks his hands have left, so any inspection was done through the layers of kimono. The only comfort you received was when your period came, signaling you’re not pregnant; that is until your body becomes malnourished enough to be deprived of menstruation. And couldn’t women have a slight bleeding, spotting, when they’re pregnant?

Ayato still hasn’t stripped you of the form of birth control, a fact confusing yet making you live in constant distress from the uncertainty he was leaving you in. Your mind suspected it could be any second when he decides it’s the time for you to conceive, just needing to decide which occasion would be most optimal, with your life having been figured out from the very first moment of your marriage. Deciding for you was only his right, being a whole believer he knows what’s best for you despite not even once being in your mind. Your clan wasn’t your clan either, with him making decisions along with you; never you alone, but you wouldn’t receive the same luxury of choosing for his clan.

As your legal guardian, he could have made you do anything really.

More confusing, the fact he hasn’t touched you much lately. Perhaps you’ve became ugly to him, looking all miserable upon your ongoing distress you’ve been buried in the entire time starting from that night; or perhaps he was torturing you by making you believe he gave up on idea, just to punch you with it when least expected and with you starting to relaxing.

You definitely have lost some weight, you noticed when deciding to finally get away from the object intensifying your frighten; especially when you felt as if soon, you’d be hallucinating about being heavily pregnant with your breasts painfully swelled and leaking colostrum that would turn into breast milk hours after going through labour.

Pregnancy couldn’t happen when it wasn’t about having a family, but your husband having taken the last part of you to steal — the gift of being able to create life, cursing your womb with his seed and your body with a reminder of him.

As you left the room, you froze in spot when hearing a voice behind you.

“You’re here again,” it said with a sigh. “Let’s go, servants have set up the table, and it’d be rude to waste their work because you didn’t eat.”

You slowly turned around, not willing to see your spouse so soon after the war your mind has just went through, as if to intensify your unpleasant memories.

“Ah… I’m not hungry—”

“I’m afraid I can’t take no for an answer. You’ve lost too much weight,” his voice was stern, but not unpleasant — yet. You took a step back when he moved closer to you, and flinched when he put a hand between your shoulder blades to lead you.

Even traveling through the obnoxiously long and creaky floors, the trap set for assassins yet feeling directed at you, your mind was a tangled yarn of thought; pushed through the odd haze and fog your covering any rationality lately. What bothered you was the fact that Ayato hasn’t yet acknowledged the issue of you watching your body and guarding it. He for sure would have noticed everything about you, so him acting ignorant made you worried that perhaps he doesn’t care about how you feel about future children, with the only right answer you having them anyway.

You suddenly noticed something about yourself too — your legs moved, and you were breathing, and others actually perceived your physical form. You were a real person, flesh and bones, not watching some dream your head played. It was all real, and the person you’ve been seeing in the mirror wasn’t an illusion your mind has created.

You paused in your steps.

Ayato looked at you, a brow raised. “Is there a reason for you stopping us?”

“I’m real, aren’t I?” you asked, stuck in some stupor, and lifted up your hand to feel your now cold face; your blood no longer as warm as it used to be, and having removed any glow from it.

Ayato’s eyes showed confusion at your question, not sure why you’d be asking him something above obvious; until his eyes were pensive and he sighed, understanding the implication no matter you didn’t.

“Yes, you are indeed real, my dear. You’re my wife, walking with me to go and eat dinner.”

After entering the dining room, with you placed on the seat by his side, Thoma was soon to bring in different dishes — ones you’ve frowned upon already. The cruel fate, you were about to look bloated again and maybe it’ll turn into a child that an archon has put in you, and maybe that baby will eat at your organs from inside and take away everything from you the same way has done; a baby looking just like Ayato—

You jumped in your seat when Thoma placed his hand on your shoulder. “My lady, are you feeling unwell? Please, you’ve been staring at the food and not eating… It’s not good for you.”

You looked between Ayato and Thoma. The contrast between these two could drive you insane — Thoma’s motherly look and Ayato’s sternness — but you knew better to separate them from each other. Thoma was still Ayato’s most loyal subject, not yours, and while he could care for you there’s things he’d not do for you.

“I’m not hungry. I don’t have any appetite,” you protested, your distress quickly reaching familiar, uncomfortable levels.

Your head snapped to the side when hearing your husband’s firm tone, “I’m afraid it’s not the matter of you having appetite at this point. You should eat regardless, as you’re ruining your own health.”

You’d like to tell him it’s all of his fault, that you’re not being defiant but had your mind to be destroyed by him, but when are you ever being heard?

When you stood up to leave and flight, a hand grabbed your wrist and shoved you down onto your seat, provoking a trashing motion in your body to do anything to defend yourself.

“I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, dear, but you leave me no other choice.” He didn’t sound sorry at all.

With Thoma holding your body from behind, having moved here without you even noticing, Ayato’s hand gripped your jaw and forced your mouth open. That made you feel as if you were choking already, until he shoved not even chopsticks but a ramen spoon into your mouth, filled with as many added ingredients and little of soup as possible.

You gasped and you tried to spit food out, only for him to have predicted your move and shut your mouth, forcing you to chew and swallow. “Eat it. You’re not getting away until you have eaten something,” he warned, lowering some harshness in it to not startle you too much.

All the plans of forced feeding were ruined when your throat made a lurching sound and both men quickly gave you space, realizing what’s about to happen.

With your stomach kicking out everything, so basically none, it was landing on the tatami; with the acid smell managing to soak into these.

One of them, if it wasn’t imaginary, rubbed your back soothingly.

The housekeeper was kind enough to wipe your mouth with a napkin, not once judging or frowning at the disgusting mess you’ve created. It couldn’t be more disgusting than blood or flesh.

“Please take her to our room, Thoma. I’ll have a servant come and clean this mess,” your husband ordered and left ahead of you two. The mind worked to assumed it was truth he hated you and found you unattractive, as the duty of being a caring husband was ruined with him abandoning you here… which didn’t bring a negative impact on you to its fullest potential. You felt like a leftover of a person when he avoided you, yet you were comforted by the fact he wasn’t there.

You reveled in not having been touched for weeks.

“Let’s go, my lady.” Thoma helped you stood up, and with carefulness, he lead your step back to your gilded cage.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, struggling to voice out his request for you, until he gathered enough courage, “I’m aware your body cannot handle food, but can I at least offer you some mint tea? You must be dehydrated, and as much as I don’t want to scare you, you must know this condition could even kill you.”

Your stomach twisted at the idea of expanding your organ. However, death seemed like a worse option. Although, entertaiing the idea of death has been on your mind everyday. If you're dead, he can't reach you here. Sufferance can't reach you. Truly, what else did you have to push forward, other than the sense of pride and stubbornness? If anything, you might be an idiot; delusional, believing in someone coming to save you or you being shook awake and told the nightmare is over. “Alright, but just a little…” It was a matter of choosing a lesser evil.

“Yes, just a little.”

•

Falling asleep has come to you at the moment that felt random, despite late hour. Keeping up with time has shaped into difficult lately, your mind whirling and not being sure if it’s been minutes or hours that have passed.

You only could have predicted it must be that late when Ayato finally has joined you on your shared futon, stirring you out of your sleep.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to awake you,” his voice was calm, but laced with his typical tiredness. Perhaps if your marriage was… more consensual, you would be helping him with work, as his own mother had to. Yet with Ayato having pressured you into a difficult situation, one meant to fill you with unwillingness, and work was a risk of communicating with others, he had you as if some sort of eye catcher to appear at his side during guest visits instead. That’s all you were, really, a sign of his wealth.

Living with a lot of time on your hands was a perfect argument to call you ungrateful for not liking the situation if you didn’t have to work much, disregarding the fact it wasn’t about money but freedom, and not being raped, and not being forced to have children, and not being shoved through mind-torturing games.

You only hummed in response, and didn’t try to move away when he laid down next to you and gathered you in his arms. Your mind refused to see it as affection, other than a way to make you feel as if you’re caged to him even your sleep.

Even more when he stroked your face, looking at you with an unreadable expression. “Can I expect you to wake up early tomorrow, my dear?” he might have used a tone so soft, if it wasn’t ruined with the fact it wasn’t really a request — just polite way to tell you what to do and check your obedience.

“What’s happening tomorrow?” you asked, your voice uncertain. Any plans Ayato had made with you usually were unpleasant ones, so you safely assumed next time would be just the same.

“We have a doctor visiting us. He needs to check up on you, considering your terrible condition. I am still your legal guardian, so it’s only my responsibility to take care of your health.”

His face turned to be suddenly of confusion when you started to shake in his arms, and your breath was so irregular it turned into hyperventilating. “What’s wrong? It’s just a small visit, you won’t be poked with needles or…”

Only you could have understood your own mind, despite his belief of superiority over your intellect, as words he said were read in the most paranoid way. A doctor. Women who are trying to conceive have to seek out a doctor first. A doctor makes sure they’re healthy enough to carry a child and helps them prepare. That’s why this future father must be intending that, wasn’t he? He has left you alone for weeks, only to crush you back with what he’d planned that unfortunate night. “Two children… you want a family too… you’ll get used to it…”

Your mind didn’t even conclude of the doctor appointment being for your ongoing malnourishment — it couldn’t have when you were scared of something much bigger.

“No, Ayato, please, I’m not ready!” you begged with hysteria and words so familiar to you, proving you distress furthermore when broke into tears, the same pattern from back then.

“I don’t understand why you’re so shaken up, my dear. It’s just a doctor visit and nothing bad will happen. I’m merely making sure you are healthy,” his voice still carried confusion, but he didn’t dare to shame you for your state if it’d make you only worse. He could tell you weren’t being whiny nor faking your behavior, and with still so many questions in mind, he decided to deal with the problem first. “When something strange happens, instead of trying to find out the what could have caused it, it is better to look at the situation itself” — was his common cold logic you’ve hated so much as it didn’t take your emotions into account, forcing you to bottle them up and feel neglected.

He sighed and grabbed your hand, squeezing it hard to attempt grounding you. “My dear, I promise you, nothing bad awaits you tomorrow. Now, breathe with me.”

You couldn’t, not in eyes of paranoid head overthinking and cherrypicking his words-“nothing bad awaits you tomorrow”, so any other day something bad will happen.

Ayato for once cursed under his breath, grasping how serious the situation was.

He was quick to call out for Thoma, who appeared in a matter of few seconds, having recognising the unusual, urgent tone in his master’s tone. “What’s going on, my lord-“ he rushed out, assuming the worst. He was right when he noticed your state, and he quickly kneeled down to both of you. “Oh no, is she having a panic attack?”

“It’d appear so. Thoma, that doctor who was supposed to be here tomorrow, go and send someone to seek him out now. I’m afraid his presence here cannot wait anymore.”

The man was quickly on the case, standing up. “Understood, my lord.” He ran out of the room, knowing the doctor can’t really refuse even if his house was to be burning — that’s how important Kamisato were.

You were reactive again at the news, finally and at long last actually unable to breathe at the notion of doctor coming now. When the helper noticed your passing out figure, he spoke to you loudly, “No, don’t pass out. Stay awake. Just focus on my voice—”

Alas, you were out like a light.

•

Opening your eyes couldn’t be pleasant with a sight of an unfamiliar man, possibly an another on list of people to decide this woman hasn’t suffered enough. With your yukata open, he was using a stethoscope on your chest, chilling you with the coldness of its metal.

Sounds didn’t reach your ears fully yet — they sounded muffled and distant, blurring into one mess.

You were shaken more awake with this man waving his hand in front of your face. “Lady Kamisato, can you hear us? Please don’t worry, you are safe.”

You tried to shove the hand away, being annoyed by it obstructing your vision, but you couldn’t even lift up your own. Your body felt so limp, additionally, as if it weighed almost nothing, blending into the futon under you.

You had to depend on your voice then, too brittle to be called alive. “No… stop this…”

“My apologies.” The doctor moved his hand away from your face, and acknowledged another person in the room. With your ears getting clear, you made it clear to be your husband. “She should be fine, for now. Her heart was elevated too much, but I suspect it’s not just stress but dehydration and malnutrition. There’s a few things we can do, but… it’ll require her cooperation, for which we need to get her into a better… mental constitution first.”

Your voice caught only few words from the doctor, but Ayato’s voice, you heard clearly. You were so scared of him you’d recognize it even through the miles, being wary of him ever approaching you — “I see. How long until the tranquilizer wears off?”

“Give it an hour or two.”

You flinched when you felt a hand on your forehead, gliding your hair back. The futon shifted under a new weight. You finally managed to move your heavy eyes to look at your husband. You weren’t sure if you were this delusional, if he looked sort of worried to you. Maybe it wasn’t worry towards you but what your behavior could cause? “You have quite scared me, my dear wife. You weren’t breathing and then… you collapsed,” his voice sounded less confident too.

Your thoughts wandered to your theory from before. Wasn’t the doctor here to check up on you to make sure you can start for a child? “Ayato… why is the doctor here?” Even in your sedated state you had to make sure you’re in control of the situation, with some awareness of it.

He looked at you with a frown, assuming it should have been obvious after all the weeks worth of degradation in your health. “Well, the priority was to help you and make sure you’re alright after your attack the last night. But the initial intention was related to your latest… stress and lowered food intake. You have not been yourself, and you’ve lost too much weight. I’m sure it affected your body a lot too.”

You weighed his words, trying to look for any hidden agenda. “It’s about my health? Not about pregnancy?” you asked, your eyes so wide from fear and shock.

The doctor and Ayato looked at each other in confusion. “Pregnancy? Are you telling me you’re pregnant?” Ayato’s gaze was now intense, needing to know the truth, and his heart raced, both in dread as it wasn’t a right moment, and excitement as it’s still a mention of what he’s wanted. He assumed you were saying you suspect you’re pregnant and have been hiding it from him, despite it being weeks since the last time he was intimate with you, possibly your stomach just not growing much yet… albeit, if that was the case, your child would be in extreme danger with your body state.

“No!” you quickly protested, no matter if weakly with your state. At least you hoped you weren’t pregnant, considering your paranoia. “I just thought… the doctor here is to… prepare me for it…”

His gaze relaxed, but the frown didn’t leave, and disappointment burned. You were saying such weird things lately; especially now. “No, that’s not the reason for his visit… now is the worst time for you to be getting pregnant.” You swore you saw some dissatisfaction for the moment.

Ayato was off-put by your assumption too, when you were acting more worried about the possibility of getting pregnant than the fact you were destroying your body and losing your mind. Perhaps that was the very cause—you being scared of starting a family with him. In any case, he’d try to get you back in shape and out of this feared thinking.

And you couldn’t believe his words, wondering if he’s playing with you. “R-really?” your voice was too hopeful to his liking, but he’d accept it for now. It was just a stress having accumulated and not released to a while, so once you get better…

“Yes. I promise you that.”

After a few more minutes of clouded doctor doing different measures on you, your eyes closed once again, needing rest when drowsy from the drug.

Doctor took him to another room, needing to discuss your state.

The first thing he said to him was intense, “I hope you’re aware she’s not in any shape to be getting pregnant now. It’s not just the fact her body would be incapable of carrying pregnancy safely, endangering both her and the child with her starving and malnutrition; but also… the risk of postpartum depression or even psychosis is high with her mental state. I’m sure you understand what both could bring, especially the latter…”

Ayato sighed, but he nodded. “Yes… it would only be counterproductive for her to be pregnant now, and would lead to tragedy. A mother being depressed is not going to keep the child taken care of either.” The healer was taken aback by Ayato’s prismatic and technical thinking, detached from what the pain it’d bring you too; yet he was not allowed to judge.

“Although… what does psychosis truly would imply?”

Doctor’s expression became solemn, knowing it’s a dark topic. “A lot of the time it keeps the mother disconnected from the reality and have warped grasp of it, however… there’s been a few cases where besides neglect, it led to her attacking her own child or herself, or even killing them… not out of malice or cruelty, but at fault of their mental state involuntary to them. They could assume they’re doing this as protection from the suffering a world could bring. Lack of support is likely to make their state worse too.”

Ayato’s breath hitched and he had to grab onto the wooden armchair of the couch. Multiple thoughts caused a disarray in his head: if your mental health didn’t suffer, would you still end up in this state if pregnant and it’d be his fault for not predicting it? Would you really be so unwell to have killed your own child? Would you really feel detached from motherhood? Would motherhood really be that dreadful for you?

Was he at fault? Perhaps he’s dropped the pregnancy bomb on you too early… Maybe he should have mentioned it once you’re even more attached and willing. What a stupid mistake from his side.

His heart ached for you; but the selfish need to have a family with you still remained in the back of his head. It was the only thing missing in his life, and he has assumed you’d want it too; considering what you have lost.

“I understand. Please make sure she gets in her best shape, any means necessary. I believe in you, Doctor.”

“I will try my best, Lord Kamisato. The only thing we can do from now is try to put her on medication to relieve her stress, and make sure she eats enough. Albeit, she can’t eat too much at first, so her body doesn’t get in shock…

…But you really need to make sure she eats. One of the effects of starvation can be infertility,” he warned.

Ayato cursed inside his mind. This wasn’t how everything was meant to happen. He expected some struggle from you, but not you actually breaking. Breaking you into more acceptant version, one loving him and your children would be acceptable; but leaving you shattered like a teacup was unacceptable. He still cared about you, in his own way—while he was forcing you to do things you didn’t find pleasant, he still believed them to be beneficial for you, and taken into an account for you to prosper.

Yes, he’s been wanting you obedient, but it’s because he knew what’s best for you and how to keep this family safe upon constant risks. Yes, he was keeping you here, but there were assassins outside, and only going out with him, with one of his ninjas watching you from the distance could keep you not targeted. Yes, he’s been initiating to be intimate with him, but he wasn’t a stranger and wanted you to see it as a normal part of marriage.

Yes, he was trying to make you both parents, but it’s because you both had none.

•

You were being destroyed from the inside. A creature inside your stomach, IT was tearing apart at your womb and eating any part of it. IT was gnawing at your skin, stretching and tearing it until it breaks. Blood was everywhere but IT only drank from it and demanded more.

Your body was dry and skinny, deprived from any nutrition on life as IT has stolen it from you.

IT was Ayato’s helper, ready to steal more from you than he did. Ayato could have done it only externally, so IT grabbed everything from the inside.

That’s why you were a dead, dead body, only managing to walk and feed IT. You weren’t you, you were a vial for IT.

And once IT is born and has done starving and depriving you, another IT will take its place to have just as much fun; if not more. Oh, how IT would laugh if another IT joins it, both at the same time. Your body would beg to regenerate its cells at the maximum speed, recognizing the need to feed IT that was above you, to everyone around you.

IT will carry the stench of your decaying body, the blood and placenta all over it, but only you will smell it, until it rots on your body. Your portal will be ripped open and never heal.

You are just a mean to an end to IT. IT will be worshipped and the future, while you would be only praised for carrying and delivering IT.

You weren’t you, you were IT’s mother. IT swallowed you, despite IT being inside of you. The usurper ruled your womb, and you were born to be taken apart by it.

IT was a part of you, but IT deserved more than you ever had.

•

The servant brushing your hair become frightened and jumped away from you when you woke up with a bloody scream, as if you were being skinned alive.

For a moment, she didn’t know what to do, not even once in her life seeing someone behave this way. “My lady, you’re okay—”

“Get it out of me, get it out of me!” you screamed frantically and got on your fours, trying to bend your body in a way where it doesn’t feel as if your stomach was being ripped apart from the inside.

The servant was freed of her duty when Thoma stormed into the room, anyone else and him having heard the scream throughout this chamber. Screams most concerning when you were behaving as if in agony.

You were crying, and so was the servant, both startled and worried for you, and it had to be the housekeeper to hold onto your hands so you don’t try to beat at your stomach. Ignoring your trashing, he pulled you into his arms, squeezing you hard to not let you get away and to keep you safe. “Go and find Lord Ayato,” he passed to the servant, it being the only thing she could manage at the moment. “Do it!” he barked seeing her hesitation, until she finally caught to his words and ran from the room to find your husband.

“My lady, please, tell me what are you so scared of?” he asked, feeling shaken up himself. You’ve been frenzy for weeks, stuck staring into the space as if absent, you were not eating, you were visiting your wardrobe for some reason, you looked troubled and anxious, but it was last days that truly were difficult for you.

“I can’t… take it out of me…” you gasped out, crying violently into his chest.

His grip on you tightened, moved by the vulnerability in your voice. “Take out what?” his tone was worried, wondering if you even know what you’re saying.

“That cursed creature of child!” you begged, and your body shook.

His body tensed, shocked by your words. From his knowledge, you weren’t pregnant. You couldn’t have been pregnant if it was clear to him that you and Ayato hadn’t bedded for weeks, having no sheets to clean due to certain liquids.

“My lady… you don’t have any child in you. You’re not pregnant. It was just a nightmare,” he spoke more softly, wanting to reassure you with a truth you desperately needed.

He knew it worked when you halted in your crying for a moment, trying to understand if he was honest or lying for his lord’s benefit. “Y-you promise, Thoma?”

“I promise. You still have your period, don’t you?”

You realized he’s right. You still had your period even if you were nearing the point where it’d disappear from malnutrition. When you nodded, he could have felt your muscles relax somewhat; still frightened and not fully back in reality, clinging onto his words.

He held you for a bit more, until the door has opened.

Ayato looked at both of you, standing in the entrance and towering over you both with a watchful gaze, his eye twitching a little at the closeness of his wife in another man’s arms. He spoke, “I can take it from here, Thoma. Thank you.”

“Yes, of course, my lord…” He slowly released your body, and stood up, trying to not give into your whimper of beg when you weren’t so eager to be alone with blue hair red man.

He waited for Thoma to leave, and when he did, he kneeled down in front of you. His hand landed over your cheekbone, gently wiping through tears for you, as if making sure to not startle you. When you lowered your gaze to look at the floor, he let you do this, for once in months not forcing your chin up to be looking at him.

He didn’t ask you anything yet, having a hunch you’d be too emotional to not get double emotional under his words.

Seeing you get a bit exhausted, he scrambled you into his arms, and gently laid you both down on the futon; even ignoring the stench and wetness of your sweat on it. He can wash himself or the futon, but you did require to be watched over.

As you lied on your side, staring blankly at his chest, for a moment forgetting he’s here, you felt the safest inside your mind; or rather inside the detachment of it. The emptier your head was, the less you had to experience your dreadful reality and acknowledge the fact that all of that had happened indeed had happened. That Ayato is real, and that he has taken away from you and planned to do even more, and your future children would take from you — they’d join him in thievery.

It was his question that snapped you out of the comfort zone, and you looked up at his concerned expression. Was this really him? You didn’t like him being conferenced. Him being rough was painful and scary, nonetheless that’s what you were used to, and that’s what let you read his intentions. New emotions raised new concerns and questions for you to solve to think of ways of protecting yourself.

“Is it possible for you to tell me what did you dream about?” You shuddered at the inquisitive wording.

“I…” your voice trembles and you held onto your stomach. “I thought I was with a child… but it was a monster, destroying me from the inside…”

“… You saw a baby as a monster?” he tried to confirm, his voice uncertain. In his experience, he was usually surrounded by women cherishing their children. His own mother loved him and Ayaka dearly; even if oftentimes too employed in for them, as result having to leave them with a nanny. The idea of a woman dreading pregnancy is something he did understand, considering the possible pain, complications and consequences behind it, but seeing children as something evil…

“It’s a parasite. I don’t want a baby inside of me.” You thought Ayato has stolen everything from you that night, but it was actually going to be you having your children — he’d conquer your body, have it used for something else, and then your children would join in both being heavy on your body; then occupying your existence with having to take care of them that you never wanted. Theorizing, if you and Ayato had entered marriage normally, willingly, you’d be happy to have children. In reality, how can you have them and be happy when it’s with a man like him, especially too sorrowed and minced to take care of yourself and let alone them?

Seeing him in them would make you want to cover their faces with masks to wear everyday.

Over above, you yearned to keep something to yourself, if you couldn’t have the most.

These children didn’t deserve to be born either. Ayato was cruel to think of letting them live. There was a possibility he’d love them and make them laugh — a sentence was in making them have a mother who’d have to force herself to take care of them, to never be affectionate with them and treat them like they did something to her; inputting guilt in them for having been enforcing her struggle — that was the true selfish act here. There’s no way they wouldn’t catch up with the dynamic between you two, realizing something is wrong. Children were more observant that people gave them credit for.

You were more merciful towards them than Ayato. You were more self aware than him despite you being the one losing your mind here.

“A parasite—a baby is not a parasite, my dear—” his words were quickly cut off when you slapped his face. You both became ice sculptures, frozen and not moving — him from the shock, and you from the realization of what you have done. The fear overtook you, hitting twice hard after a break from discipline for weeks, thinking he’s going to slap you in return or punish you.

You closed your eyes and flinched when his hand was coming near your face, expecting the force even more painful than your own. What you felt instead was Ayato pinching your cheek, not even hurting it.

You opened one eye, too scared to see his angry face fully. The second popped open when seeing his teasing gaze instead, wondering if you truly have lost your mind. The last time you’ve really seen this sort of expression was months before your wedding, when he was still making you smile; when you were still living in pleasant oblivion of who he truly was. He was expected to be angry at your disobedience, not treating it lightly and looking soft as if you’ve committed a silly, honest mistake.

“That wasn’t very pleasant, darling.” He pinched your cheek again, chuckling like an angel. “Now we’re even.”

This was wrong. This felt wrong. He had no right to be affectionate and playful as if he was love and on honeymoon, all happy.

“That’s it?” you mumbled out, the additional dread added, panicking at your lack of knowledge.

He feigned confusion, “Well, would you want me to punish you?” His words caused the well known desire to beg to stop, and you quickly shook your head. “Then let’s say that’s it. Now, go to sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

As he watched you fall asleep, having no choice when you were exhausted and almost feverish from your distress, he had a thought in mind.

The bird with an extraordinarily long tongue, one that used to speak a lot and share any anecdotes, had its tongue cut off and couldn’t chirp anymore — it was only not thrown away, pitied and not used enough.

•

When you have woken up, you were surprised to see Ayato still lie next to you. Usually, he wouuld have been off to work already. So unusual you had to steal a glance at the watch on wrist he always wears, and grow confused at it being 8am.

You couldn't believe he was late for once. You shook his shoulder, ready to kick out your husband to have some space under the excuse of him having to work. “Ayato, get up! You slept in,” you urged.

Eventually, he heard you and had his eyelids lift just in half. Looking at you, he spoke in a drowsy tone, “No, not today. I am taking a break. Go back to sleep.”

He pulled you closer, while you were still confused by his words. Why was he suddenly taking a break? Something was wrong, especially combined with the way he has acted last night. You've never liked him hiding his intensions from you, as they usually landed up being awful when finally manifested.

However, you could have only settled down in his unmoving arms; still awake as you were too anxious. With his break, it was no surprise he was taking advantage to sleep for all times he couldn't have.

Using you as a pillow too, with his head on your shoulder. You had time to observe his peaceful expression, one that makes it unimaginable of what this man was capable of. It wasn't just you who was his victim — it was corrupted politicians despite him being corrupted himself, anyone threathening his family or stability, or even innocent people he liked to provoke just to see theirs reaction. Innocently pulling the strings for people doing his dirty work was a bonus.

Him being handsome gave him a whole of privelege to further make you seem the villain — of course people automatically assume that good looking people can't do bad, while ugly have to be the offender. If you were to go to the outside world, who would have really believed you? Should they have been given a chance to witness your dynamic first hand, some of them would still try to judge him to be innocent to look for some reason of his behavior in you, blaming you for causing him to have taken this course of action with you.

If you could, you'd tell other women to never marry a man much richer than them — there will be always a power imbalance and their husband not acting on it was only men’s mercy, not a right given to these women.

The wait has turned into an hour when he finally set you free to sit up, stretching his body. The slightly grumpy expression was almost cute to you, and you would have teased him about it if you didn't want to not give him attenttion. He turnerd to look at you, observing you intensely for a moment, as if assessing your state. You were still a mess, naturally, so there was a lot of work ahead of you.

"Good morning, my dear wife."

“Morning…” you muttered. You didn't feel good about the idea of him having a break, even if normally appearing selfish taken out of the context — you wanted as little time with him as possible. He smiled at you, not too widely, and mentioned, “I know the situation is very stressful for you, and that is has taken a toll on your body... that's why me and our doctor has decided that you should start taking a medication. Nothing too bad, I swear, before you start having some unsavory thoughts.” He grabbed your hand to hold it while delievering the news.

And he was right bout the thoughts — your fate was to alwasy be suspicious of any of his actions. Won't the medicine make you feel weak and foggy, so he can take advantage of you further? The subservience potential creeped up in your stomach, forcing cold sweat over you. “Is it neccesary? Is there no other way—?”

"If you will cooperate, we can go anywhere you like."

Your mouth opened and hang in this position, not believing at the sudden offer... or rather coercion. Which didn't mean you weren't desperate to go somewhere other than this cursed estate and old, boring places not too far away from the estate explored enough as another tool to make you feel crazy . He then enticed you further. “We can bring Ayaka too. She's been worried about you and I'm sure she would love to come with her sister-in-law.”

The idea of Ayaka being there with you was indeed comforting. Another person to turn to when talking, not being suffocated by his presence alone. Ayaka was kind, and while usually on her brother's side, she wasn't aware of the reality of your relationship. Despite living here together, Ayato was still a mastermind who managed to turn the situation to look in different vibrating to her — “Sadly, she's still mourning her parents and cannot help but be stressed by the situation” type of gaslighting. Not to mention that the estate was so big you were quite separated from her, with her not being able to enter this part as it was your chambers — private for two lovers.

“All I want from you is to take that medicine and eat some light breakfast. You can’t swallow it on empty stomach, let alone ruin your health further with neglect. You're getting so skinny rapidly, that I actually…" his voice cracked. Then tears appeared. Less than ten, but that was a lot coming from Ayato.

You froze in your spot, having an urge to turn your head away and leave the room. He deserved all the pain in the world, but seeing him weep, it was most shocking. You weren't used to seeing him spill much empathy on you, let alone cry... was he really that worried for you? Did he actually care? Was he finally regretting what he has done to you, or was it just guilt?

"Um... please, don't cry, Ayato..." you moaned out in distress. You didn't want to take care of responsibility for his own misery when you had enough burden of your own, and when it just wouldn't be fair to now also be his therapist.

Ayato wiped his tears, looking at you with something akin to embarassment. "Ah, how shameful of me... I just don't want to..." his voice cracked again, "…see you go,” he choked out.

You were really uncomfortable, almost feeling bad for him as you weren’t as cruel as him, so you have finally given in, just wanting him to stop tormenting you like this. "Okay, I will do what you asked me of. Just… calm down."

He perked up at your words. "Really?" when you nodded, he smiled. "That's a relief. Thank you." With both hands on the sides of your head, he pulled it in to kiss your forehead.

As you were about to leave, the aversion to eating has returned at prospect of seeing your stomach expand and believe there's a child within you. Ayato noticed, deciding to just now reveal his assertions. "Listen to me carefully, my dear... I think I've realized the reasoning your visits to the wardrobe, and if I'm right what’s the cause, I promise you that you're not pregnant."

"O-oh, yeah, that makes sense..." you tried to agree, for now, pushing through phobia to earn your reward.

He slowly stood up, helping you too. Holding your hand, he led you out of the room, ready to recite to his cooks to what create for your sensitive body.

•

You were positively surprised to see Ayaka join you at breakfast, even if she appeared concerned enough to gnaw at your chest and hurt it with guilt. "Oh, dear, I was so worried about tou!" she voiced out like a worried mother, and took you away from Ayato, helping you sit down next to her. You were so skinny compared to your previous weight, you looked so worn out like a rag being squeezed out of its water, your hair has surely thinned out too, and your nails always carefully painted were now chipped out along with your chapped lips. Not to mention you seemed somewhat incoherrent, your reactions being slowed down.

However, she tried to not give a feeling of judgy, not wanting you to feel insecure.

“I know you had trouble eating… so how about we start with something light? A bit of tamago and vegetables?” Ayaka asked.

You were still unsure about eating, having it imprinted in you to your bone marrow, yet with you were feeling so weak lately, combined with the truth you were told you are not pregnant and you were weak against Ayaka, you nodded.

Ayaka smiled widely in relief and praise, and placed some plates in front of you. “I think matcha is bound to make you nauseous, so try peach tea… do you want honey in it?” she poured you cup and you thanked her.

The older brother watched over you two with no comment, letting Ayaka do her magic.

•

After breakfast, Ayaka took you away from Ayato and to her own chambers, wanting to put some sparkle back in you.

As she was combing your hair, you had to admit it was the most pleasant feeling in a while.

You found comfort in Ayaka because she didn’t take from you. While she could be almost as cunning as her sibling, she was usually more selfless and any “selfish” things she wanted was just spending time with you when others couldn’t. Thoma, the second closest, might have not been stealing from you too — however, he was Ayato’s apprentice, more loyal even than a dog.

“Say…” she started, her soft hand gently gathering your hair back. “How do you feel about… motherhood?”

Ayaka immediately regretted poking at that part of you, seeing you quickly turn from content to panicked as if you saw someone being killed. However, maybe she didn’t expect this sort of reaction, yet had her suspicions for a while.

“No, no, I’m so sorry—” she said, feeling panicked herself, before she hugged you from behind, holding you to her chest. “Forgive me. You don’t have to worry, I won’t tell my brother anything. I promise on my late parents.”

She hold you for a few minutes like this, waiting for you to calm down. Her heart twisted when you gave a confession you desperately wanted someone to not just hear, but acknowledge and see as right and not overdramatic. “Ayaka, I don’t want to be a mother,” your voice cracked and you started crying.

Now she understood the extent of your unwillingness. When her brother has mentioned the idea of you soon trying for a child, she assumed your reaction to be stress at first. When your state has been getting worse and worse and Ayato kept telling her it’s because you were reminded of your family this way, her gut instinct whispered to her that it wasn’t entire truth — she wasn’t a clueless, naive girl either. And now, you have confirmed her suspicions. You were actually terrified of having children.

She just didn’t know if you’ve never wanted them, or if it’s with Ayato. “Does my brother not know that?” she asked, fearing the answer.

“He does. He thinks it’s a matter of changing my mind! That once we’re there, I’ll want it! But I know I won’t! And it’s not an idiotic gamble!” you said hysterically, unable to control your anger once I someone allowed you to let it out. “It’s only what if you’ll enjoy it, when there’s also what if you don’t!”

“I… I’m sure brother is just this eager, but surely he must understand now…” she tried to explain his behavior, still refusing to see it as truth. Yes, her brother did sometimes scare her, only to be soothed with care for you both a second later. But the extent of your depression lately, the rumors — you wouldn’t behave this way for no reason. It wasn’t a tantrum, it wasn’t stress, you were actually killing yourself with some dark mist growing from inside of you and swallowing you more and more everyday.

She had more material to be assured when seeing you start to tremble. “No, don’t cry, I will talk to him. You don’t have to have children if you don’t want them… I-I mean, I’ve always wanted them myself, so it’s not as if the future of this clan is not possible…”

Her words sparked some hope within you, but they weren’t enough. Aren’t you using her this way, because what if she’s lying to take a burden onto herself? Will Ayato accept an heir not coming directly from him? Will he accept the idea of not having a family on his own, one he’s desperately wanted?

“You don’t have to—” you protested. “No, it must be done,” you were taken aback by her serious and sort of angry tone. The idea that someone was on your side felt unreal, and you were worried for her.

However, you knew that once Ayaka sets her mind on something, she’s an unstoppable force.

You lowered your eyes onto the floor, as she reassumed her actions, to think the conversation didn’t happen. “Let’s not focus on it now. I just want to pamper you a bit, before we head out.”

Soon, your hair was styled up nicely to fit your features, a slight makeup was applied to hide your misery and remind you you’re still a human, for these gentle hands to help you dress up appropriately to today’s chilly but sunny weather.

When you two met Ayato outside, he froze for a moment, before retaking his calm expression— a smile adorned his face. He didn’t remember the last time you looked this lovely and not beaten up.

“You look beautiful, my love.” He approached you and pressed a kiss to your forehead, before he draped his hand over your waist to led you to the carriage.

When Ayaka observed you two, despite Ayato’s affectionate gestures she’d typically see as his love and care for you, she now paid attention to your reactions as a priority— you looked rather tense, with your eyes widening and flinching in almost fear.

Were you being paranoid or has Ayato been hurting you?

•

You slept throughout your ride, despite wanting to desperately watch the view outside. Your head was against his shoulder, with Ayato occasionally glancing down at your face despite blue eyes drilling holes in him.

He had to acknowledge Ayaka’s weird language. “Something’s wrong, sister?”

Ayaka blushed at being caught with a nervous squirm, only to shake her head. “No, brother, I’m just worried for my sister in law…”

Ayato scrutinized her expression, thankfully not deciding to question her further. “I see.”

•

You were shaken awake upon arrival, hearing the shuffling of Ayaka setting up blankets and porcelain outside. You’ve request some place outside as the promised by him trip, where others wouldn’t reach, too embarrassed at the prospect at someone seeing your current state. There were already many rumors in Inazuma, hearing about Yashiro commissioner’s wife being in terrible shape, supposedly having come down with some mysterious sickness. You didn’t need to be scrutinized more than Ayato already has dissected you.

“Dogs are instinctually loyal. But no matter how well-behaved a dog might be, it gets unhappy if it's cooped up in the same place for too long.” — you didn't wish to hear that again either.

When Ayato helped you step out, you were met with a sight of green fields and flowers on top of the hill. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you looked more alive than ever, that both siblings were surprised.

You’ve been surrounded by the nature in the estate, with wonderful gardens and flowers, but… they were only a reminder, mundane upon seeing it for years, and made to look more elegantly artificial than natural.

This was the true, raw nature, untouched by anything. You wished you were untouched by anything else too, and live in a place where only you exist. It was chilly outside, but it only added to the pleasantry of feeling the nature; and the sun still looked as beautiful. And if you were to get bored of the place, the wind would carry you somewhere else and you, a flower, would be creating more sprouts as the bee lands on you. Bee wouldn’t take but give and help you in sailing away like a sailer choosing to be lonely and not feeling lonely.

When Ayaka gave you food to eat, for once you ate and actually enjoyed it. When she asked you to help pick up flowers, you were at first hesitant, not wanting to disrupt that free nature, but gave in when she reassured they’ll bloom again the next spring, and when her trained hands shaped a crown, you let her put it on you.

You actually forgot Ayato was there, and when you remembered, you felt weird having realized he hasn’t interrupted you two yet.

Only when you were feeling tired again, he placed your head on his lap, stroking it to help you fall asleep. You didn’t want to accept his affection. You really didn’t. But you were tired, not even physically, so starved of humanity you just let him.

“I’ll let you know this is where our parents used to bring us. Me and Ayaka haven’t come here for many years after, until now,” he murmured gently, drowsiness making you feel loved by his tone.

Your brows furrowed, wondering why he was being vulnerable with you. “What has changed?”

“Finally it’s not so empty here… not if you’re here.”

•

Next days have been… surprisingly easy on you. Ayato has been acting gentle and affectionate with you, as if truly willing to help you get better; with pills helping you keep your nerves in check.

Nonetheless, back of your mind has never left you alone — is he helping you to get better, or to get better so he can finally try for your first child? Ayaka still didn’t inform you if she has confronted him, but for now…

You tried to catch all the peace you could. Finally at the state where your brain forced you to ignore any repercussions and let yourself to be taken care of, it was only natural. You had no choice, if you didn’t want to shatter against the floor entirely.

Ayato has been occupied, yet less as he let Ayaka take on more duties so he can spend time with you, pampering you. You were wary of his presence, a mechanism forced into you — in the past not ever being able to rest unless you were drunk or coming down from an orgasm — but you chose to be delusional willingly.

“A-are you sure this is safe?” you asked, seeing a set of tools meant for cleaning ears. A tradition in Inazuma, one you never had a chance to participate in, being busy with less relaxing activities put on you by your parents.

“Yes, trust me. I wouldn’t hurt your precious ears. I have an experience in doing this to Ayaka.”

“If you say so…” you said hesitantly, as placed your head on his lap. Your feet twitched when he started with a fluffy stick, feeling bit squirmy.

“Someone’s ticklish, hm?” he teased and you felt something warm within his chest. That tone voice, so similar to your time during engagement…

“No… everyone’s ears are sensitive…” you tried to bite back upon your embarrassment.

“Maybe, but yours especially,” he teased again, winning this small banter. It was easy to forget what he’s done to you, your mind thinking that perhaps you have overestimated his behavior… maybe he’s never been this bad and just wanted the best for you?

You no longer knew what was true. You couldn’t, when he constantly kept pushing you into different directions.

As he cleaned your ears, you ended up falling asleep like a baby. In your last moments, you felt his hand stroke your face and put a kiss to your hand he’s lifted up.

•

The place of your awaking was in the familiar bedroom. The spouse wasn’t here, so you assumed he must have returned to his duties. Some small part felt disappointment… not necessarily from missing him, if not the affectionate gestures.

You’ve decided to seek out Ayaka, wondering if she’d be willing to spend time with you; now unable to feel safe alone.

When slipping inside her chambers, you’ve been hit with flashbacks so many you almost fainted on the spot.

Ayaka and Ayato were arguing. The conversation that was meant to happen finally was in motion. What finally has truly broken you, with no point of return or hope you’ve been coming back to despite thinking it’s gone every previous time, was his words. You stood frozen, your every other sense than hearing being shut down to hear the final blow that’d kill you.

“She’s just not doing well at the moment. Once she is okay again, she’ll be able to have these children. This is what she needs to finally settle down!”

You felt a hand grab at your throat, despite not anyone touching you. Your hand immediately went down to the stomach, wondering if stabbing yourself would prevent the fatum placed on you; contradicting its definition.

Ayato has been fooling you the entire time. He wasn’t affectionate because he’s wanted you to get better. He’s been affectionate because he wanted to harvest you to be in shape to have children, to fulfil his selfish goals; or at least even if might have cared, this was his main intention. Those tears must have been crocodile, meant to make you feel bad for him. Your hopes were destroyed like the first time of you signing the contract.

He didn’t stop taking from you. He’s been waiting for you to regrow so there’s more to grab again. Then your body as it suffers from your pregnancy. Then your children would take too, and laugh at you while praising his work.

You truly had nothing left. You’d age with forced to watch them flourish, and them to have everything you couldn’t have.

Your entire existence has been made to be cursed, for you to be used, from the moment you were born. A child meant to never be loved but expected to work for her family with no minding to her own dreams, a child losing her parents, a child having to survive on her own while being used by her own family who refused to help, a woman meant to be given into the hands of some other disgusting man, a woman ruined by Ayato. Especially him — being given hope only for it to be crushed entirely the moment she starts to enjoy life. How had you even survived from the beginning? Did gods hate you? Did Shogun hate you? Was Celestia laughing at you from above?

You should have done this a long time ago — you thought of your intention, when withdrawing from the chamber to find a spot. You were stuck in some form of catatonic tension as you walked. Your mind didn’t think, but you knew where to go. Suddenly, everything looked black and white but you didn’t even see.

The thoughts of mutilation were forgotten — even childless, you’d still have to live with him. Maybe he’d force you to adopt. If you were to get pregnant somehow, you doubted you’d have any chance to get rid of the child yourself.

You wondered if your mother was as unwilling to have children and forced to have you, and that’s why she’s never loved you.

You were lucky find the laundry room unattended. You liked that — the last moment being filled with being alone, someone not wanting something from you for once; no matter if you felt awfully lonely too. Your life has started lonely, even being surrounded by people, and it will be lonely as it ends; creating a full cycle, perhaps meant to strike you once again in next life.

You thought about what everyone else would think. Would they regret not helping you? Would they feel guilty, not because they cared, but because it weighed on their conscience? Would Ayato be sad only because the object of his torment was gone?

You felt bad only for Ayaka, really.

But in the end, it didn’t matter if you’re going to be dead. In fact, you’d be pretty pissed to end up in some afterlife. It could be paradise of sort, but you’d resent to exist.

The only thing you feared, as you were throwing laundry rope over the beam in the room was you being stuck in Inazuma, walking around as a ghost. Ghosts and spirits did exist, the same way gods existed. Leave this world with problems unsolved and you might never ascend until you’re soothed and problems were resolved; possibly left to suffer and scare people with your moans for centuries. So at least, you removed your shoes.

When putting the seat servants used to wash and hurt their hands, you wondered how much Celestia hated people who commit suicide — were they mad their plans were ruined, the same way he would be mad?

You didn’t even notice when you were standing up on it and placing the noose around you. When jumping you down, you expected to hear a crack of the spine before you’d see black and not move.

After few seconds, you realized you were not out. Instead, you were suffocating. As a natural reaction, you started to trash, the instincts trying to stop the asphyxiation. Your body ended up swaying as a result, only tightening the noose you desperately tried to remove. It was different dying instantly from dying for many minutes of the worst torture.

Your jaw hurt and your eyes bulged out, along with your tongue. Your lungs burned, with you were to be dizzy and wanted to vomit. The rope dug into your neck most painfully.

You wanted to scream for help but your vocal cords were to shut off.

Within five minutes, you passed out, your last thought being of not waking up again.

•

Two servants were passing through the corridor, carrying heavy baskets of laundry while they gossiped.

“Seriously, I wonder what’s going on with our lady… Lord Ayato seems like a really good man, and he’s mentioned she’s been sick, but what exactly? To me, she seemed more troubled than sick…”

“I know, right? Do you think they’re having some conflict of sorts?”

“But what could they be conflicting about? Is it because he’s too busy?”

“I don’t know… but I wouldn’t mind marrying a man like him, even if bu—” Her innocent fantasy was cut off when both of them heard a loud noise from the room they were getting close to. It sounded like a heavy object falling, thumping against the floor and echoing with a dull sound.

They both stopped and looked at each other in worry. “Hey, do you think someone collapsed?”

“I mean… this room tends to be hot and humid, so it wouldn’t be a surprise…”

When they entered the room, their screams of terror shook the entire estate.

•

Ayato’s and Ayaka heated conversation were interrupted by Thoma barging in without knocking.

“Thoma, do you have no respect coming-” Ayato scolded in annoyance, but his friend cut him off frantically.

“My lord, your wife!” he said with the biggest fear his lord have seen before. Ayato immediately knew some tragic have happened, and suspected what it could have been considering your latest state. Were you dead? Ayaka let out a startled sob, more from shock for the realization would whip her fully.

“Where?” He didn’t even ask what transpired. He had to reach you immediately.

“The laundry room, in the third wing!”

It was all three of them that ran here, but Ayato ran the fastest. It could have been either you being so sick or you attempting… the latter was likely, if you ended up in a random location.

He barely stopped himself from vomiting when noticing you on the floor. You, purple, not moving, with your own vomit on the side, and… servants trying to resurrect you, meaning you weren’t breathing either.

He wasn’t thinking, he was now only acting — he shoved the servant away, not caring about them landing, and took over the act. He was ready to crack your rib if he had to, whatever that’d not stop him from saving you.

“Go get a doctor!” he screamed at everyone standing around, most frightened from all of them as if he finally decided to be a human.

It was Thoma who had most courage to leave and seek out help, and other servants had to force Ayaka out of the room who was desperately trying to get to you.

His heart broke when it’s you who had no choice and be the broken thing, but he kept pushing onto your chest while blowing air into your mouth.

You couldn’t die. His mother has died. His father has died. And you were going to die, not even by some assassin’s hand, but your own; if not his?

He sobbed the hardest when he saw your chest finally move, you inhaling air.

You barely opened your eyes after, but it was you staying with him. You’re not going anywhere, you couldn’t!

Not comprehending the situation to the frustration of your brain, you wondered why was it raining after your death. But when hearing the familiar voice, begging you to be okay, you realized it was the same animal pound of hell. But… the devil was crying, for once being honest and not deceiving. Shame it was so late. And it wasn’t better late than never situation.

You wanted to tell him to go away, but your throat couldn’t speak. The last thing you’d heard, barely, was a sound of someone else bursting to the room.

•

In your unconscious state, you saw an unfamiliar to you woman. She looked like you, but wasn’t you, and she couldn’t if she actually laughed, and her hair was healthy, and she served customers ramen with a smile on her face, eagerly listening to their stories.

And when her work was done, she walked on her way home, through a road decorated with lavender melon trees, a sun soon about to set and create an orange hue as warm as the day was.

And when she entered her house, she had her cat greet her, before they both would sit down to read together and when they woke up, her face was bright as the sun when noticing the hydrangeas had finally bloomed.

•

The dream was over when you woke up, a distant memory of what you’d daydream everyday as a teenager. The reality was much different, too scary to not be spread between multiple people to make it more bearable.

Your chest hurt. Something suffocated your hand and hurt it too.

“Darling? Can you hear me?” Ayato asked desperately, with some happiness in his voice. When you nodded, he asked another question, “Can you speak? It’s okay if you can’t, you’ll get there.”

“I… hate you,” is the first thing you could have said when waking up. You’ve said it many times in the past, always brushed off as a defiance or emotionality. But you’ve meant it every time, and this time especially.

Ayato’s hand gripped yours more tightly, surprisingly devoid of scolding. “I know,” he admitted quietly.

The words were unimaginable to hear, however, too delayed after months you didn’t feel relief at him agreeing with you. You were never heard and you weren’t heard now either, it was just something he had no choice but to admit or he’d look like an ignorant fool.

He really had to try hard not to cry again. Tormented when finding himself confused by his own emotions, deciding which ones were frustration at the miscalculation and being denied, which ones were guilt and which one was love and empathy for you being provoked.

As the doctor assessed your state, trying to talk softly realizing you were now the most vulnerable and at risk of repeating the gesture if left alone, Ayato’s hand didn’t leave yours the entire time.

“She thankfully can still speak, and her spine wasn’t damaged. The rib will heal, but… you have to be really patient with her, Lord Kamisato. She will recover physically, but getting to be stabile is a very difficult and long journey.”

There was one more thing he hasn’t mentioned to you, but has mentioned to your guardian before you woke up — one you shouldn’t be hearing at the moment.

When the doctor left, you saw your husband’s face turn into anger. “How could you have tried this? How could you be so selfish and try to leave me? Try to leave Ayaka? Even Thoma? Do you have no respect for your own life or your own family?!”

The words hit you and you couldn’t process them with how severely unfair, unreasonable and cruel they were. You’ve just tried to end your life, after he has literally destroyed you and put you through worst things imaginable. He was the selfish one to take without being asked, to gain at your expense, and pretend a gilded cage makes it a fair trade — did you miss some detail that’d make him to be the one right here)

Your eyes were bulging out again, this time from shock. If you thought you felt agony, you would say now it would kill you itself. You didn’t speak. You let the words sink for a while, before you rebutted, “You ruined me, Ayato. How can I be selfish for wanting to free myself of this?” You didn’t even know how you could speak at this point, exhausting the last of breaths before it’d be just your body.

“I didn’t ruin you. I built you up. You had nothing, I saved your family from the ruin, I gave you a safe home and wanted to give you a family too!” he raised his voice at you, making you flinch.

“Then why did you have to treat me this way?! Why treat me this way? Why did you have to torment me instead of letting me live with you?!”

When he saw your eyes well up with tears, he knew he was fucking up saying those things to you when you were probably ready to hurt yourself again. The righteous man he was, he had to shake some sense into you. “That’s how order is built. If you weren’t led by me, you wouldn’t have survived a day in this family. You might have survived yours, but barely, and it’d never compare to MY family’s suffering.”

You thought you couldn’t breathe again. You were shaking, and you were sobbing so loudly you didn’t hear his words anymore. The pain in your chest intensified and you would pass out if provoked more. Your mind was being slaughtered by his words. He really thought order is more important than your wellbeing, and he disregarded any difficulties you went through, thinking it’s unimportant as long as his were worse. How can a human creature meant to be equipped with empathy to actually achieve the full build, could compare two tragic lives? “You…” you gasped out, high on panic. “Can’t push me off the cliff… and expect me to be grateful for you saving me…”

The words clearly struck something in him, as if having realization, before he was throwing frustration at you once more. “Things aren’t black and white—”

Too bad, as you started to scream with a cry for him to stop tearing you apart, and banging your head against the floor. It hurt, of course it did, but you preferred this pain than the one from the carved out hole Ayato has left in your soul.

And he immediately regretted his words, ones of wanting to blame you so he doesn’t have to blame himself, and could feed his selfish side not being satisfied. He quickly landed on top of you, holding your bleeding head under his hand so you can’t hurt yourself more; end up with concussion or even crack in your own skull — you probably would have reached there, at this point. He was scared, both for you and of you. His precious wife really had nothing in her to keep her going, and he had nothing to make her happy.

“Stop, please, I’m begging you!” he was crying too, holding your trashing form in his arms. He wasn’t holding you but himself too. “I’m so sorry, you’re right, it was all my fault! Just don’t leave me, I beg of you…”

The doctor who was on duty in the room next to yours, ready to tackle your possible episode in case you have it, has heard all and entered the room. He ignored the fact how uncomfortable for his employer it’d be to be witnesses this way, prompted by the wonder if it’s both of you that he had to sedate.

“Let me go!” you screamed again. “I don’t want to do this anymore!” The man forcing you to stay still cried harder seeing you beg to be taken away, and it was difficult for him to hold you down for the doctor to administrate dose.

His panic was soothed down only somewhat once you were no longer crashing down; for all that, your ongoing tears told him you were no longer with him.

He let the doctor patch your forehead, and it was only one less problem, swallowed by waves of much bigger cruelties thrown at you and him.

Ayato, for once in his life, had no solution to deal with so far and always to be the biggest problem. He could have ruled entire political organization and clan simultaneously, but fixing one broken woman felt impossible.

He held you entire night like this, even when you were barely coherent; not stoping after the sedate has worn off. You were stuck inside your own mind which finally has given up, as it couldn’t accommodate more tragedy.

Ayato felt like the most evil man in the world, even if as dissatisfied about having his biggest dream ruined by you — regardless of him never having a right to fulfil it at your expense.

If he hadn’t placed his own rules on you, scared of you going away or doing something stupid, you wouldn’t have ended up this way. He thought the worst can happen if he’d have taken this route of freedom, but stripping you away of all of it you had was the true tragedy. The other route, he failed to take your happiness enough into account, believing you were someone who needed to be controlled to finally have some weight off shoulder; and that if you went through so much already, you were a fighter to take this much before you come down.

But who he would be kidding if he said his needs didn’t come first? He was a man cursed with duality—to be able to both love and take. And the taking part was too heavy on the scale to weight it proportionately.

In the end, he had to ignore his disappointment — he wouldn’t and couldn’t take on this route again. The words, both yours and doctor’s left a heavy impression on him.

“You pushed me off of the cliff and expected me to be grateful for you saving me.”

And the unsealed by you, whispered out of your vision — “I wont be any gentle with you when I tell you she’s not allowed to have any children, even if one day you believe she’s doing better. Push her again, and it will cause another tragedy. Her mental wellbeing is too prioritized to expect her to take care of children.”

He’ll never have a family on his own. No replecament for his dead parents, just you and his sister. Not even adoption was an option, when you wouldn’t be able to carry this burden on your shoulders.

He looked at your form stating at the ceiling. “I know you won’t believe me, but I’ll do anything you want me to do. Just don’t give up on me. On us. On yourself. I need you. You can have all the freedom you want, just—” he buried his face into your neck, sobbing here — much more when you didn’t react, and much more when noticing the rope burns, and even much more when he saw your form hanging when closing his eyes. He didn’t want to close them ever again.

•

In the spread of the next days, he didn’t leave your side for more than the most important meetings; and had others watch you when gone. Anything else, Ayaka took over, even if she barely could work herself. It was clear he’s lost some of her trust, and that she was haunted by what you’ve done. The entire estate has been quiet too, with people acting as if they were mourning regardless you were alive — because you have died, in a way.

You were slowly waking up back to the reality, and he was still there, sadly. This time, any expression he’s shown you felt real and were real.

With your awakening, a certain thought followed you everywhere — if your state hasn’t ended up this bad, he’d still force you through his plans. You’d be miserable having children; but not enough for him to stop. You had to reach this point to hear an admission of his sins, and for him to realize he was so wrong.

“Thats it. You’re doing so well, my dear,” he praised as he fed you soup, with you sitting between his legs, your back against his chest and his hand ahead of your face. You no longer had to fear your belly growing after the doctor has told you you’ll never be able to have children, due to the damage your body has taken — no longer fertile, something you’d feel bad about for women who wanted children, and something you had to view differently for your specific case. You could only grow your fat and take back nutrition, but what then? What are you supposed to do for the rest of your life?

You ate the soup like a robot, not enjoying its taste, it helping you with your dehydrated tongue instead.

“Do you want to go the city soon? There’s a festival coming, and I know you must have missed attending these..” He frowned; seeing your head shake, having expected you to take on the rare chance. He sighed, but stayed patient. “I see. You must be still tired.”

“Do you want to lay down?” he asked when you ate more soup. When you nodded, he helped you to lower yourself to the futon, and placed your head on his lap. Ayaka has told him you like having your hair comb, once done by your favorite servant when you were a child, the only one you felt safe with, so he did the same for you. He wanted to cry again when seeing how thin and brittle your locks were, and he touched these with reverence. Hopefully, they will grow back soon.

Just, will you grow back again too? He knew there was some part of you he’ll never bring back, nonetheless, he’d take anything that resembled you.

“Ayato…” you finally asked, unable to let the question burden you further. “What about…”

“Yes?” he asked gently.

“The future of this clan? Do you resent me?”

His hand stopped between your strands. It’s been an answer he’s figured out already — only the delivery meant admitting his defeat and faults. “No, I don’t resent you. I don’t hide the fact I’m sad at the prospect of not having children ever, but I’d take that any day over losing you. And… Ayaka will be the one carrying the future of this clan and commission. She has expressed her feelings about motherhood to me, and she’ll looking for a suitable husband candidate soon. Though, I’m willing to give her some freedom in the choice, so she can pick someone she’s comfortable with.”

“I see…” You’ll seek out a shrine one day, wanting to pray she’ll never find a man like her brother.

“Then… what am I supposed to do myself?”

“What do you mean?” He asked, taking on the serious tone. You weren’t expecting to leave him, were you?

“I-I mean… am I supposed to… go back to our previous life? Just… waiting for you all day, not being able to leave, and meeting all these people?”

Ayato sighed. He was well aware you shouldn’t go through the same thing again; but he was also afraid at the idea of you flying away or hurting yourself by going outside. “We’ll figure out something for you to do. Perhaps you could help me with work? And… if you do well, I’ll try to make sure you have some fun after the hours too.”

“Can I leave on my own, then?” you asked hopefully, leaving him angry. He was afraid to crush your spirit again though, so made his words as delicate as possible, “No—I mean to say, not for now. Not because I want to restrict you, only because you need to get better first. After then… we’ll go back to this topic.”

With your understanding and unfortunate knowledge about him, you were quick to realize he might as well say no. “I want to know now!” you yelled. “I don’t want to wait for just to say no!”

Ayato’s hand tightened on the come, but he remembered he had to be patient with you. “I didnt say I’ll say no. If anything, it’s likely I’ll say yes.” Still no promise of saying yes, but you were baited upon your desperation.

“You promise?” you inquired quietly, scared of having the deal to be broken.

“Of course, my dear.”

•

When time has passed, Ayato’s words were proven to be right. However, to your despair, the sense of having lost something and someone that was you haven’t left, and you didn’t feel safe at your home you could never leave — the same old prison, now with gained privileges to paint the illusion of a choice and comfort.

Maybe Ayato didn’t touch when you didn’t want, excusing himself to the bathroom at random times of night; maybe he didn’t restrict you as much and kept you busy — all for there to be no way back to the happiness and stability from before the marriage.

He was still the same person who could never earn your forgiveness, no matter how punished and how opulently he’d repent… and you wouldn’t even call it repenting, but making it up to you — repentance would come after years of reparations. He was still the same person who has done all of this to you.

So when you find yourself at the top of the rooftop, you didn’t hesitate to jump down. You’ve failed the first time, but the second time was meant to be successful, no matter if more painful.

Your entire body felt broken, was broken, and you blissfully didn’t feel any pain yet, too high on adrenaline. As you bled, you heard screams, people in the garden circling around you, too scared to touch your form and intensify the damage they’d be blamed for. You having to hear your husband’s cries once more was the last before you lost hearing.

•

You woke up in an unfamiliar room, seeing an unfamiliar man with blue hair and purple eyes, and face so gentle you could cry — maybe the look of this precious man could soothe aches in your body too.

He looked at you in relief, softer enough make you feel good when waking up, and had to force a smile on his face. “You… I don’t know what else I can do…” he held your hands to his forehead, lowering his face so you wouldn’t see his despair. You’ve tried to leave him again; this time barely escaping death.

However, you could have only asked and shake him with the brand of your words, “Who are you?”

His head whipped up, looking at you in shock, blinking thrice. “Pardon? What do you mean, you silly thing? I’m your—” Then it hit him. The doctor has mentioned this possibility after your head has been injured.

He cleared his throat, as he wiped his tears, now speaking in a tone happy and affectionate. “I’m your husband. You’ve got me so worried, when you were attacked. But don’t worry, I’ve always taken a good care of you, and I will carry my duty for the rest of our lives. I’ll help you with remembering.”

Perhaps the gods have blessed him for his hard work for Inazuma’s sake, or perhaps they wanted to see one more act of the entertaining play—but Ayato would take advantage of this blessing anyway, having been given a second chance to start over.

It seemed you indeed would be reborn in another life, with a difference you didn’t have to physically die for it.

And if it was his choice to not mess up this time and take what he thought he would never have— this time, simultaneously keeping the balance of taking and giving, feeding you with an illusion of you always have been wanting these things — he can make you both happy, and grab what he’s wanted.

A trade truly fair, actually — at least, based on his beliefs always having crashed against yours.

Beliefs could be implemented into a blank canvas anyway.

Apologies if there were any mistakes or misspellings <3 I’m not best with proofreading longer stories, not with my attention span 💔

But yeah, Ayato’s back to being selfish — his love has just changed into more “fair” of transactional. Nonetheless, I doubt reader will ever have a chance to be happy, even if blissfully unaware due to being amnesiac (not to mention that body can remember trauma physically).

I’ve incorporated some of his voicelines as they were fitting; and I think this cruel man also likes order — there was another voiceline in imaginarium theatrum, with him being judgy about mondstadt’s archon letting people have complete freedom ahshsb

I also won’t lie, I’m terrified of pregnancies as hell… so this was pretty cathartic for me to write, though not a self-insert for myself — more of a depiction of tokophobia and how reader could act in such circumstances. I’m really often like “wait, women do it willingly?”, but I also feel very proud of them for being so strong <3

[kentoxo]

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt. 11

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: i have returned with another, not-so-interesting part. i apologize to those who might have asked to be tagged previously, i *think* i have everyone now! but again, pls feel free to yell at me in my askbox if i didnt get you! the next part is gonna be way more fun, promise :) trying to bring in more of our jjk favs (including our baby boy toru)

all parts: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10,

December | Tokyo, Japan | Monday

“Kento, are you stupid or dumb?” Haibara coldly spits through the phone. “You have what, like 5 days? My god, where is your brain dude?” 

“I’m a businessman,” Nanami responds, with shaky sighs escaping from between his lips as he enters the lobby of their job. “I made a deal, and she accepted the terms. When have I ever lost a deal?” 

“This all could have been avoided if you just said the other shit you told me,” Haibara groaned. “How she’s pretty, and the way you are able to open up to her.” 

Nanami lets out his own sigh, as his friend was probably right. “She… made me nervous. I only know how to be professional and talk in working terms. I’m not good at anything else.” 

“And now she’s pissed off, so fantastic work, Head of Department,” Haibara says before sucking his teeth. 

Nanami walks into the elevator, one hand buried in his pocket while the other holding his phone tiredly at his ear. A few other colleagues enter, giving Nanami a curt bow before pressing their floor button. “Is she in yet, by the way?” Nanami asks, a twinge of optimism in his tongue. 

“Of course she is,” Haibara hummed, the sounds of papers being sifted in the background. “She even asked for me to get your cup of coffee since she’s in a meeting right now.” 

Nanami’s eyebrow raised, “meeting?” 

Haibara murmurs a ‘hold on,’ the only sound to be heard was Haibara walking past several cubicles and work conversations. After finding a quiet place, Haibara brings the phone close to his mouth while cupping it with his other hand, “she’s in a meeting with shacho. ‘m not sure what it’s about, but he went to her desk the moment she clocked in.” 

What? “Did it seem like she was in trouble?” Nanami questions, his heart skipping a beat or two. 

Haibara shrugs, “‘m not sure, but I think it has to do with her promotion. Shacho mentioned it during the client lunch the other day, remember?” 

“That’s right,” Nanami lets out slowly, recalling that day in his head. That day, your usually tidy hair had a small lock of it sticking out from behind your ear. That same day is why Nanami wishes for hindsight almost constantly. “I wonder…” 

“Right?” Haibara whispers curiously. “Whatever promotion she gets, she earned it for sure.” 

The elevator doors open, and Nanami quickly rushes into the office. “Meet me in front of Takada shacho’s office.” 

“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be right there!” Haibara calls out. Nanami turns around to see his dark-haired partner behind him, sheepishly waving his phone in the air. Nanami hangs up and walks up to him, curious of his intentions. “You’re gonna owe me about $150 after this.” 

Nanami looks around before getting close to Haibara’s. A few strands of blond hair escape Nanami’s usually kempt hair. “What the hell did you buy?” He whispers, practically hisses. 

Albeit his nerves, Haibara looks up at him with a smirk, “when have I ever let you down, Kento?” 

“Never, but you best not start today,” Nanami growls, pulling away before making a quick stride over to Takada’s office. 

As he did, he noticed many of his colleagues peer curiously from their cubicle over to Takada’s office as well, with other eyes peering at your own desk for your return. A sea of whispers then started to surround Nanami as everyone noticed his arrival. Quiet, respectful greetings and curt bows create the aura around him as Nanami nods in acknowledgement. It was all just too curious for Nanami, as he felt the itch to know what he didn’t. 

But he could swear his eyes were deceiving him when he saw the backs of both Geto and Ieiri. 

“Geto, Ieiri,” Nanami addresses them in a firm, yet soft tone. 

Geto is first to turn, his long raven hair flowing from his movement. He usually had the top part of his hair bunned, but he decided to let his entire mane out today. Peculiar, Nanami mentally noted. It was also peculiar that Geto himself had a large bouquet of winter white lilies. “Kento,” Geto begins, a warm yet deceitful smile is pulled from each end of his lips. He offers his free hand, in which Nanami reluctantly shakes. 

Nanami has no issues with Geto, of course. All of them went to school together, Shoko and Haibara included. There has never been, and will never be, any beef between the two gentlemen. Of course, Nanami felt hesitant with him now, considering Geto hired you initially, and you were now under Nanami. There was a sudden and inexplicable feeling within the hazel-eyed man. Nanami was… nervous. 

Geto’s obsidian orbs weren’t helping with that, either. 

“Why so formal?” Ieiri sounded from his right side, pulling him out of his locked gaze with Geto. Nanami snatches his hand back, and quickly offers it to Ieiri, who teasingly just shakes the tips of his fingers. Her free hand held a small red box with a gold ribbon tied around it. “It’s been a little while, Kento. You never come up to visit.” 

“It’s because I work,” Nanami hums, letting her hand go to shove both his hands in his pockets. He needed some sort of solid ground, and his pockets felt safe. “And so do you both, considering we’re all department heads here.” 

“That we are,” Geto hums, “it has been quite crazy in Legal, considering how many clients the both of you have been pulling in.” 

Ieiri stows away a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear, gently lowering the cigarette she had hidden. “Sales has been quite crazy,” Ieiri said slowly, “hence why I’m down here. ‘m looking for my girl that you snatched from me.” 

Nanami squints his eyes, staring Ieiri down. But after realizing her words, his eyes slightly widened, “do you, by any chance, know what her promotion is about then?” He looks over at Geto as well, silently extending that question to him. 

Ieiri widened her eyes in confusion, with Geto raising his eyebrow in curiosity. “You… don’t know?” Geto asks, each word burned off his tongue in humor. 

Nanami was annoyed from not knowing, “I don’t if I’m asking. Why would I know?”

Ieiri taps at her bottom lip with the tip of her index, “well, you are her manager. You’d be the one that Takada shacho would talk to regarding Y/N’s growth within the company.” 

It did raise curiosity that Takada would mention Y/N’s promotion aloud in front of him and clients that have no relevance. But, Nanami did have some expectation to talk about your future promotion with Takada, whatever that would pertain. It felt somewhat like betrayal, considering how much Takada confided in him. Nanami could only hope it was with right intentions that he was not included in his assistant's promotion. 

“I have no say in how he makes his decisions,” Nanami’s eyes narrow at the door before them. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to calm his nerves. “I can only hope it is a promotion that is to her liking.” 

“I can give you a hint if you want,” Ieiri teases with a toothy grin. Geto clutches the bouquet a little tighter as she piques Nanami’s interest. He looks over to her, noticing her adjusting her long, black dress. She pulls off pieces of lint, torturing him purposely with the wait. “I heard a rumor that… this promotion is a role that is above all of ours.” 

Nanami, at the moment, was beyond proud of you. He couldn’t even conceal his smile, feeling pangs of excitement in his heart. He was glad that you were seen exactly the way he sees you. Intelligent, capable, overachieving, and approachable. You work with such grace, and exude so much warmth as a person. You getting promoted to a position much greater than his is truly an honor. He was lucky to have a small role in your success, if you considered his significance. 

“But supposedly she will still reside within one of our departments,” Geto hums quietly. Nanami gives him a look, but Geto shrugs, “that’s all I know.” 

Nanami’s smile calmed, “I don’t see the need for her to transfer out of Finance, though.” 

“Is that right?” Geto questions with a smirk. “You have your department completely sorted, besides how nosey they are.” The three heads look back to see all of his colleagues eye them like fish, having them awkwardly turn back to their work. “What help is needed here?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Nanami replies, an accidental hint of offense weaved in his words. “Just know that her skill set would be best utilized and appreciated here.” 

Geto’s smirk still played tricks in Nanami’s head, “and yet she applied and was initially hired for Legal. She was first recognized and utilized for her skill set in the Legal Department.” 

“She clearly is a woman of many talents, considering her contribution to all of our departments,” Nanami points out. He adjusts his tie, and sweeps his hair back in a more tidy manner. “She has done wonders for my department, and I intend to keep her flourishing here.” 

“I hope you boys didn’t forget that I’m here, too,” Ieiri pipes in, slightly annoyed at being ignored. “Nonetheless, it’s not about us. It’s about where she would like to go, and where Takada shacho believes where her role would be best fit.” 

After her words, the three hear frantic running from behind. Nanami turns around to see two bouquets of white roses make their way towards them. They were large, almost the size of two small bedside tables. The person halts, with staggering breaths emitting from the bouquets. Nanami notices the hair just barely sticking out from the top and knew right away that it was his closest friend, Haibara. 

“Nanami,” Haibara spews simply, forcing the two bouquets into his arms. The scent of florals intoxicated Nanami’s nose as he looked over the bouquets at his exhausted friend. “Looks like.. I made it right on time,” he lets out through sporadic, heavy breaths. From the corner of Nanami’s eye, Geto looked slightly annoyed at the fact that he was slightly one-upped. 

Before Nanami could even express his gratitude, the click of an unlocking door sounded from behind him. They all look over to see Takada shacho with a wide smile. To his right, you stood there, your body completely stiff from nerves. Nanami could tell that, despite everything, you still looked at him with those eyes, finding some sort of solace in them. 

Takada jumped a bit, humored at the sight of 3 of his Head of Departments. “Well, good morning to you all,” their boss hums heartily. All of them, including Haibara, bow. “I haven’t seen you 3 together since last year's Holiday Party. The only person we’re missing here is Satoru.” 

Satoru Gojo, the Head of IT. 

Geto nods, “they’ve been quite busy since changing the system for our company hub.” 

Takada nods, “I need to go visit them soon. See if there’s any relief I can send to their department. Speaking of…” Takada then moves away from you and allows you the spotlight. “Everyone, please turn your attention here.” 

You felt your nerves right at your throat. Though this was a good thing, you were never a fan of being front and center of anything. You always had stage fright, surely since you were younger. Having the attention and eyes of many was something you could never get used to, even now in your adult life. Nanami could see you remaining frigid while expressing a sheepish smile. 

As Takada begins to congratulate you on your new role as Office Manager, Nanami quickly walks up to you and puts the two bouquets in your hand. Although it was sudden and the bouquets held some weight to them, it provided a shield from your fellow colleagues staring at you. Nobody questioned it as claps and quiet cheers erupted in the office. 

You noticed Nanami standing firmly to your side, smiling at everyone while gently nudging you with his arm. You look up at him, uncertainty glimmering in your eyes. He mouths a silent ‘congratulations’ with a very wide and proud smile. You knew he was going to ask you about it later, but right now, it felt nice to just get a simple praise. It was the one bit of calmness within the chaotic sounds of claps and praises. 

“I hope everyone can join me in wishing Y/N much luck in her deserved promotion,” Takada announces, causing the crowd to quiet down. Praises continued to stream, but you could barely pay attention as you stared up at Nanami’s hazel eyes. But you did get interrupted by Ieiri’s hand latching onto your forearm. You look ahead to meet the eyes of both of your previous bosses. 

While anxiously holding onto the bouquets, you quickly bowed before the both of them, “a-ah, Ieiri kacho, Geto kacho! It is wonderful to see you both!” 

“And we you, Y/L/N,” Geto hums with a soft tone. “Many congratulations on your promotion. May your transition be as perfect as your work ethic.” 

You bow once again, attempting to find calm in Haibara’s frantic thumbs up shaking in the background. “Thank you very much… I would have never been able to even get here without you, Geto kacho.” 

Geto emits a hearty laugh before grinning, “you said it first.” 

Ieiri promptly shoves him a bit, smiling down at you, “why don’t we all have celebratory breakfast?” Ieiri looks over at Takada with a pearly smile. “Can Y/N delay her work so she can celebrate her monumental accomplishment with us?” 

Takada smiles before nodding, “please, feel free to take your time. I’d love to join you all, but my entire schedule is booked with meetings. Enjoy in my absence. And again, congratulations, Y/N.” 

They all bow before Takada, who takes his leave back into his office. A brief silence ensues before Geto goes up to you and begins to take the bouquets from your arms. “A-ah, Geto kacho, you don’t have to,” you insist, attempting to keep them in your arms. “You are already carrying one yourself.” 

Before Geto could even advance, Nanami quickly holds your elbow and tilts you so you’d be facing him. Without another second, he takes back the two bouquets from your arms. “Let me carry them for you, Y/N kacho,” Nanami says quietly. 

Your heart melts. Your mind was going blank. You could vomit from excitement, anxiety, and enchantment from Nanami’s teasing. “Th-thank you, Nanami kacho,” you say shyly, feeling your cheeks erupt in heat. 

“I’m no longer your kacho,” Nanami quickly spews, “feel free to drop that honorific for me.” There was something brewing in those hazel eyes, and you were left to wonder what goes on behind those beautiful orbs.

Taglist (OPEN)

@blossomedfloweroflove @numblytemporary @everyoneandtheirmothers @animechick555 @inthedarkshadows000

@m-arj-1 @julk4e @hadassery @swoozleee @angxlsatvrn

@v1x3n @s-witch-bitch @furgusonn @watyousayin @thechaoticarchivist

@simp-manhwa @5sos-wdw @ffyona1214 @phantombaby @evangel44xxcds

@ukiyodestiny @jasminelee324 @eurydxceorphxus @moonlightazriel @s3rp3ntsssc0ve

@dusty-dweller @wifenanami @bokuatsubro @ayesayman @starry-eyed--dreamer

@gradmacoco @nymphsdomain @whatelsecouldgowrong @myynameisbuckyy @nanamjai

@a-sor @typicalchels @celestialzdiviner @satoru-is-the-way @sannieworshipper

@shibataimu

[aventurineswife]

❤ The language of flowers | 001

❤ | Your options shall be: Sunday, Aventurine, Dan Heng, Veritas Ratio, Boothill, Jing Yuan, Blade or Moze. Whoever you think suits this prompt.

❤ | Flower & it's definition : Yellow Acacia | Secret love; It can also represent optimism, enlightenment, and happiness.

The Language of Flowers

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Romance, Slow Burn, Character Development, Emotional Vulnerability, Symbolism, Angst, Fluff.

Warnings: Mild Angst, Mentions of Emotional Struggles, Subtle Manipulation (Aventurine’s part), Complex Relationships.

[Part 2] | [Part 3] | [Part 4] | [Part 5] | [Part 6] | [Part 7] | [Part 8] | [Part 8.5] | [Part 9] | [Part 10] | [Part 11] | [Part 12] | [Part 13] | [Part 14] | [Part 15] | [Part 16] | [Part 17] | [Part 18] | [Part 19] | [Part 20] [Part 21]

It was a quiet evening at the Oak Family estate, the last traces of the setting sun casting soft golden light across the lush gardens. Sunday stood amidst the swaying flowers, his eyes fixated on the delicate petals of a single Yellow Acacia resting in his gloved hand. He had chosen it with purpose—a secret love, one that had been carefully buried beneath his calm demeanor for as long as he could remember.

You approached, the evening breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers, and paused when you saw him standing there, the weight of something unspoken between you two. His usual composed expression softened just enough to betray his inner turmoil.

“Have you ever noticed how fleeting beauty can be?” he asked, turning to you, his eyes shining with the weight of years and wisdom. “This flower,” he held out the Yellow Acacia, “represents a secret love... a love hidden away, like the one that resides in my heart.”

You took the flower from him, the petals so soft, almost fragile. "Why hide it, then?" you asked gently, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sunday’s smile was faint, a subtle reflection of both sorrow and peace. “Because sometimes the most precious things are the ones that can never be fully realized.” His gaze lingered on you for a moment, his presence calm yet heavy with the unsaid. “But for now, let this flower symbolize our shared optimism and happiness.”

The evening drifted on, the two of you standing together in silence, each savoring the moment that held a quiet promise, unspoken yet deeply felt.

Aventurine’s laugh echoed through the luxurious suite, a sound that, on the surface, seemed carefree, almost careless. But his eyes—those eyes—told a different story. You had witnessed the calm before the storm, the moments when his charismatic grin faltered, and the weight of his past caught up with him.

He slid a small flower across the table to you, a Yellow Acacia. Its soft petals were a contrast to the whirlwind of emotions in his heart. “You know, they say this represents secret love,” he remarked, his voice dripping with the playful confidence that defined him. “But to me, it’s more than that. It’s the optimism that life can sometimes be played... and won.”

You took the flower, its symbolism not lost on you. “A secret love? What are you trying to tell me, Aventurine?”

His smirk lingered, but there was something vulnerable in the way his eyes danced with shadows. “Sometimes,” he said, his voice quieting, “the things we hide are the only things worth keeping. But I suppose,” he leaned closer, “perhaps I can let you in, just this once.”

His words were a dare, a challenge, but you could feel the flicker of something real, something that existed behind the games he played with everyone around him. Aventurine's charm and confidence hid the truth that his heart yearned for something more than the risks he was always willing to take.

With the Yellow Acacia in your hand, you sensed his struggle, his willingness to risk everything for something, or perhaps someone, he couldn't control. The flower was not just a symbol of secret love, but the optimism that maybe, just maybe, this gamble could be worth it.

Ratio stood by the vast library windows, the last light of the day casting a golden hue over his study, yet his mind seemed elsewhere. He was always so intensely focused on knowledge, on wisdom, that you sometimes wondered what truths he kept hidden from those who looked up to him.

This time, he held something different—a Yellow Acacia. It seemed to stand in stark contrast to his usual cerebral nature, with its gentle petals and quiet symbol of secret love.

"You know," he began, not turning to you immediately, "this flower... it carries a meaning that intrigues me." He turned to you then, his violet eyes piercing yet thoughtful. "A secret love," he murmured, a trace of uncertainty in his otherwise steadfast voice.

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “And what does that mean to someone like you, Dr. Ratio?”

He allowed himself a brief pause, considering the weight of your question. “Optimism, perhaps. A desire to believe in something that transcends the confines of intellect,” he said, stepping closer and offering you the flower. “Even I, despite my… dedication to logic, find myself occasionally captivated by the allure of the impossible.”

You took the flower from him, your fingers brushing his, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. A rare emotion, one not often displayed by the brilliant, self-assured man who seemed to pride himself on his unshakable intellect.

“You believe in love?” you asked, the question hanging in the air.

Ratio’s lips curled slightly into a half-smile, his voice carrying a weight of reflection. “I believe in the pursuit of knowledge, but love…” He trailed off, as if the concept were both a mystery and a challenge. “Perhaps, in the right moment, even a mind like mine could understand its importance.”

You held the Yellow Acacia carefully, feeling its soft weight in your hand—a delicate reminder of the complexity behind Ratio’s brilliant, calculating exterior. Secret love, optimism, and enlightenment… all tied together in a single flower.

"Maybe," he added, his tone almost playful now, "it’s time to learn something beyond the pages of a book."

[elizabethsnuts]

i dont know if you've written something like this but if not, do you think you could write something like how winterwidow would handle their toddler having a tantrum or something similar? Thanks!

Toddler Tantrums

WinterWidow x Daughter!Reader

Summary: You are having a tantrum but Bucky and Natasha are there to calm you down.

———

Natasha paced the living room, her eyes never leaving your tiny, furious figure on the floor. You were in your terrible two-stage and were in the midst of a loud tantrum, your face red and tears streaming down your cheeks. You were sprawled out on the living room floor, kicking and screaming. Toys lay scattered around you like fallen soldiers, casualties of your wrath. Bucky and Natasha exchanged a knowing look as your high-pitched wails echoed through the compound.

Bucky was leaning against the doorway, his metal arm glinting in the soft light of the living room. He watched Natasha with a mix of amusement and sympathy. "She's got your stubbornness, you know," he said, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Natasha shot him a look, her green eyes flashing. "Not helping, Barnes."

Bucky held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Let's tag team this. You go first."

Natasha knelt down beside you, her voice calm and soothing despite the chaos. "Y/N, malyshka, can you tell Mama what's wrong?"

Your response was another ear-piercing scream, followed by a string of garbled words that were barely intelligible. Natasha took a deep breath, her patience unwavering. "It's okay to be upset, but you need to use your words, not your screams."

Bucky, standing a few steps back, watched the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and sympathy. He remembered how Natasha had once handled much tougher situations with the same composed demeanour. Stepping in, he crouched down next to Natasha and offered you a comforting smile.

"Hey, baby doll," Bucky said softly, "I know you're upset, but we can't understand you if you're yelling. Can you take a deep breath with me?" He exaggerated a deep inhale and exhale, demonstrating for you.

Through your tears, you watched your father, curiosity momentarily overriding your frustration. You mimicked Bucky's deep breath, though it came out shaky and hiccup-ridden. Bucky smiled encouragingly. "That's it, good job. Now, can you show me what happened with your dolly?"

You sniffled and pointed at the doll, your little face scrunched up in anger and confusion. "She... she broke," You managed to say between sobs.

Natasha reached for the doll and inspected it, her trained eyes quickly identifying the problem. "Ah, I see. Her blankie came off, huh? But guess what? Daddy can fix it."

Bucky nodded, taking the doll from Natasha. "Yep, let's fix it together. Do you want to help me, Y/N?"

The prospect of helping your dad swaddle the doll shifted your mood from distress to cautious optimism. You nodded, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. Bucky grabbed the baby doll blanket and laid it out on the ground, putting the doll in the middle of it. With you watching closely, Bucky swaddled the dolly tightly and smiled. “You know, I used to do this when you were a little, little baby.”

“Really?” You asked curiously as you sniffled.

Natasha nodded. “Really. It was to keep you all snug and warm while you slept, it stopped you from crying too.”

"There we go," Bucky said, handing the doll back to you gently. "She’s all warm now."

Your face lit up with a smile as you took the doll, immediately cradling it in your arms and rocking it back and forth. "Thank you, Daddy! Thank you, Mama!"

Natasha stroked your hair affectionately. "You're welcome, dorogoy. Remember, it's okay to ask for help when you're upset. We’re here for you."

Bucky nodded and kissed your cheek, letting you run back and play. He wrapped an arm around Natasha's shoulders as they watched you play contentedly with your baby doll. "You handled that like a pro," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

Natasha leaned into him, a satisfied smile on her lips. "Team effort," she replied. "Just like always. But she sure is a loud screamer."

Bucky chuckled and nodded, rubbing his ears. “That’s for sure. At least we’ll know when she’s in trouble.”

Handling a toddler's tantrum was never easy, but Bucky and Natasha had faced far greater challenges together. Your tantrums were worth it for all the love you gave them every single day.

[soap-ify]

cw — angst, hurt / no comfort, major character death. italic paragraphs are flashbacks!

moon, tell me if i could / send up my heart to you ?

It wasn’t that the love between Johnny and you ever died.

It was still there. Pure, unadulterated, always burning just like a fire. And Johnny, too, was like a fire — boisterous and powerful, smart and fiery.

He kept you warm, but he stung too.

Marrying him was the best decision of your life. But everyone gets selfish sometimes, and the selfish part of you started craving his presence more in your home, rightfully so. You knew that there would be instances like this, where he’d be gone for too long and with no contact, sometimes making it feel as if he was just a hallucination you had fallen in love with all along. Given the radio silence, of course.

Him coming back had started becoming less joyful. You no longer ran up to hug him, and he no longer smothered you up with kisses. You were exhausted, and he was too. A brief eye contact and a soft smile was enough to show that you were grateful he came back alive. A mutual understanding between you two.

You knew he never stopped loving you, and it somehow hurt you even more. Love wasn’t always going to fix a marriage, it seemed. No matter how much you cry and swatted at his chest, distressed whenever he’d come back with a new injury.

You were the one who watched him change after all. More distant, more tired, too focused and tense. He was scared just like you. Yet never short in giving you his love.

“M’gonna get us a wee kitty.” He said one random morning, hair all messy after just having woken up, a sleepy grin adorning his lips, arms lazily wrapped around your waist. “We’ll raise it together.”

You sometimes wished you had his optimism.

“I love ye, I do!” He raised his voice in agitation, blue eyes wide in desperation while you were on the verge of tears, anger simmering beneath you. “But I can’t just quit my work like tha’...”

“I miss you, Johnny… I-I am tired of being scared all the time when you’re gone!” You choked back on a sob, shifting on your feet, careful to not step on the shattered pieces of the vase you had bumped against earlier.

“I know…” His voice cracked too, and something in your heart broke, knowing that he wasn’t going to back down from this mission. “I’ll come back, I promise. I promise m’never gonna leave ye alone like this.” He tentatively stepped forward before wrapping his arms around you, letting you cry on his chest.

Johnny never stopped loving you, and sometimes a weird part of you wished he did, because it wouldn’t hurt this much when he’d break his promises.

It wouldn’t hurt this much when the knock on your door turned out to be Johnny’s Captain and not him. It probably would have stung less if you both had stopped loving each other.

“John was the best of us. He’d’ve fought the world bare handed.”

Price’s words were forever ingrained into your brain, bitterly so, and it made you want to jump on that Captain and wrap your hands around his neck tight. You couldn’t even protect my Johnny.

You didn’t touch Johnny’s dog tags for a good two weeks, not even looking at it, simply pretending that he was still on his mission

“I won’t let you step into this house when you get back.” You said in a broken, frustrated voice while he stepped out of the house with that damn duffel bag, not giving you a single response.

You don’t recall what the argument was. Just a silly thing that got you both frustrated. All you remember was that those were your last words to him, and it hurt. You never meant it, and you knew he didn’t mean all the stuff he said to you too. That’s just how marriages were, right?

But if you knew that was going to be the last time you’d see him, you’d cry and hold him tight, ramble about every single thing you loved and hated about him, tell him about everything.

You wished you were more selfish, somehow able to convince him to not leave the house. Just for once.

Your hands mindlessly reached out for the dog tags after what felt like an eternity, wincing at the cold material. The warmth was no longer there, replaced with this icy air that was rotting you slowly.

Your fingers slowly wrapped around the dog tags, bringing it towards your face, your lips gently pressing a kiss against his name while beads of tears begin rolling down your cheeks for the nth time since the last two weeks, a broken hic leaving your mouth as your breaths gently fanned the steel in attempt to warm it up, your wedding ring gently grazing against the chain.

Your legs finally led you out of your bed, taking you towards his office that was just a few steps away from the bedroom. You never really stepped in there — especially not since he died, and you didn’t want to, knowing that his scent had probably vanished away.

Your trembling hand gently turned the knob down, opening the door with a click while your other hand tightly clutched onto his dog tags, too terrified to let him go.

His office was neat, just a few papers tucked out of a slightly open drawer. The place was sickeningly cold, making you feel nauseous while your eyes stung with the incoming tears, your throat burning up.

Your eyes landed on a canvas at the edge of the room, right beside the window, a stool placed in front of it while a white cloth was neatly draped over the canvas, some paint smudges adorning the visible wood of the canvas’s stand. He never told you he was working on something.

Your body worked faster than your brain and before you knew it, you were in front of the canvas, hand hastily reaching out to remove the piece of cloth and—

You.

It was you on the canvas, a big goofy smile adorning your lips while you held someone’s hand, probably his. You looked so happy, warm colours adorning the painting, only half done. It was unfinished.

Your legs gave out and you fell onto your knees, your hands covering your mouth in shock, the dog tags slipping from your fingers and hitting the ground loudly. Tears blurred your vision and a loud, distressed wail finally left your lips while you crumbled, hands desperately clutching onto your hair, chest heaving.

He was drawing you. He was drawing you before going on that mission. He was always drawing you, every inch of your face forever memorised in his brain, never letting you go. He couldn’t even finish the painting, he hadn’t even started coloring his hand — the only visible part of him in the painting.

A distant meow halted your sobs as you looked around, the cute little ginger kitten he had gotten you two walking over to you, another soft meow leaving it.

“It’s just you and me now…” You sniffled and gently pulled the kitten on your lap, fingers running through its fur in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, your eyes moving back onto the painting, every fiber of your body feeling as if it was punched and squeezed tightly.

“When I die, m’gonna send ye little angels from above.” His drunk words caused you to giggle softly, nuzzling into him while his hands held you by your waist, both of you lazily swaying in the living room to some sappy old song.

“Don’t say that, Johnny.” You huffed playfully, though still meaning your words.

He chuckled and pressed an affectionate kiss on your nose, smiling cheekily. “Ye are bloody right. We’re gonna die old and happy together, yeah?”

Johnny really never stopped loving you. Though just like a fire, he too, vanished into thin air and left behind this undying cold.

[insane-brit]

Royalty (Ch. 1)

Muzan Kibutsuji x Soulmate!fem!reader

Part links: Prologue, Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three

Tags/warnings: Dialogue, slow burn, dark story/themes, enemies to lovers (or maybe just enemies. who knows), spoilers for Mugen Train Arc, slight spoilers for Entertainment District Arc, slight jealousy, talks of death, worry, anxiety, past memory, some pain, masking worry with optimism. 

A/N: Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the love on the Prologue. I am excited to continue this story and feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged in upcoming chapters. This story will be a slow burn as I don’t want to rush it.

Also, I plan to stray from the canon story as this is a fanfic and AU, but will loosely have parts of the canon story incorporated.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word count: 2.5K

“That little girl is not even 8 yet! She shouldn’t be feeling this way Sakonji!” The older woman whispered.

“I know, but there’s not much you can do.”

“Not much I can do? Well, there must be something! I’m not going to stand idly by and watch my granddaughter’s mind deteriorate!”

Hina’s eyes drilled into the angry red mask. She was at a loss, and no one knew how to aid her. There weren’t many people she could go to, much less that she trusted, but out of anyone she thought Urokodaki would have something for her.

“What do you expect me to do Hina? Call upon the spirits and command them to give her a bond? I understand that this is devastating, but that is not how this works.”

The lantern burned low in the hut. A mere hour or two of fuel left before it would cast the room into darkness. The two adults sat next to each other, and farther in front of them, a little girl lay on a dark futon seemingly sound asleep. A lighter-colored blanket covered her form up to her neck, her back facing them. Hina lowered her head to her hand, palm raised to cover her eyes.

“Don’t take me for an idiot. I just don’t know what to do. How do I explain to her that she may never receive a thread?”

Urokodaki remained silent looking at the sleeping child. Turning his head barely to look at the woman.

“You be direct. False truths will only cause more pain in the end.”

She took a sharp breath in, letting the hand fall from her face and onto her lap with a faint smack. “You’re telling me what I don’t want to hear.”

“I know, but you already knew what I was going to say. Now it’s up to you to inform her. I refuse to be the one to do so.”

She paused, looking at her granddaughter before nodding her head.  

He gently put his hand on her back, an attempt at consolation. “Get some rest. You traveled a long way and need your energy for the journey home.” He stood up, walking over to the door before turning to look at her sitting form. “I won't be long. Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.”

Hina lightly scoffed at his remark, rolling her eyes as he closed the door softly behind him. She scooted over to the little girl, leaning down and placing a kiss on the side of her head.

“I’m sorry sweetheart. I’m sorry fate has treated you this way,” She brushed some hair away from the girl’s face. “But I know in my heart you’ll do great things. Soul tie or not.”

Hina turned over, snuffing the lantern out before laying down herself. Unbeknownst to her, her granddaughter opened her eyes, gazing at what little she could see of the wooden walls. Her eyes were dull as the conversation between Urokodaki, and her grandmother circled in her mind. May never get one? Why? Did she do something wrong? Did-

“Hey… are you even listening to me?”

A hand waved in front of her face, knocking her from her stupor. Startled, she whipped her head to gaze at the white-haired man stationed next to her.  His fuchsia eyes glowered at her form, which was off in its dream world.

“Yeah,” she blinked a few times. “I’m listening.”

The former smile on his face was downturned. His eyes narrowed as he raised an eyebrow.

“You know, you're a terrible liar, and it’s not very flashy of you.”

She rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Tengen, I don’t need a lecture. Especially from you.”

Hands raised in defense; he leaned back against the stone in front of the Butterfly Mansion. The sun’s rays reached far into the sky as it lowered itself on the horizon. Igniting the land in warmth and an array of rich tones. It was almost blinding, and she raised her hand to shield her eyes. The Sound Hashira hummed next to her; eyes closed with a small smile on his face. Ever since the arrival of Tanjiro Kamado and his younger demon sister, Nezuko, tensions were high among the slayers. As much as she wanted to think she wasn’t wary at first, the Echo Hashira would be deceiving herself if she did. However, with the bittersweet victory of the Mugen Train, her judgment of the small slayers had shifted. She supposed Tomioka was right to have given them a chance, but it amazed her that it was him of all people. She would have to show her gratitude to him but at a different time.

The death of Kyojuro Rengoku following the defeat of Lower Moon One exhibited the harsh reality of their day-to-day life. She was cognizant of the dangers and death that danced in their shadows, but this was another kind of pain. A wound that wouldn’t stay closed and leaked as if weeping for the fallen Pillar. Which she did often alone late at night. No one was around to see her walls barren, unguarded and splayed for anyone to see the rising tide that was her emotions. While she wasn’t as close to the Flame Hashira as she would’ve desired, she knew him well enough to call him her friend. Tengen on the other hand, was closer to Kyojuro than anyone. On a handful of occasions, she had caught him mourning. She never approached him in these moments no matter how close they were. It felt too raw and private, and if he knew she had seen him, he never confronted her about it.

“Were you thinking about your bond again?” Tengen said cracking one eye open.

“When am I not?”

“So, you were thinking about it!” He teased, a wider smile gracing his features.

“Bold of you to assume that’s the only thing on my mind.” She grumbled massaging her temple. Tengen was the only person besides the Master, Urokodaki, and her grandmother to know that she didn’t have a soul tie. It is well known that bonds form in the early stages of life and it has never been heard of to have one materialize after 5 years of age. However, it has also never been heard of not having one at all. At least, until she never got one. She waited for years, staring intensely at her wrist to see the red thread assemble itself before her eyes. Stretching to the one that was supposedly meant for her, but it never came. Over the years she had wishful thinking that dwindled to a mere flame that had eventually snuffed itself out. There was no point in longing for one when she was now at the ripe age of 22. Her time had come and gone, but regardless of saying that, deep down she still hoped. Why? She had no idea, but it constantly plagued her. Even more so, she had no idea why she decided Tengen out of all people was the one to confide this information to. The Master, Urokodaki, and her grandmother made sense, but him? She’s surprised he hasn’t run that mouth of his. The anxiety she felt at anyone else knowing weighed on her mind daily. She did not doubt that people would find it taboo, no matter how progressive the world became.

Tengen sighed at her words. “I assumed nothing. I only made an observation and I have no doubt there are more worries in that head of yours.”

“And what about you? Don’t you have your own? What about Suma, Makio, and Hinatsuru?”

“I haven’t heard from them,” she turned to look at him as he spoke. “Their letters stopped coming a while back.”

Silence rose between the two of them. She could see the conflict in Tengen’s eyes. He cared greatly for his wives as they did him. She had met them a few times and saw first-hand just how important and beautiful their relationship was. Lucky bastard. Though his family was known for having multiple soul ties. She couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy, but happiness for all four of them.

“Will you be going to look for them?”

“Yes,” he grunted standing up from the cobble where they both were sitting. “You can come along if you want. I could use that breathing style of yours.”

She stood up alongside him, wincing, her back aching from the firm ground. Aoi and the others would have her head knowing that she wasn’t maintaining her health in light of recent events.

“That all depends on the Master, but I would be happy to lend a hand,” the corners of her lips upturned slightly as she looked at him and then at the darkening sky. “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

Despite his growing smile, the tension in the air could be cut with a knife. “Great! I need to gather a few more items,” he drawled, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “But then we should be ready to head out in a few days.”

She shook her head. Whatever was going on in that bare brain of his she sincerely hoped it was something good, but she didn’t pry.

“I think I’ll go on ahead of you. I can see if I can get any leads on those three and meet up with you in Yoshiwara.”

“Come on,” Tengen groaned. “I would like to have someone I like to talk to travel with me.”

She shook her head in defiance. “You know my breathing style does better when I’m alone. It’s not as big of a risk, and I don’t think the Sound Pillar”- she pointed at him- “wants to lose his hearing.”

They both smiled at each other, a few breathy laughs escaping from their mouths. Her style, Echo breathing, relied on high frequencies that were known to be a danger to group efforts. There have been more than a handful of accidents in the past, many she’s not proud of, which is why the executive decision was made for her to do missions alone. However, Master Kagaya occasionally granted her to travel in the company of others. It did get quite lonely at times, but she preferred the safety of others over satisfying the sociable aspect of herself.

Tengen hummed, “I suppose you’re right. Though, it would be a very extravagant way to retire. Having a comrade kill off my hearing.”

She kicked some stones his way. “I’ll let you know what the Master says. If granted, I’ll leave at dawn, but for now, I’m going to get some well-deserved rest.”

He let out a loud laugh and gestured some form of what she assumed to be a goodnight. “If not, I’ll drag you there myself.” He exclaimed before strutting off to who knows where.

She studied him as he disappeared into the estate’s shadows. He couldn’t fool her. Despite his optimistic exterior, he was terrified. She could recognize that kind of spirit anywhere as many of the same haunted her. And for his sake, she hoped that those three were alive. If they were to perish, she didn’t think he would ever recover. He would be a shell of a man and taper off into misery. She couldn’t bear to see his downfall.

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

Lying in her room in the mansion, the Echo Pillar was restless. Sleep evaded her and instead, her psyche was infested with dread. Shinobu had been kind enough to offer her residence temporarily following her previous assignment, along with Aoi and the butterfly girls helping her in any way they could. She was forever in their debt and thinking of them brought a smile to her face despite the growing pit in her stomach.

Earlier, her crow had returned with word from Master Kagaya. Said message permitting her to venture out to Yoshiwara, a red-light district all too familiar. It’s not that she had any history with the district, but rather passed through it on multiple occasions. Therefore, becoming acquainted more than she ever thought she would. Lucky for her, that will come in handy.

What she didn’t understand was why she was filled with apprehension. It was like her body and mind were working against her. This had only ever been a problem when she was a beginner slayer, but as she rose in the ranks she learned to deal with these sentiments. Fear was a constant. It never went away, but confidence and vengeance outweighed it in every circumstance. So why was it so prominent now?

Sighing, she turned her head to gaze at the aperture that granted the moon entry. Its rays highlighted every surface in a delicate glow. Night, despite its tendency to harbor barbaric creatures was a time she always looked forward to. The darkness leaked like ink and grasped at the innocent, but it provided comfort to those in need. She could never loathe it.

Her muscles ached. No position good enough to lull her into unconsciousness’s sweet embrace. Abruptly, what felt like a fire erupted down her arm. Its path licked under her pallid flesh and burned away at her veins. Sitting up faster than ever before, she clutched her forearm. Biting the inside of her cheek so hard, iron filled her mouth in a matter of seconds. Nails dug into tender flesh as something slithered through her arm. Confusion swarmed her mind. Was this from the previous demon she fought? There was no way, that thing’s blood demon art couldn’t have done this. It would’ve already taken effect and finished her off by now. Regardless, she was dangerously close to finding a solution to the rapidly growing pain. Tucking her arm, she hoisted herself onto her knees. Her head ducked low and her eyes went wide, her skin felt clammy. Under the palm of her hand that was grasping her arm, a deep red glow oozed out. Limbs shook as she slowly raised her hand away from the skin. The vessels excreted a scarlet substance under the complexion of her arm. Spreading agonizingly slow towards the wrist. Her breathing grew heavy as terror’s maw tore her insides, and through a clouded mind, she watched as a thread, red as wine, circled her wrist. It traveled through her fingers caressing them before pulling taught. The tightening in her arm caused her to clench her fist. The thread continued, creeping around her extremity before elongating to the slightly cracked door. Its length was ongoing. A feeling of bliss stroked up her arm replacing the pain and she let out a shuttering breath. The thread pulsed and she could feel it dilating under her skin.

Pure shock all but made her heart stop. “How…how is this possible?”

She gently rubbed the thread between the pads of her fingers. Its texture was coarse and some of the bristles pricked her skin.

She finally had the sanctified bond she had always longed for. 

Her other half.

Her soulmate.

[noproofread]

The Painter

"Would you ever try to leave me for somebody who deserves you most?"

Inspired by Million Dollar Houses

Luffy wants reader to sail with him, reader decides to stay.

bittersweet fluff~

word count: 1,262

masterlist here

tag list: @fanaticsnail @vangowithit @dakingsu-blog

You held the paintbrush tightly in your hand as you stared out to the crashing waves on the shore. Your tongue slightly peeking out of your mouth as you focused on the scene in front of you, carefully color matching the bright blue color of the waves before placing the brush onto your canvas. The brush glided effortlessly across the painting, blending beautifully with the base color you had placed beforehand. It was therapeutic for you, you loved painting. And Luffy knew it. As you continued working on your piece, two hands covered your eyes, breaking your concentration. “Guess who?” A cheery voice spoke from behind you, a voice you recognized immediately as the straw-hat pirate whom you had grown to adore. “Luffy! I was working” You whined as his hands left your eyes and landed on your shoulders. You turned to face his smiling face, placing a small kiss on his cheek before turning back to the canvas in front of you. “You’re so talented wow! That looks incredible!” Luffy praised your art, as he always did. He believed you would become a famous artist, he told you that once he became king of the pirates he wanted you to paint a portrait of him and his crew in commemoration.

You were always critical of your art, but you appreciated Luffy’s optimism regarding your career. You never fully believed it as a possibility for yourself. You did believe Luffy would become the king of the pirates. You would watch him train and fight, he was unbelievably strong, and charismatic. He had such a vibrant magnetism that made people like him, believe in him, support him. It worked on you as it worked on everyone on his crew. “I’m going to take you away from this beautiful work of art you are working on because it’s our last night here before we head off to find the One Piece.” His hand found yours, prying you away from hours of work. “You’re leaving tonight?” You echoed his words, you felt a pit in your stomach at the thought of him leaving you. “No, we are leaving tonight. You thought I’d leave without you, silly?” He spoke through a wide toothed grin, running across the beach with you grabbing onto his hand.

You never imagined yourself going out to sea. You were perfectly content living your life in a small town, painting houses for a living and canvases as a hobby. The only excitement in your life came from Luffy. As you approached a high cliff, Luffy wrapped an arm around your waist before stretching his other arm upwards. “Hold on tight!” He exclaimed as you shot up quickly. The wind pressing down on the both of you, you heard Luffy laugh as the two of you fell onto a tree with him breaking your fall. “You’re crazy!” You laughed. He always got you to laugh, it was his favorite sound. “Imagine how many cool adventures we can go on! You have to come with me!” His arm was still wrapped around you. You looked down at him, smiling. You didn’t know if you could leave and set sail with him. “I’ll think about it” You whispered. “No time to think! We’re leaving tonight and you are coming! Come on!” He whined, helping you up. He moved to stand in front of you, hunching over with his back facing you. “Get on! Sanji is cooking a delicious feast and I’m hungry.” You giggled at his request before mounting him. Your arms draped over his neck as he hooked his arms onto your thighs.

“The whole town is throwing us a going away party! There’s going to be music and so much food!” He spoke excitedly. Drool fell from his mouth as he talked about the amount of food he was planning on eating. You nuzzled into his neck, smiling. You loved hearing him talk with so much enthusiasm. You were strongly considering leaving with him. The sea would offer you the freedom to venture onto a life you had given up on. You could quit your job and focus on painting. Being with Luffy would be a bonus, and you would be able to see him become the king of the pirates. You would be there. The scent of grilled meat pulled you out from your thoughts as Luffy let you down. You were greeted by a couple of members from his crew. Zoro barely acknowledged you, being buried in cups and bottles of alcohol. Nami called you over to sit next to her and Usopp.

You turned to tell Luffy but found him already happily chowing down on some food. You giggled to yourself and made your way towards Nami. “Hey! I heard you guys are leaving tonight” You started the conversation, taking a seat next to the orange haired woman. “Yup! The journey never stops!” She exclaimed, looking over at Luffy. “I thought you were coming with us? Luffy told us.” Nami said before taking a sip of her drink. “Ahh. I’m thinking about it” You shrugged. You looked over at Usopp for a moment before deciding to change the subject. “Any new stories to tell, Usopp?” His face lit up at the request. He stood on his chair and began the tale of how he defeated 47 enemies single handedly.

The day quickly turned into night. You were enjoying the party more than you thought you would. Between the drinking, eating, and dancing, you thought about this being your life if you chose to go with the Straw Hats. With Luffy. Luffy noticed you were standing alone and decided to steal a moment with you. He walked over to you, taking your hand and smiling. “Come with me, I have something cool to show you.” You smiled back at him, walking up a small hill located only mere feet away from the booming music. As you arrived at the top of the hill, you could still hear the faint sound of laughter coming from the party. Luffy sat down, pulling on your hand for you to do the same. You sat next to him, looking up at the moon in the sky. It seemed to brighten up the sky much more than usual. You leaned into Luffy, resting your head on his neck as the two of you watched the moon. The silence between you grew thick as you traced circles on his arm as you held onto it. “Have you thought about it?” Luffy broke the silence, still looking up at the sky. You took a deep breath, holding him tighter. “I can’t go with you Luffy.”

“Yes you can,” He argued. Luffy was known for not taking no for an answer. “I would just hold you back. I don’t want to hold you back.” You let go of his arm and looked up at him. “You wouldn’t-” He began, meeting your gaze. “I would.” You reached over, cupping his cheek. You smiled, it was a bittersweet feeling. “And that’s okay. Just promise to come back when you become king of the pirates. I promise I’ll paint that portrait you wanted.” You pulled him in for a gentle kiss. His lips were soft against yours. You pulled away, looking into his eyes. He was sad, but understanding. He wasn’t going to throw you over his shoulder and take you to the sea against your will. He nodded his head, looking over at the sky once again. “I’ll be here waiting for you.” You said, making him smile. “I’ll come back.”

[tuliptired]

hi! could you write anymore little looks at a humanities ta!reader x egon in college?

Do Wah Diddy Diddy

Pairing: Egon Spengler/Gn!Ta!Reader

Warnings: Reader is drunk for most of it

The egon/reader tag is so barren ;( Why nobody else dressed like a slut tonight?

INSANELY better formatting on Ao3!

 Egon left his lab, surprisingly, stressed. His major didn´t often stretch him too thin, he knew what he was doing and how to do it best, but it was just that time of year. Lots of work, and not a lot of time to do it. He always managed, with lots of coffee and little sleep, it was just a fact of academia.

The outside world reflected the inside ecosystem of his fellow students, buzzing with life and blazingly hot. Plagued by the heated air trying to cling to the classroom, you cracked a few windows open as you taught in place of the absent professor. This wasn't out of the ordinary- the man trusted you enough to run a class, and you ran it like a natural, admittedly. But today was a little strained, your daily seminar not getting to the level of intensity it usually did. Egon would’ve made a comment on it as he got the last word in, but he decided against it. While you were a TA, there was more emphasis on the “A” in times like these, evident in how you scoured through notes for other classes when you had a spare minute.

They worked independently, before you lifted your head out of a notebook, one of many fans blowing some of your hair off of your forehead. You glanced at the clock, before quickly setting up a projector and unboxing a handful of identical, thick books.

“Big assignment,” you started, a few complaints sounding from the students, “it wasn’t even me this time, blame Mr. Coulms.” 

He left the lecture room in a worse mood than he entered it, the thick tome under his arm. A play. He was a great reader- he could read each edition of Tobin's Spirit guide cover to cover in an hour if he was looking to cite something. Scientific journals were light entertainment to him. But plays? You actually had to dissect a play. To dissect it, you had to read it- well. 

He leaned against a bookcase, in the not-leaning-but-leaning way that he does, so as not to disturb the books. He would be searching for something like Ray was, crouched on the ground and investigating the bottom shelf, but he wasn’t in the mood, glaring at the text he was given before placing it on an empty shelf beside him. 

They were tucked away in the basement of the Public Library- it was one of the few places that they could ask for books about harnessing pure protonic energy and campfire stories of the 30’s without being looked at weird. Peter messed with the straps of his bag, ready to go and saying so for the 3rd time.

“In a minute, Peter.” Ray placed a few books next to him, searching for the right one that happened to be inconveniently smaller than the one’s surrounding it. He looked up at Egon sympathetically. 

“I’m sorry, Spengs. But I did this one in high school, and it was a lot of fun!” His optimism was cut short as the rest of the books along the wood fall towards the middle like dominos. 

“It won’t be hard, Egon. Do the voices.’ Peter procured a rubix cube from his bag. Egon seriously didn’t know why he carried it around, as it was never once solved.

Ray fumbled with the books as he tried to Dewey-Decimal their placements in his head. “I’ll help. Just, uh…” He looked around at the mess he made. “Can you look around for ‘Ghastly Apparitions of the Appalachian’? We’re gonna need it, too.” Egon only nodded, eager to clear his head a bit. He remembered the author well enough, weaving through aisles to find the proper section. 

He didn’t make it far, there was a reshelving cart in his way, his feet coming to a halt. As he looked up from the roller, you were standing there, hands on your hips. 

“Doesn’t look like you’re studying very hard.”

He sighed a puff of air out his nose, as you peered over his shoulder. You saw two men on the ground, grabbing handfuls of discarded books. “And your friends are messing up my hard work.”

He glanced back at the men, then back at you. “Is there anywhere you don’t work?” He didn’t intend to be in a confrontational mood this afternoon, but a bad class will do that to you.

You pointed to a pin on your chest, which read your name in small print under ‘BOOKKEEPER’.

 “Nope. How many people do you know have a gold plated name tag?”

“Waste collectors and prison guards.”

“Did you need a book? Because you’re in the library?”

He had his hands resting on the handle of the cart, not noticing until you dragged it to the side, taking away the partition between you. “Ghastly Apparitions of the Appalachian by Gregory Lederer.” He expected you to not know what he was talking about, and stand there dumbfounded. But you pushed past him, making your way to the “L” aisle of the General Knowledge section.

Your eyes scanned the spines of various options. “I don’t remember this play taking place in Appalachia,” you moved on to the next row. He followed you like a dog, unsure of what to do while you helped him.

“It’s personal. Scientific.” 

“The title’s a little oxymoronic, then, no?” You finally found it, examining the covers quizzically.

As he reached out for the book, you pulled your hand back. Egon wanted to be annoyed, but it wasn’t in him.

“Actually read the play. Do the voices.” Your own voice had the tone of someone trying to reason with a child. He reached his hand out, again, and you placed the book into his palm, conceding. 

Though you had a modest smile, Egon couldn’t help notice your tired look, under eyes darkening despite your efforts otherwise. He could understand, this was a hard time for everyone, no matter their field. Before he could show you his commiseration, against his better judgment, you let the book go limp in his grasp, passing by him with a small “see you, Mr. Spengler”.

Peter appeared in his line of sight amongst the maze of shelves, as Egon stood dumbly. A voice told him to “clean up my basement” as he passed by.

“It appears we’re not wanted here. Let’s go, Egon.”

When it was officially late, you sat in your dorm, finally having time to sit and work. You had to skip a proper lunch, mindlessly putting a baby carrot in your mouth every 10 minutes as you snuck a binder under your desk at the Public Library. By the time you were on your bed, feverishly taking notes, checking notes, and reading notes, you were barely halfway done with your studying itinerary. This week was sufficiently kicking your butt, to say the least.

The door opened and shut, revealing your roommate, Christine, setting her bag down on the chair nearby. You barely verbally acknowledged her, looking for a specific page in your textbook. She gave you a once over, before making her way to the fridge, but unable to stop taking you in. 

“Did you hear what I said?” Christine asked you, skeptical.

“Don’t think so-” Page 392.

She poured herself a glass of something, eyeing you as she did. “I said, you need to relax a bit.”

That was easy for her to say. As much as you appreciated her and her companionship, all Christine did was relax. Still, your flow was disturbed, and you reluctantly put your materials down.

She continued now that she had your attention. “You don’t hang out anymore. It’s Friday.” She crosses to stand in front of your spot on the bed, effectively tapping you in the conversation.

“There’s some guys in my advertising class throwing-” You can tell what’s coming next, and you shimmy past her as she exclaims in protest.  

“Come on,” she follows you around, nearly pleading with you. You sighed, stopping as she leaned up behind you. It wasn’t that you didn’t like fun, or being with friends- parties just stopped being your scene a few semesters ago. How’s that for maturity?

“I’m telling you like I’ve told you a million times before. That’s just not my domain.” Christine spun you around, intent on not giving up until you caved.

“You guys always get drunk, then you get pissed, then I’m dragging you home and helping you puke it all up.” She rolled her eyes.

“We’ll only have a little- and,” she pointed an accusatory finger to your chest, “to be fair, you wouldn’t have to do all that if you drank a little yourself.”

You pointed the same finger back at her. “So we can all puke together? What a fun night.”

Christine made the sign of the cross then, pointed her fingers to the sky virtuously. “I swear on my life; we’ll know when to stop.” When she opened her eyes, you still weren’t convinced.

“Pleeeease? If it’s lame, we’ll leave and rent a video and get a pizza. But you might have fun.” She looked at you with those big blue eyes, and it took all of your strength to resist. She pleaded with you again, until you finally broke, covering your ears.

You groaned dramatically. “Alright, fine, fine. I’ll go to your stupid frat party and get smashed on cheap beer.” Christine cheered, making her way over to the phone. 

“I’ll call Dean and Lisa and-” you flopped back onto your bed. Staring at your long forgotten work, you wondered if this was the right choice. 

Egon read the line, waiting patiently for Ray to respond from the copy he borrowed himself, as the man read for all other 11 characters of the play. It was about two rulers from warring countries forced to live together in a dungeon, but he just couldn’t grasp what was so special about that. It was late into the night, the dorm only illuminated by a few lamps and the little bit of light pouring in from under the door. After hours of trying to evade it, both men had only made a small dent in the long drama.

Ray pushed his reading glasses up. “You need more conviction, Egon, I don’t feel like your wife right now.” Egon closed his copy, putting his forehead in his hand against his desk.

“I don’t think this is working.”

“Are you doing improv? ‘Of course it’s not working, you-”

“No, Raymond. This book isn’t working.” Egon slid it away from him, the bright red cover hurting his eyes, and his pride.

Ray looked sad for his friend, taking off his glasses. “The only way to do it is to read. I’m sorry.” He tossed his book onto his bed. “But we can take a break. Whaddya wanna do?”

Egon remembered it was Friday, the day most young adults would use to unwind. He reached into the drawer beneath him, emerging with a miniature Tesla coil Ray had fashioned.

“You read my mind, Spenges!”

The two men were engrossed with messing around with it, placing numerous objects on and around the transformer- granted that any other flammable or conducive thing they owned was moved out of the way. As Ray teased the sparks with a pencil, he suddenly recalled something, eyes flashing and wide as he dropped the writing utensil.

“Peter has my car!” He grabbed each side of his head, almost comically as he could picture it- a nice, clean Camaro being trashed by beer and bodily fluids.

Ray was just short of spiraling, stuck on either racing down to the party himself or bawling in the spinny chair. “I’d go there myself- and strangle the life out of him,” he nearly wept, covering his eyes.

Egon let his eyes shut, before willinging himself to his feet. He’d never, ever associate with any sort of party, let alone one at a fraternity. But Ray loved that car, his dad’s graduation gift to him that’s been his pride and joy since freshman year. His friend barely even drove it around, afraid to raise the mileage too much. He didn’t doubt Ray’s conviction, or ability, to show it to Peter for going against his wishes, but the engineer was in hot water with the hosting students. One complicated party trick gone wrong, and the front lawn was ablaze quicker than he could control the little ball of plasma. It was their sophomore year, but he still wasn’t welcome near the block of brownstones he managed to devalue.

“Thank you, Egon, I promise I’ll repay you,” Ray’s eyes were glossy with tears as he pressed his face impossibly close to the glass of the window, trying to spot his baby driving somewhere down the street.

Time lessened the heat, Egon thought to himself. It was dark, but not a long walk off campus and a block or two away from the party. It wasn’t hard to find it, either- the music was loud and the bacchanal activities spilled out onto the street and into neighboring yards. No sign of the car. He wrinkled his nose. In the last stretch of freshman year, Peter tried convincing him and Ray to join a fraternity, rattling off a laundry list of reasons that it’d be a thrilling experience for the trio. He was obviously unsuccessful, and dropped the idea when he realized that it’d be hard to make friends in the already tight knit community. 

Egon didn’t dare touch the doorknob, evading people lounging on the stoop as he entered the large house after someone, using his foot to keep the door open. It smelt strongly of booze in the hot, dimly lit apartment, music still blaring from an unknown source. Not to mention the hazy smoke that was billowing through the air, hard to avoid with his height, much like the sounds of two people making out behind the couch. Infection central. How were all these people still going this late? He had to step over the passed out body of some guy without a shirt to get to the kitchen. 

As he stepped from the carpeted area to the tiled floor, arms quickly wrapped around his middle. His head snapped down, and there you were, head buried in his chest.

“Hi, Egon,” you smiled sweetly up at him, eyes glazed over and voice syrupy, not as precise as you made sure it was. He blinked a few times, noticing not only your shoes standing on his, but the fact you called him by his first name.

“Hi.” He reveled in the confusion, before pulling you away from him, gently. “Have you seen Peter? Peter Venkman?”

You thought about it, before the memory flashed back into your recollection. “Dr. Love? He left with my friend Christine.” Your voice slurred the words “left” and “with”, the same way Ray did when he was so smashed he couldn’t stand. Junior year was a sight to behold. 

He remembered how he handled drunken Ray, noting how warm your shoulders were under his fingers. “You’ve been drinking?” He asked despite himself. Being a gentleman was above personal vendetta. It was odd, seeing you dressed like this, out of the professional attire you took pride in every day. Your ability to pick clothes with an anal retentiveness rivals even him- the only college student in a pressed dress shirt, a sweater vest, and slacks. 

“Like, one or five. Itsfine, I’mfine,” you waved your hands around dismissively, before placing them over Egon’s. “I didn’t know you could party, Egie.” He ignored the heat that stung the muscles in his cheeks.

“I don’t.” He went along with it as you started swaying the two of you back and forth lightly. “Did you come with any other friends?”

You went silent, thinking again. It was evidently hard to think and sway, and you eventually fell back into him, unable to keep your balance. “DeanandLisa went to get…food. And they told me to stay here. So I took’a nap.” You nodded to yourself.

“When?”

You couldn’t answer. He peeked sideways at the clock- 3:19. Wherever your friends went, they weren’t going to be back for a long time. 

Your arms were still around him, head back on his chest as his hands hovered over you, awkwardly. It was barely audible, but you were mumbling along to the song playing throughout the rest of the house. He should’ve felt a smug pride, watching you who were once so confident drool on yourself, stumble over your words, and paw at him, but he couldn’t. Egon felt a lash of guilt at the idea of leaving you behind, telling Ray that Peter was long gone, and going to bed. You were obviously inebriated- with no friends and too juiced to know not to sleep on the floor, he couldn’t just let you stay in this dump. 

That’s how he ended up herding you out the door, but not before you stumbled about the apartment, saying good night to everyone. He was on your heels as you banged on a socked-bedroom door, bidding whoever was on the other side farewell, but he wasn’t quick enough before you were shouting your goodbyes down the stairwell of the basement. For being wasted, you were surprisingly fast. He finally got you outside, the skin under his fingers actually cooling as you left the cramped party.

“I didn’t take you to be a party-person,” he confessed, hand on the small of your back to stop you from running across the street to greet the cat staring you down.

“I’m- wait,” you did in fact run, having to kick off your shoes for efficiency before bending down rather ungracefully to pet the feline like a child would, fingers splayed and pushing its ears back unintentionally. He watched on as you skipped back to the sidewalk, grabbing a street sign for stability when you reached him.

“I’m not,” you resumed as he steered you on. “But- it was Christine! She showed me her’fake eyelash…es and convinced me!” You looked to him to share your disbelief as you told the story, shoes waving around as you moved your hands. “I’couldn’t say no!”

Egon found himself smiling. “I have a roommate very similar.” You were surprisingly easier to talk to when drunk. He wasn’t burning up, or scrambling for his words like he normally did when you teased him, making the scientist detest you more and more for your ability to confuse him. His thoughts ceased, as you got closer to campus, but walking with increasing difficulty.

It was when he had to catch you before tripping over yourself that he swallowed his inhibitions, wrapping a hand under you. He wasn’t the strongest out there, maybe even a little weak, but he could support your weight until you reached home. As you let out a small noise of surprise though, he felt a primitive sense of manliness, your figure pressed to his in a bridal carry.

“Soooo strong.” You praised him, voice trailing off as you let your head hit his shoulder. He had to remind himself that you were drunk, none of this really meant anything. You’d wake up, and decide to torment him after taking an aspirin. His grip weakened as his smile did.

“Don’t drop’me,” your hands clawed at the fabric of his shirt, and he adjusted his hold.

“I won’t,” he watched you close your eyes, face content. “I won’t.”

 You were halfway back to the dormitory. He could feel you stirring, looking down and finding your eyes fixed on the night sky. 

“What’s up there?”

“Ursa Major.” You pointed lazily.

“That’s a plane.”

You stiffened in his arms. “No, it’s’not. I know this. It’s the bear.” You managed to cross your arms over yourself while in his hold. He felt bad, provoking you while inebriated. 

“Then it’s the bear.”

“Put me down,” you hit him on the chest a few times, willing him to reluctantly place you on your own two feet. You shook off his attempts at still holding you, intent on trying to make it home on your own. You stormed off along the path, nearly veering off into the grass.

“Where are you going?” He couldn’t hide the concern behind his voice, trying to keep up with you as you took on a sudden irritation towards him.

“Home.” You kept your pace, before slowing, battling something in behind your eyes in your drunken state. “You think I’m dumb.” Egon stopped in his tracks in a moment, before walking behind you again.

“That’s not true,” he said simply, throwing away his feud with you when sober. He thought of you as one of the smartest people he knew. And you managed to make him look like a mere child while baring your smile at him.

“Maybe I’like being drunk,” you retorted to no one in front of you. As you slowed, so did Egon, watching on as you looked on down the dim, street lamp lit path. When he followed your gaze, he saw nothing but the darkness of night ahead of him. Suddenly, you fell forward, uncaring and weightless. He wasn’t quick enough to catch you, heart dropping to his toes before you simply rolled over onto your back. Your knees were scraped, rapidly drying blood mixing with the gravel and dust of the ground over your lacerated skin. Before he could worry too much about it, you merely laughed, full of glee as your eyes were transfixed on the stars, arms out like you were a star yourself. 

You passed out pretty quick after that, a little heavier in his arms. To say Egon was uneasy was an understatement, but at least you were out for a bit. He struggled to get the door to the building open, and even more so getting up to your dormitory floor, only narrowly avoiding hitting your head against a door frame every so often. Taking a quick look at the plates on each door, he was relieved at finding your surname printed on one. After a few discreet knocks, however, no one opened up, either passed out themselves or simply not home. Searching for solutions, he sighed, again, gently laying you against the baseboards. It wasn’t his most elegant idea, but it’d have to do as he reached in his pocket for a pad and paper. He simply scribbled the words “Passed out, sleeping in 244. Please pick up when you get home.” Pressing it in the space between the room number and the wood, he picked you up for the third time and made the trek back to his own place.

You looked peaceful, as Egon decided on putting you in Ray’s bed, alcohol and cotton pads ready. Ray wasn’t home himself- and it’d be unbecoming of him to put you in his own. He hummed to himself, your current state reminding him of the deuteragonist in the play you gave him. They were affluent and sybaritic, imprisoned while drunk and jovial, to the aggravation of the protagonist, tied to tradition and analytical. He hoped that whoever you were in chains with took the liberty of cleaning your open wounds like he did. 

Apparently, the sting of disinfectant is enough to rouse the unconscious awake, as the liquid being pressed to your skin made you jolt back to the present, sucking in air between your teeth and nearly kneeing him in the nose. You rushed to sit up as properly as you could, bringing your legs to your chest.

“What’re you doing?” The pain must’ve been worse in this state. He suddenly felt very, very bad about not waiting until you were awake to take care of it, but he remembered that you couldn’t make proper decisions for yourself like this. He wet another pad, though warily. Who was Egon to say that he could make proper decisions for you, sober or otherwise?

He approached you gently, showing you his materials. “Sanitizing. It could get infected.” Maybe that was a bit overzealous, but germs love untreated, open flesh.

You calmed, letting your legs dangle over the bedside again, the exaggerated idea of losing a leg scarier than the cleaning agent in his hand. “Oh.” He figured you were sobering up, even by a bit, from the way your words slurred less and you clung Ray’s blanket to yourself, night’s activities catching up with your tired body. You looked around as he worked quickly, taking in the room.

“You’re messy.” Egon raised his eyebrows once at that, prepping another pad.

“We’re scientists. And Peter.” He could hear you laugh weakly above him. It felt nice, to make you feel nice. Egon felt oddly at ease, on his knees, cleaning you up- as dubious as it sounded. He moved on to your other leg, remembering your situation. “Would you like to stay here? Your friends aren’t home.”

Silence as he wiped away the grime. Your voice sounded again. “A sleepover.”

He resisted a yawn, letting it escape through his nose before catching sight of the clock. “Sure.”

You didn’t say anything else. Better for him- he was sure you didn’t have a key and he was a terrible locksmith. You were leaning back on your hands.

“My doctor.”

He bit back the smile and blush that spread over his face with a clench of his jaw. You were still drunk, no matter how coherent. And wrong. “Not yet a doctor.” He was done bandaging both your injuries some time ago.

“Doctor Egon,” you drew out the word, giggling to yourself. He’d let it slide, this time. Misused titles were disdainful in academia. But he supposed being a stickler didn’t matter so much, now.

Eventually, he rose to his feet, eyes honing in to a surface level scratch on your cheek from the fall. He held your jaw lighty, thumb careful to not graze too much over it. It wasn’t severe, but he assumed you’d prefer to not have a deep scar there for the entirety of the summer to come. He thought about summer. He’d be here, on an internship, while you’d be away, probably away with your friends again. You’d get drunk, seemingly trusting the people around you far too much until you’re hurt- worse than you are now. Whatever meathead you’d spent the night with wouldn’t know first aid if it was thrown at him. Egon soaked in his jealousy, eyebrows falling over his eyes, before coming back to his senses, soaking one more piece of cotton and gently tapping it to your face, a small adhesive placed to protect it. 

“Kiss to make it better?” He let go of your face, moving to the kitchen sink to wash his hands as you giggled to yourself again. It was awfully late, now.

“You should get some sleep,” he dried his hands off. He would miss you, but time was the only fool-proof remedy- and daylight was quickly approaching.

“No fun,” you complained, but you still settled into Ray’s bed, pulling the comforter around yourself. He contemplated what to do, get into his own bed or just wait for you to sleep instead. You rolled over to face him.

“Are you sure you don’t want my help with the play? I’m not supposed to, though. But I can do the voices.” Right. The play. He eyed the book, forgotten about in the corner of his desk.

“I’d rather you rest.” 

“You should sleep, too.” He could tell you were fighting your own exhaustion. He pulled out his chair, moving Ray’s coil to the side to make work of his assignment again. 

“I’d rather you did, first.” He opened to the page he left off on.

“Egon.” You sounded scarily sober. He turned in his seat to face you.

You freed yourself from the blanket a bit. “You’re tired. You always look tired.” Another state of inebriation was taking hold of you. Maudlin. You were drunk. It didn’t mean anything.

He chewed at the inner part of his bottom lip before speaking again. “You’re very stressed. And you’re going to wake up feeling like hell.” He searched for the right words to convince you to let yourself go. “I’ll sleep too, and we can talk to each other in our dreams.” A little ridiculous, but it’s not the craziest thing he’s said to a tippler.

The hammered part of you was contemplating it, before you smiled and nodded. Before he went back to his work, you called for him one more time.

“Egon?”

“Yes?”

“I need a lullaby.” You had the same devilish, teasing look in your eye as you did when you were sober. He looked around in confusion as you looked towards him expectantly, before he surrendered, winding up a small snow globe that Peter kept out, even in Spring. As it played, you shook your head.

“No, sing the one by Manfred Mann.” He grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it over your head as you laughed uncontrollably to yourself.

“Goodnight.”

Egon had fallen asleep over his book some time later. As he came to, he looked back, hopeful to still see you, sleeping soundly. His hope faltered as he took in the empty space, neither his roommates returned or your spot on Ray’s bed filled in by your shape. There was a strange emptiness in his chest, knowing you were gone in a matter of hours. The only proof of your presence was the used bottle of isopropyl in the corner of his desk.

His breath slowed, light of the early morning burning into his eyes as he slowly rose out of his chair. Walking off, not sure if he was going to shower, or eat, or what, he noticed a small paper on the pillow. He picked it up, wondering if it would disappear in his hands.

“Thank you, Doctor.” He folded it back. You were drunk. It didn’t mean anything. But he still smiled.

[nonbinaryseymourkrelborn]

I think part of the problem I have (and this may be an unpopular opinion) is all the hopes and opinions and ideas people (fans) have about the new season. And I don’t just mean things like the “mustache = obvious gay Eddie” that’s happening. But thoughts on Bobby, his and Athena’s living situation, Gerrard as captain, let alone Buck, Eddie, and others.

I know a lot of spec is just for fun, but some people take it quite serious. And I know I’m newer to this fandom but sometimes I read serious takes and go “….but that would never actually happen?! I know many of us don’t trust Tim and the writers but realistically that would never be a storyline on a tv show.…that’s a fanfic.”

So I can’t blame you for your pessimism or want to avoid spec. I hope we don’t get a lot of bts stuff either too, because I feel like fans will be trying to (over)analyze everything to figure things out. Only to likely be disappointed because I don’t trust these writers to write/do anything half as creative, original or logical as fans come up with. Expectation is the enemy and I’m afraid a lot of fans have theirs set too high for this season already

anon i have disgraced you by leaving this burried in the inbox and i feel awful 😭😭

i think fandom in general (and i mean any fandom not just 9-1-1) have this tendency to blur the line between cautious optimism/spec and actually convincing themselves of something happening…

i think a lot of people (and if you are one of these people this is NOT a dig at you) still want to have faith that the writers are actually going somewhere with the story, and they do so by speculating and putting actual thought into what the overarching storyline could be but unfortunately after 6 seasons of waiting, i’m getting tired of the whole thing being dragged out.

it’s no longer a will they/won’t they between the characters for me because multiple times they’ve reached the point where they don’t need anymore of that build; the only will they/won’t they is in terms of the writing team actually going somewhere rather than continuing to bait us

i have no issue with spec/theorizing (i may not wanna see it but i just filter out the spec tags) but my issue lies with some of the more popular buddie blogs having this whole “i can sense that buddie is happening” and then treating people who are validly apprehensive towards getting our hopes up like we’re brainless idiots who don’t know what we’re talking about

even though we literally went through the same thing of buddieblr being like “s7 is our year i can FEEL it there is no way they aren’t going canon”….. just for them to not go canon bc the writers (yet again) changed their minds last minute when they got an early renewal and realized “oh- we don’t actually have to commit anymore, we can just keep baiting snd dragging them along— and they technically can’t call it queerbaiting anymore bc buck’s bi now!”

like everything surrounding this season has been screaming to me (NOT anything from oliver and ryan— ive spoken before about how i think they are where we’re at in terms of being strung along by the writers every season) that we are just being baited again.

and as far as the over-analyzing, i’ve seen so many people saying things like “omg oliver and ryan posting candids/photos and tagging each other buddie is obviously happening”……. as if oliver and ryan aren’t friends…. like i fear the two of them posting eacg other doesn’t really mean much if anything when they’ve done that throughout their friendship.

and just because there are some deranged people on the internet spewing hate about them being friends doesn’t mean that their posting is a sign of anything either other than the fact that they’re probably blocking the lunatics and posting each other anyway…. it’s not some gotcha to anyone in the fandom, it’s not a sign that buddie is coming, it’s two castmates being friends, and doing things that friends do all the time

overall, like i said, i have no problem with people (other than myself) engaging in spec and at this point the people who are getting their hopes up will only have themselves to blame if we’re let down again… my issue mainly lies with some of the bigger blogs being dicks to people raising valid concerns over the new season and not trusting the writers when the writers haven’t done anything to earn that trust; in fact having only done things to the detriment of that trust.

anyway, sorry for the super delayed and super long response, anon 😭😭 i’ve been neglecting my ask box lately in lieu of a spike in temu stans sending me hate yet again but i was just scrolling through and noticed this one and wanted to make a response!

[vivalas-vega]

new perspectives / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader / prologue

new series alert !!!! I’m really excited about this one :) I’m still brainstorming a cute nickname for our reader here so if anyone has any ideas lmk and as always lmk what you think and if you want to be added to the taglist for this!

new perspectives / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader / prologue

to be tagged in future works, please turn on post notifications for @vegaslibrary 

part one

word count: 1.7k

warnings: none :) series will include language, drinking, smut, the whole nine lol

You knew thoroughly and completely that this was supposed to be the most exciting time of your life… It was the time for new beginnings, to embark on new journeys and gain new perspectives but it didn’t feel that way at all. It felt like the sky was falling and your life was ending though it was truly just getting started and Jake was feeling the same way. Of course he did, you shouldn’t have been surprised, your families had joked you shared one brain since you’d first met at ten years old. A screaming match at recess landed the two of you in the principal's office with your parents and while you’d walked in as mortal enemies, you teamed up in your disdain for your parents and teachers assessment of the situation and left as friends, never to be seen far from the other for the following eight years. 

“We knew this was coming, sweetheart…” he said, planting a kiss on your forehead as you nestled into his side. It was rather dramatic and you knew it, because he was right but that didn’t make this any easier. You weren’t leaving yet and neither was he, it was a simple question he’d asked… wanting to know if you’d made any college decisions yet and halfway through your answer you’d broken down. The weight of that decision had hit you like a freight train and left you wracked with emotion as you cried into his chest.

“I don’t want to leave,” you blubbered and he rubbed soothingly along your back.

“Yes, you do. I do, too. Trust me, if there was a Navy flight school in California I’d be there in a heartbeat.”

“If there was a good biology program in Florida, I’d be there in a heartbeat,” you replied and he just chuckled.

“Wouldn’t do much good anyways, I’d be off to Rhode Island before you graduated anyways.”

“Why would you say that right now?” you asked, another wave of tears cascading down your face. Theoretically you knew Jake’s dream career would leave him bouncing around not only the country but the world for seemingly the rest of his life and it was a disgustingly bitter pill to swallow. 

“Hey, you’re going to be all over the place, too… after Stanford who knows where you’ll go for residency… then you’ll have your pick of fellowships because why wouldn’t you?”

“I’m offended you didn’t say Massachusetts for residency, you have to speak it into existence, Jake.” you mumbled.

“Your plans could change… it’s okay for plans to change,” he pointed out and you looked up at him deadpan. “Right, forgot who I was talking to,” he laughed. “We’re going to be okay.”

You shook your head, “no… we’re not.” This was where you and Jake differed. He had an unwavering optimism for your relationship's survival after graduation but you didn’t share that same hope. You knew what was coming, you knew how few relationships actually survived the first year of college. By some miracle if it did, it would only grow more strained once medical school started, and residency was a completely different beast… not to mention the fact that he would be frequently deployed only god knows where with no ability to call or check in. 

“Honey…” he started, but you just cut him off.

“We have to be realistic,” you muttered. “I think we should…” you trailed off, feeling your throat grow thick, almost as if your body was forcing you not to say it because once you did everything would change. You felt him stiffen beneath you and your body’s attempt at self-preservation was in vain anyways, he knew where you were going.

“We should what? Break up?” he asked, hurt lacing his voice and you sat up to face him as you wiped your tears.

“No, I… I don’t want to break up, Jake, you know that… I just-”

“Think it would be easier?” he asked and you shook your head, taking his hands in yours as you tried to keep him from spiraling.

“I’m not saying this because it’s what I want, Jake. It’s the furthest thing from what I want, if I could make myself have the same dream as you and go to flight school with you so we could keep doing everything together like we always have I would. God, I’ve even tried to want that but we’re just… we’re on different paths. We both dream too big and eventually it was going to catch up to us.” 

“So is this… are you ending this right now? Are we over?” Tears were forming in his eyes and you reached up to swipe them away as they fell.

“No. I’m saying that… I’m saying that we should soak up the time we have together, make the most of it before we both leave and when we do…” you trailed off again, and he cradled your head in his hands.

“When we do, we’re over.” You nodded, your face curling with pain and he couldn’t bear the sight. He pulled you in close, hugging you tight as if he loosened his grip you’d vanish into thin air. “I love you,” he mumbled into your hair and you nodded as you wrapped yourself around him.

“I love you too, so much…” 

And you did just what you said you would. You made the most of the few weeks you had left. Your parents knew what was coming and loosened the reins, sleepovers that had stopped the moment you got together were no longer forbidden and despite their own grief at their babies moving out and moving on they allowed you to spend all of your time together because secretly your impending doom was just as hard on them as it was on you. The four of them had all known your relationship was an inevitability, even had wagers on when it would happen… your mom had won, something she boasted about frequently, she’d even gotten it right down to the day, your junior prom. They also knew what you did, that it would never survive the rigors of college, the unpredictability of the Navy, or the grueling schedule of residency. They’d raised two kids that were larger than life, two kids destined to become the greatest at what they did and you just weren’t old enough or mature enough to figure out how to make each other fit. 

You helped each other pack, studied for finals, danced the night away at prom and walked with each other onto the field for graduation and when the time came to load you onto a plane to San Jose he was right by your side until he couldn’t be.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he said, sensing your body language as you turned to face him before entering the security line. 

You nodded, “I know… I’ll see you at Thanksgiving,” you said softly and his hands rested on your hips. You had said your goodbyes to your parents this morning, they suggested Jake drop you at the airport to let you have your final moments in privacy… as much privacy as the airport would allow. 

“We’re making the right decision,” you weren’t really sure who he was trying to convince but in the end it didn’t really matter. Neither one of you were sure this was true, but it seemed to be the only way to handle things right now.

You nodded again, “it’s not an ending it’s just… all we’re saying is not right now.” He leaned his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut as he pulled you as close as he possibly could and you felt tears spill out and onto your cheeks. “I’m going to go learn how to become a doctor, you’re going to go learn how to be the best damn pilot the Navy has ever seen and we’re going to be good.” Again, who you were trying to convince was up for debate. You pulled your head back to instead bury it in his neck as you threw your arms around his shoulders and breathed in as much of him as you could. 

“We’ll be good,” he mumbled and you knew you had to pull away… you knew you had to turn around and walk away from him but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it just yet. You wanted to stay here, right here in this airport wrapped up in his arms for the rest of your life, but you couldn’t… you had a plane to catch and dreams to follow and he did too. You pulled away suddenly, keeping your arms around him as you looked at him seriously.

“Promise me something,” you said as you fought another wave of tears.

“Anything.”

“You’re not going to wait for me, we’re not going to hold back and miss out on life waiting on a maybe.”

“Honey-” he started to protest but you shook your head.

“Promise me, Jake, otherwise I can’t get on that plane. Promise me you’re not going to wait.”

He cursed under his breath, “okay, honey. I promise.”

“And promise me you’re still my best friend,” you said, letting the tears fall now.

“Oh sweetheart, not being your best friend was never an option,” he replied and you nodded, letting your hands rest on his cheeks as you looked him over. This was the last time you would hold his head in your hands and this was the last time you would look at him as your boyfriend, because the second you boarded your plane you would be single and embarking on a whole new journey. He placed a hand on the back of your head and pulled you in, pressing his lips to yours so gently, as if he applied any pressure you’d crumble beneath him. You had other ideas, kissing him back in almost a frenzy as he matched your pace and allowed his tongue to slip past your lips, tasting you for the last time and savoring the moment as he knew it was the last. You pulled away slightly, giving him a few more gentler kisses as you swiped away the tears wetting your hands, 

“I love you,” you whispered and he kissed you again.

“I love you too, honey.”

next part

[neonhellscape]

so i got ideas about mr haneumann and the local murder elf being compatible so. this is with the tone of them getting together as a couple, though theyre both insane enough they would never call eachother boyfriend yknow??

reminder ive not played the game so if i characterise them wrong or whatever please forgive that. im running off my partner's discussions and screenshots, one video of the party members chatting to eachother, and then just my own pure undiluted mental illness.

idk if this needs warning tags, like. theres some details where wow these two are freaks but all pretty par for the course with tech priests and drukhari yknow? if you're interested in that lot youre used to them being a bit fucked in the head, theres nothing startling i dont think. let me know if otherwise

wibbly wobbly keep reading link time

It was a slow discovery of his- that perhaps flesh may yeild some purpose in this life beyond being a target to strive against. Soft, squishy bits of pale meat interspersed between severing masses of silver… it was clear which he preferred.

Despite what may be presumed were he to word such observations, this was not a statement contradictory to his faith. Rather… one that coexisted, within his personal classification of it. While some permitted their metalwork to rust or tarnish, some polished it to a bright shine. He personally had tended to a delicate patina over many years- a cultivated, gentle age that took time and life to create, and became a point of pride. There was purpose to his cleaved respirator, scarred as it might be, remaining his, rather than being replaced as another might insist upon.

His skin bore the same scar as it. For weeks his reflections had considered that perhaps, by logic of his own fondness in that unique mark, his skin should be cultivated in the same tender way. Where he desired it be kept, at least. There was at least a small list he intended to act upon yet.

Leaning further into the mirror, he squinted. Then opened his eye wide. Blinking once, then looking left, then right. The lens of his optic allowed him to observe the function in entirety, not drifting in the same manner as the organ embedded in his skull. In tandem, it was optimal- a demonstration of his latest discovery. Manifestation and observation within one unit. Flesh and machine working cohesively.

A trilogy of satisfyingly tuned clicks permitted him to see closer in increasing magnification, the creases settling heavy around his eye seeming cavernous with the observational closeness. It downturned from the central point, practically heavy with itself and lending to a sadness or dismissiveness that had been inquired of cause from him numerous times- often followd by frustrated statements noting how his expressions were little showing even within the expanse of his face that remained uncovered. More recently, the frustration was instead an apparent care, expressed by a Rogue Trader keen to know his emotional wellbeing and not satisfied with the statement that his emotions could be vaulted and were already minimal in days before then.

Sparse, fine hairs darkened the border of each eyelid- he had forgotten the term for such hairs, likely so obscurely referenced and commonly known he had purged the record of it to provide space for another. Web-like blood vessels sprawled across the white of his sclera, and with the soothing touch of metallic fingers he prised away the lower lid to see where they stemmed from. With it gapping away, he could see closer inside himself than he'd found possible without wounding, a mass of veins and a… squishy casement.

Everything about flesh was squishy. There was no better word that contained both the textural description and the inherent desire to poke or squeeze. It… was gradually losing the sickening revulsion that it had previously held for him. Fascination at the intricacy distracted from the goreless yet undeniably visceral sight.

A slight pain, weak enough to be felt purely by his original nervous system rather than entering the network of alerts, appeared in his cheek. Permitting it the focus it meekly requested from him, he looked to the staples still decoratively lacing his scar, and the slight soreness between the two that had pinched together with his inspection. Pressing the cool fingerpad of the fourth digit between them, a cascade of neural connections expressed themselves in a marginally deeper, relaxing exhale through his respirator. A fascinating cause and effect.

Perhaps the Omnissiah would impart news of his yeilding to the Biologis who once argued so feverently to her cause.

Of course, there was reason to these new contemplations beyond the practically ancient conversation with a Magos of whom he could scarcely recall. A reason that he had long believed was rejected through petty ignorance, now more than ever, yet endlessly unnerved some part of him aware of repercussion.

It was no longer enough to deter him. Were he to be challenged, he would have argument enough to any wise Magos and the protections of the intriguingly considerate Rogue Trader to excuse him- a feral devout would brand him for any number of more minor transgressions, and he cared little for their opinion as a result. There was no need to justify himself to anyone lesser. With no sign from the Machine God to the contrary, he held confidence in their mutual safety.

If a threat were to emerge against those odds, Marazhai was certainly capable of defending them both. Getting him to cease and retreat when was wise instead of following the delighted urge to create more bloodshed would be the issue.

Depicted in a bloodstained memory was his smile. A sharp, taunting thing that even on recall brought a small flutter to the complicated systems that comprised his vastly spanning heart. The sensation made him feel somewhat queasy with awareness of his internals and their movements, yet… he decided to settle with that awareness, rather than seek to avoid it.

Marazhai had often mentioned such things, talking about it more casually and knowledgably than any other. Enjoyment seemed not just in tandem with the concept for him, but directly tied to it- within it, inherently part of it. The internal sensation of a pulsating circulatory organ rotating the order of contractions within its chambers at an elevated rate was apparently part of what was thrilling to him. Particularly in unison with one of said circulatory organ held in his hand. Whether it was somebody else's or his own seemed open for discussion.

Hand raising to his chest, he felt the bulky plating that simultaneously served as armour and external structural support to keep the sheer weight of his own body from punching clean through the select parts of his ribcage he had kept. Aware that concealed beneath the plate and gently threaded into it's supports was a structure of spokes of different lengths throughout his torso, at least three requiring openings be constructed through the artificial lungs that connected directly to his respirator. The various extended chambers, sub-chambers and adjoining injectors that marked the core of his circulation laced between it all like vines about a trellis, cables threading into the thick plating encasing his spine to relay fuel and power back and forth.

Slim, prising fingers had already forced their way through that casing once, nails scraping along the brittle vertibrae without the reasonable fear of the metal clamping down and crushing the spindly, intruding digits. Perhaps- 80% chance- even enjoying the thrill of the threat. One that had never manifested- it had taken diverting and shutting down a number of automatic systems, but he had remained curled up on himself for the curious touch, head bowed to the floor and back curved to keep the spacing as wide as possible without permenant damage. The most he had moved was to constrict a mechadendrite around the skinny figure looming over him, squeezing his waist in need for a grounding touch that earned shallow, gasped breaths and nails raked down the patches of skin at his sides. In sheer overwhelm, he'd forgotten himself, beginning a binharic trilling that concisely conveyed every alert, sensation of panic and pain that he'd felt. Not once had he requested cessation, and enjoyment had been interspersed far more frequently than he'd anticipated- the recall could never be misinterpreted as begging.

Marazhai's feelings on the matter required no clarification. Prising through the tubation of his respirator to grip his throat and draw his head close, hissing praise and encouragement for the sounds. Nails finding the seam where his skin had been tucked in against the metal, splitting it away slowly, sinking in to his knuckles with audible desire in his voice at the distorted screech it earned. Encouraging him, taunting him, urging him for more-

There were things that needed to be done. Recalling this before doing them was unwise.

The first step he took was with weak enough legs to sway, instinctively driving his mechadendrites into the ground to stabilise himself.

Certainly unwise.

-

It was rare to see pure, untainted anger in the Drukhari- an expression of unenjoyed frustration. The matter brought an ominous intensity to him, intimidating between his towering stature and the unusual shuffling clicks of his armour.

Turning his back, he began finalising his prayer to the machine spirit, raising a hand in a request for a moment he hoped would be respected.

With the wrenching snap of two metallic digits and the firing of a spring into some distant corner of the voidship, it was not.

"Iron mon-keigh!" his voice boomed, spinning the unit away from his task to hook a fist around the collar of his chest plating, weaponising knowledge of his precarious balance to lean him back and force him to stagger into the wall and be pinned. The snarl on his face was one of hatred, yet by that uncomplicated existence openly proclaimed vulnerability. The fact he had taken to petty name calling and careless damage only reinforced that fact.

"What am I to you?"

Hesitant to provoke him with misinterpretation, the list of potential answers was kept aside for a moment. "This unit requests clarification."

"Well, let us see. The teachings you devote yourself to demand my eradication, and yet here you are- pliant in my hands. You are taught to deafen yourself to the words of the xenos, and yet we have had any number of conversations to date. I am keen to know- am I a curiosity to you? A thing to observe while you have the chance, to prod and poke with no intention of indulging anything to completion, let alone satisfaction? Or am I perhaps here to prove to your fellow mon-keigh that their path is correct, informed by our inevitable- mutual- destruction in your idiocy." A snarled smile then crossed his face, the taunting look hollow compared to its usual enthusiasm even as his fingers flexed in a dramatic display of squeezing the main intake line of his respirator. "Or am I perhaps a contradiction that you are oblivious to, unable to differentiate between the feelings of your meat from the determination of your metal…"

Feeling his lungs seize as the automation attempted to cycle air that never came, he latched on for stability, staring into his eyes with an unchanging expression. Marazhai's pupils had contracted somewhat, revealing more of his iris colouration than could usually be witnessed.

"Remove the obstruction of the air intake and this unit will provide an answer."

With a hiss, he squeezed tighter, presumably then seeing the flaw in demanding answers while inducing a loss of consciousness. Sighing, he released the pipe, permitting a few seconds for him to recalibrate before snatching his hood. Leaning in close, sharp elbows resting on his shoulders in a way that no doubt tore into his robes, flicking the magnification lenses over his optic idly with a sickly tone to his voice. "Now, indulge me. Explain."

Briefly reducing the function of the optic to ignore the irritating distraction, he turned his head enough to compensate and maintain a direct visual contact. "The observation of the x-" he stalled, refiling the name allocation in a way that only seemed fair given context of his impending argument, noting the curiosity masked behind impatience in the face looming close to his own. "-of the unit Marazhai lends to new observational data of the unit Pasqal."

It had captured his focus, if not his approval yet- with a twitch to his eye that eluded to a smirk, he continued his infuriating assault on the magnifiers. "An unusual statement. Elaborate on… 'the unit Pasqal's' observations."

It was hard not to be irritated by the accumilating taunts, encouraging him to employ the division of such emotions from himself. Automatically announcing, "This unit has employed emotional vaulting procedures due to persistent irritating behaviour."

Had he not already removed such feelings, he'd have been annoyed further at the fact Marazhai stopped his fidgeting in response. He could've at least had the courtesy to continue after that effort. "Summary: this unit has taken note of numerous observations contradictory to it's prior stance."

"So-"

Clamping his hand over the impatient Drukhari's mouth to prevent him speaking further, he was consequently reminded of the damage dealt as the two damaged digits hung slack. Despite the damage preventing proper silencing, it enabled the same result with apparent compliance. "The prior stance concluded the teachings of the Biologis to be inferior and misguided, and that of the common attachment to the flesh to be deluded. Flesh could not be refined and moulded in the manner of metal- an inherent degredation and deterioration that cannot hope to compare. With observation…"

Despite his emotional containment, he felt dread. A combination of truth and fear combining to form an abomination assaulting his being, an internal conflict spanning a lifetime that had been entertaining to contemplate until now. Until offering it to a location it may be witnessed. The increasingly bored eyes watching him pressed him to proceed. Taking granular comfort from the nature of the man recieving the discussion and the near impossible threat of a betrayal from him, he continued.

"This unit has observed xenos processes that warrant the maintenance of flesh. Through the application of Drukhari cultural phenomena, there is merit to the study of the flesh."

"What does this mean, iron-"

Snapping, he allowed a static hiss to briefly distort his communication. "Name-calling is beneath you. Demand for cessation, communication will resume once applied." On being met with an exhausted silence that made his pulse deafening, he continued. "The statement was intended to notify an observation of compatibility in practices. This statement is not to be relayed further."

"My, my…" his voice practically purred, "your fear… Is your conviction truly so fragile in such an obscure statement?"

Allowing his eye to close, he bowed his head in a way that caused his hood to slip and obscure Marazhai from his vision. Rapidly, the fear melded into hollowness- if nothing more, he had hoped for the statement to yeild a conversation of interest to merit the risk it posed. Instead, it seemed…

"No- no! What is happening within you? This-" he trailed off in frustration, seeming to struggle articulating his feelings. "Why does your fear retreat in such a manner? Surely you had not hoped I would be pleased with this wittering-"

"It was this unit's belief that, by communicating an alteration in perception of practices, it would convey a keenness for discussion. Academically or recreationally. It would seem this statement is false, it will be logged-"

"You speak in such riddles. If I am forced to to entertain myself in the midst of further droning I will prise those sweet, shrill sounds from you once again-"

"Compliance with will identified. This will be satisfactory."

Somewhat taken aback, he allowed his weight to sway to one hip. "Satisfactory? Do you wish for me to make you scream once again?"

"Keenness to experience, observe and analyse expressed."

"…do you wish to learn from me?"

Taking his broken fingers in the opposite hand, he began inspecting the damage for repair. "An exchange. To learn and to educate."

Scoffing, the Drukhari settled his hands on his hips with an aggressive sneer. "And what could you possibly teach me?"

Extending his hand forward abruptly, he insisted plainly, "Repair." On recieving a confused look and hesitation to comply, he insisted again, "Repair."

"You mistake my intentions and my skill, I-"

"This is the education this unit will provide."

"And why would I allow a creature such as you to learn from me, let alone indulge the concept you could educate me? The nuances of my lifestyle would be lost on a mon-keigh, and there is no knowledge of value that you possess which I do not already know."

Allowing silence and contempt to build, he began the process of repair, returning his hand to primarily functional use- the loss of the spring prevented the flexing of the last knuckle on his index finger, and he mentally logged to locate a replacement for later. By the time he was done, Marazhai was leaning in to watch, some depraved concept visibly concocting in his mind.

"This is the education the unit will provide. Relay, edited: 'The nuances of my lifestyle would be lost on a xenos'. Relay end." Grasping his face with the now repaired digits, he squeezed, pressing the metal into the hollow of his cheek. "Magos is a title and knowledge bestowed to few. Unit Marazhai has previously identified and expressed keenness toward this unit's persistent suffering under the rites of augmentation. Unit Marazhai would learn to better utilise the blessed machine within his… lifestyle."

"If you intend to express yourself as my equal-"

"Equal to or greater than," he hissed, squeezing tightly enough to make him decide: part his jaw or grit his teeth and permit them to be broken. The former was selected, adjoined with a rough shake to pull free- hooking his fingers in Marazhai's mouth, he pinched behind his lower teeth and under his chin to create a steel loop that all but pierced him. Watching his attempts to wrench free at the indignity, biting fruitlessly into metal that would not yeild to mere bone and drooling as he was held, snarling as it was used to pull him down to an even height. "My lifestyle has been earned through the blessings of the Machine God and precise augmentation to craft the body into a unit even the great Marazhai has expressed appreciation and desire for," he spat, allowing a sarcasm protocol to emphasise the 'great'. "To aspire to perfection through agony is to aspire to this unit. You have much to learn. Proposal to begin education: a more satisfying purpose for that ignorant, sharp tongue."

The wording held a significantly more sexual implication than he had intended. Marazhai's eyes lit up on it being expressed- in both desire and amusement, all encapsulated in a desire to taunt. He refused to correct the implication for the risk it would be misconstrude as yeilding. A swift redirection back to the point at hand.

"The proposition is one of equal exchange. It requires mutual cessation of ignorance and mutual acceptance of equal role in varied manner or expression. It requires unit Marazhai learn to repair and maintain this unit in proper fashion and timeliness. It requires unit Pasqal learn to repair and maintain unit Marazhai in proper fashion and timeliness." Leaning closer, he used his free hand to tenderly wipe the line of drool from where it threatened to drip from his sharp jaw. "It includes a bond that, on severing, revokes all access to each unit beyond baseline social protocol. Is the proposition understood?"

Head held still by the grip on his jaw and pride, the resulting nod was felt rather than seen, followed promptly by a tongue openly dragged along the fingers in his mouth in some convoluted statement of… presumably an oddly expressed approval. Perhaps a request to speak. Withdrawing his hand before there was risk of drool seeping between the joints, he offered the opportunity, noting how Marazhai rubbed his jaw and almost hesitantly straightened- not through fear, but through something else. An unusual submissiveness.

"I will say, that was quite the experience. An intriguing proposition too, much akin to arrangements I have had before, although… I retain one question."

"Ask."

"You have not clarified what I am to you in satisfying enough terms."

Nodding, he pressed his fingertips together as he considered the best way to conclude what he had struggled to articulate. "You inspire curiosity for this unit's flesh, in ways that had been previously unrealised. In this way, in the parallells to the state of xenos, you are my flesh. A thing containing many marvels and yet neglected for a not insigificant quantity of time, now entering a period of research where it may be better enjoyed and appreciated. …does this satisfy your question?"

Seeming lost in contemplation for a moment, he finally returned to the conversation with a smirk. "Only if I am permitted to truly indulge us in our mutual education, Magos."