#Specialized Pavement Marking

[montavillanews]

70s Greenway Crossings Progress and Delays

Last week, road crews continued construction on the NE Glisan Street crossing at 78th Avenue to support the 70s Neighborhood Greenway project. However, similar work on NE Halsey Street and 76th Avenue stalled due to a striping contractor’s mechanical difficulty. Other critical crossings on SE Stark and Washington Streets at 80th Avenue remain partially completed and unmarked. Last week, drivers…

[the-kr8tor]

Ink and Bedrock

Pairing: Ekko x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.9k

Synopsis: You're tasked to record what happened to Piltover over three years ago. A determined scholar who's willing to get the story of war and warn people about its horrors no matter how much it takes. And Ekko's side is what you need to accomplish the behemoth task. What happens when free flowing ink meets an unmovable bedrock?

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Noxian! Reader, Historian! Reader, Reader has nicknames, spoilers for s2, set 3 years after s2, CW blood and death mention, CW food mentions, CW injury, arcane characters apperance, part 1 of 2 (or 3), slowburn.

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A/N: Special thanks to @pleaktale ❤️

Part 1 >>> Part 2

Your suitcase weighs heavy in your hand as you step off the blimp for the first time. The breeze kisses your cheeks as if it's greeting you in glee. Your eyes slowly scan up the building, breath stuck in your throat at how the hex tower shines in the sun, its gold inlays melds perfectly with its white columns, making it look like you've stepped into a heavenly place. It could truly be a heavenly place in a few years. After the war ravaged Piltover and its people, it took them some time to recover from the pain it caused. Pain that your own people had a hand in causing. You could only hope that the people here accept you just as well as the wind does.

Shoes clicking against the steel floor, you can still see glimpses of the fight that occurred through the marks it left. Shattered concrete still waits in every corner to be patched up. Burn marks in different odd shapes are left etched on the pavement and metal floors like a grim reminder of the past.

As you head further outside, it gets brighter, the breeze seems to carry laughter. The sun bathes the trees in its light, still breathing through it all.

You can see hope in every person's face as you walk past, but you can sense their grief through those eyes, sadness dotted along their worry lines as they go about their day. Hope is driving them to rebuild, to concur that grief embedded in their bones. You hope that they reach their goals so they could live again, not just surviving from day to day while seeing those seared ashen walls in the shape of war.

You don't notice your knuckles shaking while gripping your suitcase. Eyes downcast, you fix your hold on the leather strap, nails leaving indents on your trembling palms. Walking through Piltover's streets has your mind making up visions of unnecessary bloodshed hidden in-between its concrete crevices. All the weapons drawn and pointed at each other, souls lost in what could've been something preventable. Yet, as you walk on the same blood soaked streets, you see all the residents rebuilding what was lost. It's only been three years since the conflict, but you can see that they've made progress in the land of progress.

The buildings are looking much better than what you saw in the reports. The hex tower is being rebuilt with a different purpose this time. The place no longer hums with remnants of the arcane.

People smile and walk to coffee shops with their loved ones, chatting and living in the moment despite what happened in the very place they sit upon. You admire them from afar, guilt trying to snake its way inside your chest, threatening to close around your heart.

You'll atone for the sins, one step at a time. Even if they drive you away, even if they curse and spit at you, you'll endure because they have endured so much more.

You promised Mel and your professor that you'll bring the truth to your fellow noxians and perhaps to the rest of Runeterra. And you intend to keep that promise.

Heart thudding in your chest, you finally make it to the Kiramman estate. The large gates open for you automatically, footsteps growing heavy with every step you take.

A guard watches you with his narrowed gaze, eyes scanning your crimson clothes and the fire in your determined eyes. With apprehension, he opens the door with a creak. As you enter and leave the cold Piltover streets, the air gets heavy as you go deeper into the mansion with a uniformed woman guiding you towards what you surmise as the office. The large double doors loom over you, shadow casting over your form.

She knocks, and you hear a commanding voice from the inside.

—

Caitlyn Kiramman, you've heard stories about her from the younger Medarda, stories of bravery and anguish laced within her decisions. You don't blame her for siding with Ambessa, she was cunning and ambitious, everything that the young and unwilling Kiramman head needed to shutter her grief close to her chest and use it as a fuel to keep herself warm in her time of grief. You suppose that's what the woman next to her is doing as she reads the letter you've given Caitlyn over her shoulder. You can see in her dark eyes that she's still atoning for her past sins.

You sit still on the plush seat, hands placed on your lap to show that you're not feeling nervous about you being here. Meanwhile in your head you're practically running laps around the room to stave off your anxiety. You find the two of them intimidating, Caitlyn sits on the same chair her ancestors have used. A seat built on years of leadership and hardwork, it's daunting to say the least, you suppose you admire her bearing that. The pink haired woman next to her has perched herself on the armchair, eyes reading the letter of recommendation written by Mel Medarda herself. A letter explaining why you're here, and what exactly your purpose of being in the same place her mother declared war and tried to conquer just over three years ago.

Your eyes roam the expansive room, its walls are in deep chestnut, all lined with her house colours, and dozens of oil paintings with her ancestors’ portraits looking down on you with their authoritative gaze. Scanning the bookshelves, your eyes pause at the pink haired woman who's already watching you with her apprehensive stare, your own eyes meeting with hers.

“Vi, right?” You ask, trying incredibly hard to stabilize your words. “Mel told me about you.”

She raises a brow, “I'm surprised she even remembers me.”

You shrug, “she seems to always know about everyone.”

“What's your relationship with her?” Caitlyn finally speaks, lithe hands folding the letter neatly.

“A friend, I guess?” You smile nervously. “Well, barely, an acquaintance more like.” They look at you, eyes swimming with even more questions. So you give them the answer. “My professor knows her. I don't know exactly how, but they seem to be close. She recommended me to Mel when she was looking for someone like me.”

“A historian? A journalist?” Vi glances briefly at Caitlyn, arm leaning over the back of her chair casually.

“Exactly, a bit of both actually.” you nod, “I—”

“You just finished your studies, what's your business being Mel Medarda’s ambassador?” Caitlyn asks suspiciously, eyes narrowed towards you. Well, she gets the job done being that blunt.

“I'm not her ambassador, technically.” You squeeze your hands together briefly before letting go, a nervous tick of yours. “I'm just here to record and write everything that happened that day.”

“Why?” She pokes and prods.

“The letter—”

“I know what the letter says, I want to know what you think.”

“I understand your apprehension. I really do.” Your eyes swim with silent empathy. “My job is to tell people, my people, exactly what happened here. The situation over there is… isn't good. I'm here so that they know what the arcane is capable of, what Ambessa did, and the cost of that war.” You lean forward, elbows perched on your knees, “I'm here so that they don't make the same mistake again, so that history doesn't repeat itself.”

Caitlyn tips her head at you, lips pursed into a thin line. While Vi stares heavily at the letter on the table with the Medarda wax seal stamped on it.

“I've seen the effects of it, war. I've never experienced it or lived through it but I've seen what it leaves in its wake, and it's all disaster, death and—” you squeeze your hands into tight fists before letting the pressure go. “Noxus has been entrenched in war for thousands of years. If my work here could prevent just a few years of war then it'll be worth it. Noxians— Runeterra needs to see what war is capable of, what it leaves on the people they've ravaged.” You exhale, “it's not much, but someone has to try. Even if it's just a small step toward peace.”

“This isn't the first time you've done something like this?” Vi asks in a solemn tone.

“Unfortunately,” you utter, voice trembling. “but this is the first time I'm doing this alone. My professor has gotten too old to travel.”

“Mel has said in her letter that you have a spark. Talented, have a way with words. And determined, never settling for a no nonsense answer.” Caitlyn taps the piece of paper in front of her.

You smile, “I'd like to think so too.”

“I don't think that was a compliment, Spark.” Vi’s lips curl into a smirk. “She just called you annoying.” Caitlyn furrows her brows, side eyeing her partner.

You mirror her smile. “Well, I'll take it as a compliment.”

Caitlyn clears her throat, index rubbing along where her eye patch sits over eye. She seems…tired, like she has been working longer than she has lived. “I'll get you settled at an apartment here, then I'll tell the council about you. If they approve, then you can start your research.”

“Thank you.” You sigh, relieved that your journey wasn't in vain. “Can I interview you two then?”

Vi blinks, “us?”

“Preferably alone, if you're comfortable with that. Just like you said, Ms. Kiramman, I don't take no nonsense answers.” You smile genuinely at them. “You two are just as important in the story. It wouldn't be complete without your personal accounts.”

Caitlyn stands up, and you immediately think you've fucked up. You're already counting down your days. “If the council votes yes, then you can interview us, and everyone you want to talk to.” She reaches for you, and you quickly stand up to meet her halfway with a shake of her stretched hand.

“I won't disappoint you or Piltover. I'll write your history as truthfully as I can.”

She nods, releasing your hand.

“Don't forget Zaun.” Vi says, standing up and giving you your letter back.

“I'm allowed there?” You take the letter, tucking it inside your coat pocket.

“Of course,” she scoffs, head gesturing towards the large window that overlooks the bridge connecting Zaun and Piltover. “It's open, kid, just cross the bridge.”

You can't help but think that she's egging you on, trying to rile you up by your fear of the undercity. It would work if you were actually afraid of it. Truth be told, you're excited to see what Zaun has in store for you.

“I'll keep that in mind.” Your smile tells them just that.

—

You feel like a piece of meat being scrutinized by the whole council. Their eyes hold unsung words as they stare at you in their important chairs. But you're not backing down, not when you’ve come so far. The spotlight above you shines brightly, making it harder to see the council members’ faces. You didn't expect to stand before them, practically dragged by an enforcer by your ear. If you did expect it, you might've prepared a speech or something. Now you're just standing there awkwardly under the harsh light.

“She's Noxian.” The one with platinum blond hair says, ringed fingers tapping on Mel's letter that they've passed around. “People might not be comfortable with her running around. For all we know she could be a spy.”

You scrunch your face, mouth clamped shut to prevent a nasty word from escaping.

“That's why she should be running around,” Caitlyn defends you. She sits on the head of the circular table, blue hair shining under the light. “The people need to not be afraid of them any longer. Are you afraid, councilor?”

The blond sucks in her teeth, annoyed.

“Caitlyn's right, it'll be good in the long run. If what the letter has stated is true, then we might be able to establish trade routes with Noxus in the future.” The councilor with a golden mask hiding half of their face says, voice gentle and soft amidst the previous arguing. “Mend the relationship between our two countries.” A handful of them nod in agreement.

“Say,” someone with short hair and strong features says, “does it work? Telling them about the shit they've done?”

“Yes,” you stand up straighter. “My professor has been recording these histories for a couple hundred years or so. Whenever her writing has reached the people it has helped. Little by little the histories have opened our eyes to the cruelty of war. I wouldn't be here if it hadn't worked.” They listen to you intently. “I'm the direct evidence of that.”

She shifts in her seat, dark eyes swirling with thoughts, and a metal arm glimmering under the light. “Are you from a noble house just like Medarda?”

“No, I'm just like everyone else in Noxus. Our research and expenses have been sponsored by a noble house though. That's the only connection I have with the nobles of Noxus.” You swallow thickly, “only just recently I've found myself acquainted with Mel Medarda.”

“You've mentioned your professor and his unusually long lifespan, and due to that, he has gathered what…” A stout council member flips through a book, you guess he has done his research about you. “Approximately 271 first hand accounts of Noxus’ cruelty?”

“It's 283,” you say with a steely gaze. “And she isn't like everyone else. She has chosen to use her long lifespan to help, to enhance her knowledge, not gather riches for her own benefit.”

“Do you intend to do the same?” Caitlyn asks, voice calm and reserved.

“Yes,” you close your hands into fists, this time you don't release the pressure. “I won't be able to live as long as her, but I can try to achieve something close to what she has done.”

“You remind me of someone.” Caitlyn's muffled words were so quiet you thought you heard wrong. Before you could simmer on what she has said, she clears her throat. “We can monitor her progress by meeting up with her every week until she has finished her work. Make sure that she's writing the whole truth.” They nod at her words. “All in favour of her staying and doing her research?”

The air grows heavy, stifling as they ponder what Caitlyn relayed to them. For a minute or so, you thought you were about to go empty handed.

The woman with the metal arm raises her hand in favour. Then more follow, until only two of the council members remain.

“That settles it then.” Caitlyn nods at you, and you feel like a fish bone stuck in your throat has been finally pulled out. “You may interview anyone who is willing. Don't make us regret this decision.”

You inhale deeply, you feel the world is sitting atop your shoulders now. “I won't.”

—

Violet and Caitlyn receive you in a much brighter mood than before. The office is filled with sunlight as it spreads across the expansive room, the curtains are furled, and the weather has cleared up since you got into Piltover. The air smells like bergamot and a hint of something sweet. A sweetness that is revealed when a plate of sugar cookies is placed on the table in front of you, accompanied by a cup of steaming tea.

You've been interviewing them for more than three hours now, hence why they've brought out the snacks and drinks that are slowly getting colder as it lays there untouched. With every question they answer, the scene of war gets clearer and clearer in your head. And as you go further and further into the conversation, their expression changes from sadness to anger. You take care of your wording from then on, make sure that you show tact in front of their war torn faces.

“What happened up there?” You ask after they both recall their side of the story. “While Violet was fighting with…” you pause as Vi exhales shakily. Clearing your throat, you don't poke and prod at her side anymore. She's still living through the pain of what happened, they all are. Caitlyn seems to think the same thing. “I'm sorry.”

“How about we continue that part for next time?” She squeezes Vi’s hand affectionately. “As for what happened up in the hextower with Viktor and Jace, we don't know the whole story. We just know that Ekko was the one who ended it.” You write the name atop your notebook for reference, the tip of your gilded pen tapping along it.

“He hasn't talked to us about it.” Vi adds after a bated breath. “Or to me after….Jinx.” Her brows pinch together in hurt. “I still have no idea how he got her to help us. All I know is that he did everything he could to end it. For that we’re grateful for him, even if he doesn't want us to be.”

“Jinx,” you repeat the stranger's name softly. Mind locking his and her name together. “Was Ekko close with your sister?”

She chuckles, eyes turned towards the smoke rising from her cup. “Once, when we were kids.”

Cait leans closer towards her, thumb brushing gently atop her calloused knuckles. “You don't have to tell it now if you don't want to, Vi.”

“I'm sorry about your sister.” You gently shut your notebook close. “I don't want to push you into recalling a memory that still aches.”

“You can tell that she's gone by that? I must look fucking sad right now then.” Vi half jokes, nudging Cait’s shoulder with her own, a subtle way of saying that she's alright.

You smile gently, “I know the look, I've seen it a hundred times before. But it doesn't feel any easier every time I see it. I really am sorry.”

Vi sighs, and Cait squeezes her once more. “You're right, let's do this some other time.” She stands up abruptly, pacing towards the open window, basking in the warmth of the Piltover sun. Your lips are already forming apologies, “and don't say sorry again.” She looks over her shoulder as Caitlyn follows right behind her. “You're just doing your job. Don't worry, I'm not gonna lunge at you for asking about it.”

You nod, standing up. “When you're ready, I'm just here. Thank you for your time.”

They both nod as Caitlyn's hands rub along Vi’s arms. Before you could leave, Caitlyn calls after you. Her heels clicking against the marble floors as she walks over to you. “Wait here.” You do as you're told. She turns around towards the coffee table to grab a handful of cookies, placing it over an open napkin and then folding it neatly. “You should talk to Sevika, she's a council member representing Zaun. She could help with their side of the story.” She reaches for your hand when you only stare at her, opening your palm for you and giving you the wrapped cookies. “Figured you haven't eaten yet.”

“Thank you, Caitlyn.” You smile sweetly at her, hand now heavy with the cookies.

“Sevika talks to Ekko almost everyday ever since they've become partners in restoring Zaun. You'll have a better chance at having a minute with him through her.”

“Where is she in Zaun?”

“Are you afraid now?” She raises a thin brow, eyes shining under the sunlight.

“Not even a little.” You smile, “I just heard that it's easy to get lost in the lanes.”

Cait nods, “She's near the harbour.”

“Thank you,” you turn to open the door but before you do, you look back at them. “and thank you for the hospitality.”

—

You walk through Zaun with purpose. The lanes look much better than what you've seen through reports. The streets are no longer dark and bleak, there are street lamps in every corner, and the shops look like they're thriving just as well as their Piltover counterparts. There are green overgrowths, flowers and grass peeking from concrete cracks and vines growing and slithering atop metal walls.

You've only been in Piltover for a week, and you've spent most of it talking to willing council members and citizens. They all convey the same thing you've seen before in people who have suffered tremendous trauma. The hurt is embedded in their eyes, grief in their bones. But you also see the same thing in their tone just like what you've seen countless times before— hope, it's laced in their way of talking, weaved through their movements as they go about their day to day operations. You can see that they're looking forward to tomorrow, even when the past still knocks on their doors. You see them answer the knocking, but never letting it enter and fester in their home.

You see the same thing in Zaun, they've suffered as much as Piltover had, even more before the war. The walls still bear the violence it once carried, the air still shifts with heaviness and voices lost in the very streets you're walking on. The place buzzes with life, Zaunites rebuilding their home, people carry on, life carries on.

As you go further and further into the heart of the undercity, you see the same face on the walls, blue hair flowing in the breeze, shining eyes staring down at you through her steely gaze. Every corner you see a semblance of the mysterious girl, blue and pink trailing behind her, people rallying alongside her. They all bear the same hope, some weave anger akin to a woman scorned through the graffiti, some etch her face with sorrow and loss. But it's all the same face, same eyes, same hair. You think you already know who she is.

You make it to the center of Zaun where a hefty statue stands. It's a sculpture of a man with an air of authority around him. Curious, you read the plaque next to his feet, reading his name— Vander. You recognize his name from what Violet has told you. Looking up at him, you see through his bronze eyes, if only he could talk, all the stories he would tell.

His statue has blue flowers placed at his feet in respect to him. There’s a banging sound right behind it, getting your attention. Peeking behind the statue, you see what looks like a bar being rebuilt upon the ashes of what it used to be. With one last look at Vander, you continue towards your destination.

Walking along the harbour brings you peace, the water lapping at the coast. You hug your coat tighter around your torso, cold breeze seeping through the fabric as the air flutters your lashes.

You make it to Sevika's place without a hitch. She surprisingly waits for you right outside her door, expression flat as she stands on the steps.

“Finally made it.” She wears a brown poncho over a white shirt, silky hair falling over her face. “Vi told me you were coming.” She answers your silent question when she sees your confused expression. “Come.” Before you could get a word in, she's already heading inside.

—

Your eyes as usual roam around your surroundings, ever curious at what kind of person you're about to talk to. Her office is smaller compared to the Kiramman estate, but it doesn't lack personality. The work table in front of you is solid oak, papers and metal parts litter over it right next to a heavy looking arm with colourful doodles all over it. The walls are concrete, a honeycomb brown painted over it. The circular windows are fully open, overlooking the harbour below. It lets in a cool sea breeze while the sun has fully set in the horizon. The quiet hum of the lights and radiator tamps down any left over anxiety you have.

Right behind Sevika's chair lies an aquarium filled with colourful fish and rocks placed on the aquarium floor. It gurgles and lets out air from time to time, it's faint blue light bathing your form. The potted plants dotted along the room dance in the breeze, its rustling sound reminds you of the tree back home swaying in the wind.

From what you've heard about her, she seems like a woman of few words, someone who prefers to use her fist instead of talking. But based on what you've heard from her so far after talking to her for two hours, she seems far from what she used to be. You look at her and you see a council member, a pillar of Zaun. A lot can happen in three years.

Your eyes glance back towards the metal arm, its shark-like feature has you curious at how it even works. Index reaching towards it, chair creaking from under you, your curiosity makes you touch the cold metal, its pink and blue paint rough against the pad of your finger.

The door creaks open as Sevika enters, light flooding inside the room and you immediately flinch back into your seat. “You're sitting in the dark, kid.” She flicks the light switch beside her, warm yellow light flooding in.

You look over the backrest of the chair to see her properly and not a reflection of her on the aquarium glass. “I didn't know where the light switch was.” She didn't seem to notice what you were just doing.

“You could've asked.” Her heavy footsteps thump on the creaky floorboards.

“Don't worry, I'm not afraid of the dark—” the clang of a metallic plate placed in front of you makes you jump in your seat. You stare at her, wide-eyed.

She chuckles lowly, sitting down on her seat with a tired grunt. Gesturing towards a plate of salted biscuits, and small sandwiches, she meets with your eyes confidently. “Sorry for the lack of spread. I didn't expect for us to take this long.” She takes the same heavy arm from the table, grabbing a bottle and oiling the hinges with care.

“It's fine, thank you.” You grab a biscuit, all the while eyeing the craftsmanship of the metallic arm. Sevika notices your stare.

“What, never seen one of these before?”

“No, I've seen prosthetics before. It's just— this one is unique looking.” You say while chewing, finding the biscuit pleasantly salty. The sandwich looks enticing from where you're sitting.

She chuckles wryly. “A fancy way of saying it looks fucked up. I rarely use it these days, I use this one instead” she lifts up the simpler looking metal arm she currently has on. “I just like to…take care of it. Make sure it doesn't rust.”

You smile, “it means a lot to you, I get it.” Your thumb brushes along your beloved pen. “It looks well made, did you build it yourself?”

“It was a gift.” She hums in reply, now wiping a cloth around the arm. “Where were we?”

“We're at the part where I told you that we should rest.” You say with a teasing smile.

“We're done resting, kid.” She scoffs.

“And just like what I've told you before you took off, you don't need to rush it. We can take our time.”

“I want to get this over with.” Sevika leans on the table, eyes narrowed at you. “Where were we, kid?” She says with extra emphasis.

“Let's see…” You lean on the table yourself, mirroring her look but with a smug smirk while pretending to flip through the pages of your notebook. “We were at the part where your ass was being handed to you.”

If you talked to her like that three years ago, your ass would be the one being handed to you. But now, Sevika laughs loudly, moving away as she sits back on her chair.

She grabs a biscuit, using it to point at you before taking a bite. “You’ve got balls. You would've thrived here a few years ago, eh?”

“Maybe, we'll never know.” You shrug. “Now, are you sure you want to continue?”

“I've got a busy schedule, of fucking course I want to continue.”

“Okay, I just needed to make sure you're alright.”

Her eyes dart towards the arm, frowning briefly before looking back at you. She puts it down with a slight clang against the table. “I'm fine,” she sighs, and you nod in understanding, clicking your pen as you ready to scribble down her words. “After I got nabbed by one of those creepy puppets, there was just darkness with bits of light. Like a… like stars.” You write her exact words.

“You felt like you were floating, but were still restrained in real life.” You recall the same feeling the other people you've talked to relayed.

“Yeah, exactly that.” Her eyes swim with thoughts. “Then, I was back— just like that.” She snaps her fingers together.

“Like you woke up from a dream?”

She shuts her eyes close for a second before opening it again. “I heard the last echo of an explosion, when I looked up at the hex tower, it was already gone.” Taking another bite, she continues. “I guess that was Ekko’s work.”

There it is again, that recurring name. “I keep hearing about him.” Your pen subconsciously circles around his name.

“The boy savior, they call him.” She slumps down on her seat, evidence of her fatigue etched under her dark eyes. “And we still don't know how he fucking did it.”

You pinch your brows together in questioning. “You don't know either?”

“Fuck no, we might work together to help Zaunites, but he still hates my guts.” She blinks at you, lips pursing together. “Maybe you can get him to talk. I'm as curious as everyone else, we never know, the kid might have some secret weapon on him.”

“Who is he really? Violet says he's an old childhood friend. The others don't know much about him either, all I know is that he saved everyone at the last minute.”

“I think it's best that you ask him yourself, kid. Ain't that your job?”

You sigh, closing your notebook. “You're right, where is he usually?”

“Firelights hideout. It used to be a secret but they opened it to everyone who needed it after the war.” She crosses her leg over the other.

“Fireflies?”

“Firelights.” She corrects. “He's the leader, has been since the very beginning.” Her eyes go towards your closed notebook. “Hey, we're not done here yet, kid!”

You stand up, tilting your head at her teasingly. “I know, you told me to find Ekko so I'm going to go find him.”

“Well, not right now!”

You're already at the door. “I'll come back, don't worry! Y’know it's best to tell your story after some rest, it helps in better recollection.” You're not lying, she did seem tired. And you're in too deep to not go and find him now before the day officially ends.

She glares at you, mouth slightly agape. “I'm going to hit you.” She's starting to stand up when you sprint away.

“Thank you for the hospitality, councilor Sevika!”

—

Zaun is fully alive at night. The streets are filled with people laughing and hanging out with their loved ones. Which means there's plenty of people to ask where the firelights hideout is. Good thing that some of them were drunk enough to not ask you questions, the downside is that they're too drunk to give you coherent directions. So you're stuck in the middle of the undercity looking lost, but with the help of some people who haven't had a drink yet, you manage to find the entrance after an hour of walking around. All the while you try to ignore the looming presence following right behind you ever since you left Sevika's. Whoever it is, they don't seem to want to hurt you, so you pretend to not sense them until they decide to reveal themselves, or fight you. Whichever comes first.

Your feet ache and your stomach grumbles, but the sight of the huge gingko tree with its lively leaves swaying in the night wind makes it all worth it. A smile slowly spreads across your cheeks, the air is fresher down here, wind fluttering your lashes, sending goosebumps to spread across your arms.

The twinkling fairy lights make you chuckle to yourself, children run amok, giggling while their parents try to call them back home. The place is beautiful in its own way. You can see the large walls enclosed around the commune with circular vents dotted around it, a remnant of its past secrecy.

“You can come out now.” You say in a confident tone. Looking over your shoulder, you see his outline, the person who has been following your entire journey to the hideout. “I was lost and you didn't even bother helping me.”

“I heard you were looking for me.”

The mysterious man comes out of the shadow, the dark parting for him like theatre curtains.

Draped in a large puffy coat, steely brown eyes glaring at you through the white face paint. His whole demeanor screams ‘leader.’ White hair shining in the moonlight, twists tied in a bun while a few strands drape over his face. The blue metallic charms wrapped around his hair clinks together whenever he moves. The hoverboard hums in his hand, the faint green light illuminating his face as it flickers in and out. Adding to the intimidating air he's trying to convey.

You have to admit it, he looks strikingly handsome, albeit intimidating and tough. But you like tough, and intimidating is just another word for overawe, but you're not easily impressed. His daunting shell is an obstacle for you to crack open and take a peek inside. You're curious what his genius mind thinks, out of all the things they've all told you, nothing else has gotten you beyond excited than the man standing before you. His side is the final piece of the puzzle, the pièce de résistance you need.

You smile at him, a genuine one, not the same polite smile you give when you're interviewing someone. “It's nice to finally put a face to the name.” Hand reaching out to him in greeting, he just looks at your stretched hand, eyes darting all over your form suspiciously. You're suddenly conscious of your posture and how you wear your clothes.

“You're noxian.”

“What, too obvious?” You gesture around your crimson clad self. Outfit tailored to suit you and your profession.

His gaze narrows, eyes turning to slits as his mouth turns into a scowl. “Are you spying on us?”

“No,” you furrow your brows, hand retracting back to your side, the sound of your leather messenger bag thumps against your hand.

A tad disappointed. “didn't Sevika tell you about me? Or Vi?”

He flicks his aprehensive eyes from your head to your shoes, knuckles tightening around the hammer he carries. “Guess you weren't important enough.”

“I guess that's why you were following me, huh?” You say sarcastically. If I wasn't that important, why follow me? Is what you wanted to say, but you're playing it cool, lest you lose what precious time you have with him. You need to get his story.

He scoffs, hand still holding his weapon, resting it atop his shoulder. “You were asking too many questions. You could've been robbed or killed.” A breeze passes by between you, rustling the leaves above and slicing the tension.

“Well, you know what they say about curiosity and the cat.” His frown deepens, teeth grindingly frustrated. You sigh, swallowing down your sass. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.” You tell him your name as nicely as you can. You've come far from brawling with fellow noxians at the bar, if only your mentor could see you now. “I'm a noxian historian, Mel Medarda tasked me to record and write what happened here three years ago so that—” he's already walking away from you. “—hey!”

“Save me your sales pitch.” Ekko puts the board on his back and hooks the hammer on his belt in one fluid motion as he walks further into the commune.

“Sales—! I'm not trying to sell you anything.” You follow behind whilst people walk past you, all staring at the interaction you're having with their leader. The place is lively despite the moon gazing down upon them. The place smells faintly of freshly cut grass and mint. “I just want to talk to you.”

“We're talking now.” He says all without looking over his shoulder.

“Wait! Can you at least listen to what I have to say? Just give me a minute.” You try to follow even when he expertly dodges around people and buildings. He's trying to lose you in the hubbub of the hideout. “Ekko, please!” As you round a corner, you see him retreating up to the tree, hoverboard humming from under him as he dashes upwards. “Oh come on, man!”

He looks down at you with a faint smirk, brow raised as he watches you kick a lone can in frustration. Stepping down from his board, he enters his tree house, making sure that you hear the slam of his door.

“So you're not going to talk to me?!” You yell up, palms cupping the sides of your mouth. The firelights look at you with a mix of annoyance and confusion. “Ekko!”

“Go away!” His voice is carried by the wind, he doesn't even poke his head out of the window to talk to you clearly.

You stomp your foot on the dusty ground. “Fine! Thank you for talking to me!” You sarcastically say, almost sticking out your tongue out at him childishly. Sighing, you compose yourself, trying to smile and kindly wave at the passers by. “Hello, sorry.” Walking back to where you came from, you mutter a curse under your breath.

You can't exactly blame him for not talking, you are a stranger to him. If he doesn't want to speak to an old childhood friend and comrade then he definitely won't talk to you. Your tired feet carry you out, but the smell of something savoury takes you away. Looking towards the source, you see a small food stand nearby, its fire blazing and its fried food calling for you.

“Maybe just a bite.” You're already walking towards it with purpose, coin pouch already out of your pocket as you find your seat.

—

The moon rises high above you as you've finally eaten your fill and left the commune with less coins in your pocket, and your feet aching. At least you've talked and interviewed a few people along the way. The trip wasn't all wasted, but you can't help but feel like you're missing out on Ekko.

As you enter an alleyway leading out into Vander's statue, you hear footsteps echoing behind you.

“Did you change your mind—!?” A bullet whizzes by your head, dodging it at the last minute as it leaves a dark streak where it almost hit you right in between your eyes. “Hey!”

Three people come out of the shadow, they're all in different builds, one lanky and holding the pistol that's still smoking. While right next to him is all muscle, fists at the ready. The last person to show themselves is much younger, a smaller boy who couldn't be older than seventeen. His lips tremble slightly, but his eyes are determined as he raises a knife towards you.

“A tourist enters a dark alleyway only to be met by a gang of ruffians.” You click your tongue, “How cliché.” Taking off your messenger bag, and dropping it at your feet, you take your golden pen from your pocket. “My professor wouldn't give you a passing grade.”

“Shut it, girly!” The one with the gun shrieks, pulling the hammer down, ready to shoot again. “Give us the bag or I'll shoot you right between your eyes.”

You suck in your teeth, egging them on. “Nope, not a chance, I've got all my writing in there.”

“I'll count to ten then I'll send my men after you!”

You tilt your head, thumb brushing along the side of your pen. “What men? All I see is a brute who probably blocks with his face and the other looks like he's about to piss himself.” Hand raising in front of you, you point at them with the end of your pen. A familiar mechanical humming seems to get closer and closer towards the alley, you ignore the sound. “And one coward who can't even shoot for shit. I've seen better aim from talking goats—!”

“Shut up!” A shot rings out, the scene unfolds in slow motion. Muzzle flash and gunpowder flying about into the air as you twist and click your pen.

“Shit, look out!” Ekko's voice pierces the night air, but the sound of your pen clicking and whirring into place as it stretches silences the thudding in your heart.

His hand reaches for you, hovering above on his board as he desperately tries to get you away. Just as his fingers close around the collar of your coat, your gilded pen turns into a sharp rapier. The bullet collides with the tip of the sword, effectively slicing it down the middle and shattering it into pieces.

Metal shards bounces off, one scratching your cheek while sparks were flying about as Ekko couldn't stop his momentum. Eyes wide in shock, hand still holding onto you, he brings you down with him. The two of you slam against the side of the building in a harsh thump. Collapsing on each other, head hitting his own.

Your shoulder hits the brick wall, while Ekko slinks down right next to you, tumbling down on his hoverboard. “Ekko?!” You've come face to face with the boy savior himself. He heaves in place, hand still holding onto your back. “You idiot! I had it!”

“Me?! You're the one flaunting your money all over Zaun!”

You gasp, clutching your imaginary pearls. “Flaunting?! I—”

“Grab her!” Great, you've forgotten about the would-be thieves.

“Stay here!” Ekko tries to stand up but his board landed on his leg awkwardly, weighing him down. “Damn it.”

“No, you stay here!” Scrambling up, you poke at his chest, right in the middle of the bright pink ‘X’

“Get the sword! It looks like it's made of gold!” The shooter instructs, his idiot twosome striding quickly towards you.

“Oh you can take my fucking money but you can't take my fucking pen!” You ready your stance, one hand gripping the sword.

“Wait!” Ekko finally gets up, now able to push the heavy board out from above him. “Don't—!”

They rush towards you, instead of thrusting your sword into their intestines, you take the blunt approach by slapping them with the sides of the sword that isn't as sharp. The whipping sound rings in your ears, followed by their pained and shocked groans.

“Ow! What the—?!” The younger goon grasps at his reddening cheek, pain blooming where you slapped him with the rapier.

“Didn't your mother teach you manners?” With one side swipe, you keep landing harsh slaps all over the bigger goon. He yelps, touching where you just hit him. They can't even get close to you as you keep smacking them whenever they get near. Their hips, legs, cheek, and butt are no longer safe from your walloping.

Your grin is unmistakable, clearly having fun at…whatever it is you're doing.

Meanwhile, Ekko looks at you with a raised brow, mouth slightly agape at the ridiculousness happening in front of him. Completely gawking at the scene. They tried to kill you and take your things, so why are you playing with them like they're children? One even has a knife for fucks sake.

“Enough!” The shooter yells from the other side of the alleyway. His hand shakes whilst both of his henchmen sink down to their knees when you hit a particular spot in between their legs. “Stop playing around!”

Ekko steps right next to you, glaring at the man while his hand grabs his hammer from his belt. “What do you think you're doing, hm?” His jaw tightens, “I thought I finally got into that thick head of yours.” You can see why he's considered as the leader. He bears it well.

You pant in place, watching as the air around you turns parlous as Ekko stands his ground. You flick your eyes at the two men crawling by your feet, still incapacitated, skin turning into a red angry hue.

“Let us have this one, man!” He gestures wildly with his gun, despite the threat of it accidentally going off, you and Ekko don't even flinch. He notices, eyes glancing briefly at you. “She's noxian anyway!”

Your brows furrow in anger, hand tightening around the handle of your sword. The younger you would've lunged immediately, but you let Ekko handle his people, you can see that's what he's trying to silently convey to you based on how he's standing slightly in front of you. Ready to shield you if need be. Or ready to hold you back if you do decide to pounce.

“You've got a decent job all lined up, and a kid waiting for you back home.” His tone doesn't waver. “The three of you have people waiting back home and yet you decide to hit a noxian who knows how to fight!”

“I'll take that as a compliment.” You mutter under your breath, fixing your hold on your rapier.

He heard your mumbling, glaring at you for half a second before returning his attention back towards the trio. “Go home.”

“But—”

“Go before I sic this noxian on you.”

You fake a lunge at them, effectively making them run with their tails tucked in between their legs. As they scramble off, you smile at their retreating backs, leaving you and Ekko in the dust. Adrenaline still flows in your veins, bouncing on the balls of your feet from the rush of it all.

“You showed them— oof!” Your bag is suddenly shoved in your chest.

“Go. Home.” He points at you, finger poking at the leather of your bag.

“Hey! I'm not a zaunite so you can't tell me what to do.” You put your bag over your shoulder, hand still enclosed around the hilt of your sword, its golden sheen shining in the dim streetlights. “Come on, we make a pretty good team together, right?”

He kicks his hoverboard, and it whirrs into life, green light bouncing around the alleyway. “What were you doing?” Looking over his shoulder, he sees the cut on your cheek.

“What?” You scrunch your nose, still bouncing on your feet. Following his gaze, you touch at the ache blooming on your face, feeling the warm blood oozing out of it. “Oh, it's fine, just a cut.” He twists around to face you fully, arms crossed over his chest. You realize that you can use the time to question him. “What do you mean by your question exactly?”

He inhales, eyes flitting between your face and the sword. “You have a fancy sword and you don't even know how to use it.”

“Trust me, I know how to use it.” Lifting it up, you let the gold inlays glimmer in the light. Its swirling patterns catch his curious brown eyes. “I just— I promised myself a long time ago that I won't draw blood unless absolutely necessary.” Thumb tracing the button, you twist your hand and click it. The sword retracts back into a pen within a second. “Do you think I'll travel alone defenseless?” He narrows his eyes further, slowly calming down. “The question is, what are you doing here, Ekko? Were you worried about little ol' me?” Your eyes shine with mischief.

“You're never letting this whole interview thing go, huh?” He jumps backwards onto his hoverboard, arms still crossed on his chest. His brown eyes swim with something you can't decipher.

“As much as I want to respect your decision, I need your side of history. You're the missing piece, Ekko.” You shrug, smiling. “And unfortunately I can't leave without that missing piece.”

His lips purse into frustration, eyes darting along the wall sitting behind you. “Damn it.” Without another word, he flies off into the night, leaving streaks of green in his wake.

“Wait!” Your eyes follow him but you remain in place. “Why does he keep doing that?” Chuckling, you look at what he was staring at, finding the same blue haired girl painted on the walls. “If only you could talk, my job would be way easier.”

—

“Tell her to leave Zaun alone.” Ekko's commanding voice rises above the Kiramman office. His fists thump against the desk, sending papers and pens to topple over.

Caitlyn sighs in her chair while Vi settles to lean against the bookshelf behind Cait. Sevika pinches the bridge of her nose, standing near the windows as her previous words were ignored by Ekko.

“We can't just bar her from Zaun, Ekko.” Caitlyn answers back. “She has a job to do, a job that the council would want her to finish.”

“What for?” He huffs, “it already happened, people died, we almost lost but we didn't, end of story.”

“Because of your help, Ekko.” Vi finally speaks after what felt like hours of back and forth. “Which, none of us knows what you did to win it for all of us. She needs the whole story so that it works. So that people know what the arcane is capable of, so that it doesn't happen again.”

“I did it for Zaun.”

“I talked to her,” Sevika says from her spot. “If I could do that, kid, then you can.”

“You can't force me.” Ekko straightens up.

“We're not—” Caitlyn starts.

“Ekko,” Vi inhales sharply, hand playing with a metallic trinket shaped like a monkey, its surface singed, paint chipping away. “This could bring peace. We all know what's stirring in Noxus, if shit hits the fan again— I…I can't do that again.”

Ekko can't get his eyes off of Vi’s hands wrapped around the seemingly odd thing.

“We can ally with the other nations if need be.” Caitlyn grasps Vi’s hand briefly before rubbing her temples, “what happened here was a warning.” Her voice wavers. “If we can warn the people of Runeterra with it, we could save millions of lives.”

“Are you sure you can talk about this with her here?” Ekko gestures towards you sitting quietly in your chair.

You blink, pausing from blowing at your steaming cup of tea. “Is it rude to blow at your tea?”

“She signed a confidentiality agreement. You can always retract statements so she doesn't write it down. She just needs to write what happened, nothing else.”

“You'll be nice to Ekko, right, Spark?” Vi gently smiles at you.

“As long as the boy savior here is nice to me.”

Ekko groans, surrendering. “Let's get this over with.”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Please consider reblogging if you liked it! Please tell me what you think ❤️

[bloodbruise]

@jegulus-microfic | april 26: aimless | 1,276 words | trans! regulus

james does regulus' tape binding aftercare <3

James lingers in the doorway, quietly observing Regulus in their softly lit bathroom.

He's perched on the ledge of the bathtub, seemingly lost in thought, his head bowed and fingers idle and aimless where they trace the rim of it. He's shirtless, clad in only boxers and socks. His bare thighs press against the cool porcelain, causing goosebumps to rise there. Soft, late evening light leaks from the window, casting gentle shadows against his frame. 

Outside, the rhythmic passing of cars punctuates the stillness, their headlights casting golden beams that dance across the wet asphalt. The nearby stoplight's red glow mingles with them, creating a surreal mix of colors on the shimmering pavement.

There's a soft rustle of movement as James enters the room behind Regulus, moving to the sink. He sifts through the contents of their vanity, hands passing over their shared face wash and the cup holding their toothbrushes to retrieve the items needed for Regulus' tape aftercare. Deft hands gather oil, washcloths, cotton swabs, and salve before placing them on the bathtub ledge. He approaches Regulus with a tenderness reserved only for moments like these, for him. 

"Ready, love?" James' voice breaks the silence with a mellow murmur. He settles his weight behind him. 

Regulus turns his head, giving a small nod against his own shoulder. "Yeah," he says, voice crackling from disuse. 

James leans in to press a kiss between Regulus' shoulder blades. He lingers there for a moment. This close, he can see the faint dusting of freckles that mark his back. They're spattered across the skin like spray from a wave on sand. Speckles in shades of russet, sepia, and chocolate dance across his pale skin, shifting as Regulus shivers lightly. As James' lips leave his back, the muscles beneath those pretty dots tremble.

James reaches for the oil, uncaps it, and warms it between his hands. He presses both his palms to Regulus, carefully smoothing the oil over the edges of the tape. His touch follows the span of the tape from Regulus' back, under his arms, to the front of his chest. His movements are slow and practiced, designed as much to reassure as to treat. The oil glistens slightly on Regulus' skin, catching the dim light as it begins to soften the adhesive.

As they wait for the tape to loosen, a comfortable silence settles over them, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the city and their own quiet breathing. James doesn't stop his ministrations; his fingers continue to trace gentle paths along Regulus' shoulders, the back of his neck, following the delicate contours of his shoulder blades. These moments are so special to him; he wants Regulus to feel loved through his actions, to experience the same palpable surge of affection with each pass of his hands that James feels. There is so much trust that Reg offers him in these moments—it's intimate. James is the only person Regulus allows to see the most vulnerable parts of himself, and that knowledge alone makes James' heart swell with fondness and love. He has never loved someone as he does Regulus.

Regulus, Regulus, Regulus. 

Sometimes, James thinks Regulus was crafted specifically for him; as if the cosmos themselves conspired to mold him to perfectly complement the contours of James' own body, his own soul. Looking back, it's almost silly to him now—he thought he knew what love was like before him. His heart was already overflowing with it for Sirius, his mum, his dad, his friends. He's always had big emotions, brimming with affection and fierce protectiveness for the people around him. He's always cared deeply and felt profoundly, but nothing could have prepared him for the depth of feeling that Regulus brought into his life.

James knows nothing, nobody else could ever make him feel like this.

He settles his hands on the edges of the tape on Regulus' left side. "Gonna take it off now, okay?"

"Yeah, okay James. Go ahead"

James pulls at the tape gently, easing it from the skin. He's careful not to pull too hard or move too fast, patient as he works. He grabs Regulus' bicep, thumb pressing into the underside, fingers curling over. "Lift your arm up, Reg," he instructs softly.

Regulus raises his arm, holding it aloft as James' hand moves back down to steady the skin being separated from the tape. He can't resist pausing to press a kiss to the underside of his bicep before continuing to peel off the tape there. When he encounters a tough spot, where the tape still clings to his skin, James reaches for more oil. He warms it between his fingers once again before lightly holding the piece back, rubbing it into the seam between Regulus' skin and the tape until it loosens enough for him to continue. He carefully removes the first piece, then works at a second, a third, before repeating the process on Regulus' right side.

There's still a faint trace of leftover adhesive where the edges of the tape once were. So, James takes a cotton swab, dips it in oil, and meticulously traces the outlines left by the pieces. He moves slowly, with deliberate delicacy, mindful of the soreness of his skin.

Once he's satisfied, James fetches the washcloth. He soaks it in warm, soapy water and carefully cleans the area, wiping away excess oil and any lingering traces of the day. Then he reaches for the salve—the last physical part of their routine, though James knows the comfort it brings goes beyond just the skin. Two of his fingers dip into the container, scooping up the soothing balm. James is so careful with him, his fingers so gentle as they spread the salve, taking extra care with the tender skin under his arms and over his ribs. He traces the rungs of them, then the dip of his chest, making sure no skin is left uncared for.

James then grabs what's technically his own shirt—a worn, soft thing that Regulus has claimed as his own, his favorite pajama top—from the ledge of the sink. He helps Regulus slip it over his head, taking advantage of every second he allows him to be so close, to take care of him.

"Feeling okay?" James asks once Regulus is settled.

He trails his hand at the hem of his shirt, slipping it underneath to rest gently on his stomach, careful not to brush the newly cared-for skin or his chest. 

Regulus hums an affirmative, "mhmm." Eyes closing and head tipping back as he nods.

"I'm not just asking about your skin, love," James whispers. It's tough for Regulus sometimes, taking the tape off, sitting with his chest. It's a necessity though, for his well-being, despite the discomfort it brings. And James always does everything within his power to make it easier for him. He knows he can't fix everything, but he'd be damned if he didn't at least try to.

Regulus reaches back, his palm sliding from James' elbow to his hand beneath his shirt, their fingers intertwining at his stomach. Their faces are so close that Regulus' cheek drags against James' as he turns his head, planting a soft kiss on James' cheek. "I do, I feel okay. I promise," he murmurs, giving James a warm smile.

Leaning back into James' frame, Regulus lets his weight settle comfortably against him. "You make it easier," he breathes out, words floating into the space between them. Another kiss, "Thank you. I love you."

James holds him a moment, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, heart swelling just a little bit more. "I love you too."

[luvmahae]

masterlist — previous— next!

neotopia, here we come!

the evening air is crisp, and the night sky is lined up with stars as you and your housemates make your way towards campus. you can hear the music growing louder with each step—laughter, music, the steady beat of anticipation.

neotopia is one of those annual events at ncu that everyone looks forward to. it's the one day in the middle of the fall semester when the campus comes alive with music, lights, and surprises. 

for you, this event holds a special place in your heart because it’s where you met your best friends.

the streets are lined up with students, all heading in the same direction, buzzing with excitement about the surprise headliner: calvin harris.

“honestly… how did ncu manage to get him to play at neotopia?” chenle mutters, his voice laced with disbelief as he glances at the massive crowds heading towards campus. 

ningning shrugs, a mischievous grin on her face as she walks with a little extra pep in her step. "the school probably offered him a shitton of money," she casually remarks, her gaze fixed forward.

“i mean it’s not every day you get to bring in someone like him.”

the vibe is lighthearted, carefree, and infectious as your group walks together with different-flavored seltzers and beer in hand. your shoes tap against the pavement, the subtle breeze hitting your arms as you take another sip from your beer can. 

everyone in the group is buzzing with excitement, both the pregame drinks and the beer giving you the right amount of warmth. you can tell that renjun, karina, and ningning are already hyped, while chenle’s wide grin makes it clear he’s ready to have fun tonight.

you all toss your empty cans into a nearby trash can with a few playful cheers, making sure to dispose of them before heading toward the entrance.

as you walk, the sudden vibration from the back pocket of your jeans pulls you out of the lively chatter around you. you reach for your phone, unlocking it with quick fingers, and your heart skips a beat when you see a text from haechan.

haechan: i’ll see u later ;)

… seriously? with a frustrated exhale, you slip the phone back into your pocket, trying to push away the knot in your stomach. 

when you reach the edge of campus, the sound of the music becomes a wave crashing around you. the many students at ncu are already gathered, many of them laughing and waving to friends across the field.

oh, how you missed this place. 

“there they are!” renjun points toward the boys standing near the entrance, and you can’t help but smile as you spot them in the sea of people.

you wave excitedly, pushing through the crowd with him, the buzz of the festival growing louder as you approach them. mark spots you first and grins, offering you a fist bump as soon as you reach him. 

“you made it!”

“of course we did,” chenle responds with a smug smirk, stepping forward. “neotopia wouldn’t be the same without us.”

the group laughs, and for a moment, everything feels perfect. the crowd, the music, the laughter—it all fades away as you settle into the rhythm of the night surrounded by friends.

still, your mind drifts back to the unanswered text from haechan. 

i never texted him back.

you quickly grab your phone, fingers moving as you type out a simple, “wya???” before hitting send.

you glance at the screen, but no new messages have come in. you push the thought away and turn your focus back to the group. the fun is already starting, and you can’t let yourself get bogged down by him. not today! nope!

karina scrolls through her phone, she suddenly nudges you, a glint of amusement in her eyes. 

"hey, check this out.”

you glance at it and see a post from julie, one of the pledges from yeri’s sorority, delta pi gamma. 

neotopia hits different! 📸 @haechnlee

your gaze shifts down to haechan’s reply beneath the tweet. your breath catches in your throat as you read the exchange.

the whole thing stirs something in your chest, a combination of confusion and something sharper you can’t name.

karina watches you closely, the light from the phone casting shadows on her face. she must sense the shift in your mood because her voice softens, the teasing edge gone.

“you good?”

“yeah… just thinking.”

she doesn’t press any further, but you can tell she’s still paying attention. with a gentle nudge, she starts pulling you into the crowd, where the music is louder and the night feels alive. but as the lights flash and the energy swells around you, that knot in your stomach doesn’t seem to fade.

hours pass, and the energy only grows stronger. the music pulses, the lights flash, and everyone dances together, the beat running through your body like a second heartbeat. you throw yourself into the music, the rhythm helping you forget the constant ache that’s been growing inside you since you saw that post. 

for a while, it works. you’re lost in the moment, surrounded by your friends and the guys, laughing and dancing.

but then you glance to your right, and you freeze.

haechan is there. 

he’s laughing, talking to julie, completely absorbed in her company. she’s looking at him like she’s the only one in the world, and he’s doing the same. the way they’re interacting, the way he’s leaning toward her, makes your heart drop. 

it’s a simple, innocent thing—a conversation, nothing more—but the way your stomach twists, the ache in your chest, is anything but simple.

you can’t seem to look away, even though you know you should. it’s hard to ignore how natural he looks with her, how comfortable he is. you feel… what? jealous? hurt? confused?

and right next to him, jaemin is surrounded by a group of girls, all of them fawning over him, their attention completely on him.

you feel foolish for just standing there. you should be focused on the festival, on the music, on the friends who are right there with you, but all you can think about is haechan, laughing with julie. 

the night blurs into a dizzying haze of flashing lights and pounding bass. you try to dance, to laugh, to focus on the fun, but it’s like something is lodged in your chest, making every movement feel a little too heavy. 

the ache doesn’t go away. it stays, hanging over you like a shadow.

“i’ll be right back.”

eventually, you can’t take it anymore. 

you slip away from the crowd, your steps are mechanical as you move toward the edge of the field. 

you need space. a moment alone, far enough from the chaos.

♪ if i told you, that this couldn't get better baby and your heartbeat, it lets me know you feel the same

the crowd and the noise fade as you step into the quiet, the isolation settling over you like a blanket.

but then you hear it.

“hey.”

you freeze. you turn, and there he is. 

haechan. 

standing a few feet away, that smirk of his already in place, as if he hasn’t just made you feel like a complete fool. 

“there you are. i told you i’d see you later—”

you swallow hard, your throat tight. you want to ask him why he didn’t reply, why was he with julie, why does he keep doing this to you.

instead, you force yourself to take a deep breath and meet his gaze. 

“goodnight, haechan.”

you don’t wait for his response. you turn on your heel and walk away, pushing through the crowd, the noise of the festival fading as you move further away. 

you can hear that one specific song cutting through the air, the lyrics echoing in your mind like a cruel reminder.

♪ i'll be thinking about you

wc: 1.3k!

notes: it just had to be done besties... 😢 crying... anyways i know there is like a 1% calvin harris will perform at ur school but lets just imagine... pls listen to thinking about you while u read this!!

taglist: @4amirwin @wonbin-truther @hearts4hee @jungaji @sundamariis @urlovelily @n0hyuck @dudekiss3r @injunnie-lemon @luvvhaechan @douqhnxtss @tynlvr @jaehyunando @haesluvr @hcluvie @pinknjm @nanaxwi @catpjimin @slayhaechan @awktwurtle @myfavoritedelusion @stqrgr7 @t-102 @jianreadsaus @haechanhues @gomdoleemyson @hyuckmoon @haechology @mystverse @hyuckies18 @sunflowerbebe07 @jae-n0 @onlyforyoukook @yizhrt @gwookie @zzzmrk @kukkurookkoo @nightcat101 @tinyelfperson @haefelt @haechsworld @tenjyucat @worldwidecutiemaya @sunghoonsgfreal @snoopyjimin @ypoom151999 @meowtella @honeynanamin @haechanmybaechan @nctrawberries

[eris-snow]

𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮 𝐈𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭

Tags: bakugou x gn!reader, todoroki shennigans, fluff, sweet, funny, humour, swearing

Todoroki conducts a highly scientific experiment and has come to prove that his highly scientific hypothesis is indeed correct.

Bakugou's going soft. Prove me wrong.

I mean, if you look at it with blinders, it's hard to see where he's coming from, but Todoroki can assure you that this is not just a theory anymore.

Can science explain how Bakugou's features simply melt when you kiss him? Can math explain how unexplainable his actions are towards you without the expression called love?

Shoto doesn't think the universe can explain a soft Bakugou. And that's why he's here to explain it for you-

"Todoroki, was it necessary to draw the blinds-."

"Yes."

Bakugou loves you to bits. Whether it's buying your favourite food back or loving little gestures, whether it's prioritising your safety even when on the battlefield...Bakugou's rough edges are slowly but sure smoothening out.

Not for everyone, of course, as Shoto has deduced. He still gets on the blond's bad sides and for some reason, he refuses to be called bestie, but hey, at least there's no punch to the face anymore.

Bakugou makes sure to walk on the outer side of the pavement. He makes sure to kiss you good night and whenever it's raining, he holds the umbrella for you so you can walk hands-free.

When you're sick, he goes all cabin fever and cooks for you. He checks your temperature and if you're feeling up to it, he'll explain the homework to you and show you your next few assignments.

He calls you Sunshine, which is so soft and nice compared to his other nicknames such as:

"ICYHOT, DID YOU MIX MY SHIRT WITH YOURS? MY SHIRT IS PINK NOW YOU HALF-BRAINED, TWO-QUIRKED PEPPERMINT BITCH-"

(Oh shit-)

There are stars in his eyes whenever he looks at you, and Shoto bets his father's black card that your boyfriend is already saving up for a ring, one as special and unique as you because you do way too much for the lovesick idiot.

You apologise for him.

You put up with him. (Mad respect.)

Everyone acts like being with Bakugou is such a dream, but being his partner is not easy.

Flaws that take time to be corrected are the separation marks for most couples, and the fact that you stayed by his side to build him up from his fucked-up asshole self takes more mental strength than any superficial fan could imagine.

Is Bakugou going soft? Absolutely.

"That brings me to the end of my presentation." Shoto bows, facing his class.

There are way too many crinkles on Aizawa's forehead. "The presentation was supposed to be on the latest news in the Hero community." His teacher says flatly. "Not another collection to your conspiracy theory folder."

Shoto is about to respond, before Bakugou speaks up first.

"YOU THINK I'M GOING SOFT—?"

[jenosbliss]

🌷 ⌇ nct dream ! and small acts of love

pairing. gn!reader x nctdream | genre. fluff | wc. 1.4k | warning. none

MARK. leaving small notes

Everyday you find post-it’s all around the place with small notes like ‘I love you’ ‘You are amazing!’ ‘My pretty y/n’ ‘Smile :)’ ‘<3’ ‘Eat your meals on time’ ‘You did great today’ ‘I miss you’ ‘dude, you’re the best’

It’s not a mystery as to who left them inside your book, on the mirror, inside your closet, on the back of your phone, in your bag and all around the house because only one person can do this and that’s Mark Lee.

There are times when he leaves before you wake up and comes back after you have already fallen asleep. There are days when both of you could only talk through texts and days when you can’t talk at all due to busy schedules. At such times it pains him to see you still waiting for him, wanting to talk to him, understanding him, caring for him.

Hence, he decided to leave these small notes around the house and on your things which will give you a feeling of him always being with you. With these small one-liner sentences he tries to express all his love for you but these small notes can’t do justice to his love for you that’s why there is always a note reading “I’ll be back soon!” when you return back home.

RENJUN. giving unexpected gifts

Whenever he goes out there’s always something that reminds him of you, maybe a small rock which looked different from others lying covered in sand at the sea or a wildflower growing on the side of pavement, he brings it for you.

Renjun’s gifts range from expensive perfume to roadside flowers but one thing they have in common is that they’re always unexpected. You have always asked him not to give you so many gifts but he just can’t help himself from doing that. How can he stop himself from not buying the bouquet of your favourite flowers or your favourite ice cream when he happens to cross by those shops?

Some days he surprises you with the paintings or sketches he made for you and his chest fills with happiness and pride as he watches you cherish them. He just loves you so much that for him giving these unexpected gifts has become a portrayal of his love towards you.

With this he feels that he can make you feel special, cherished and loved. He thinks words can never express how much he loves you. That's why giving you gifts is his small act of love for you.

JENO. giving a massage

Jeno is someone who believes that ‘I love you’ isn’t the only expression for confessing his undying love for you and there are a number of ways he can show you how much he loves which includes writing songs about you to making breakfast for you on some days.

But the thing he always does is massaging your back and feet after a long, stressful, exhausting week or day at work. He skilfully massages your soft skin while you ramble about all the extra work your boss is putting you through this week or how stressed you are about the new project.

He listens to everything you say carefully while working his hands on your back magically which makes you relaxed and forget about the tiring days as you fall asleep peacefully.

Jeno never misses to put his thoughts on your struggles at work and comforting you by telling that you always have him, that he’s your constant of love and happiness. These little massage sessions end with you falling asleep and him peppering kisses on your face and pulling you close before falling asleep himself.

HAECHAN. initiating skinship

Everyone knows that Haechan loves skinship and gets clingy to the person he adores dearly. And you’re no exception to that. Not only is his love language physical touch but it is also one of his ways of showing love to you.

At this point in your relationship you are immune to him suddenly popping out of nowhere, holding your face in between his palms, peppering your face with sweet kisses and then getting busy with his own work.

If you’re out on a day, he won’t let go of your hand. If you are sleeping he has to have his leg thrown over you and face buried in your neck. If you’re cooking he’ll be having his arms wrapped around your waist, leaving butterfly kisses on your neck and just listening to you talk about your day or talking about his day.

This is his small act of love for you which might be very random or common to anyone else but for him it’s a way of telling that he’s always there for you, keeping you close to him makes him feel warm and he tries to make you feel safe with him. His kisses and touches are always soft and a subtle way of him saying that he’ll always protect you.

JAEMIN. cooking your favourite meals

Jaemin loves you and is never shy away in telling you that either verbally or physically, if he can, he will confess how much he loves you every minute of the day but that seems quite impossible right?

Therefore he sought another way to tell you that and that is by cooking for you, your favourite dishes every once in a while. There are numerous days when you wake up to the sweet smell of pancakes being prepared by him.

Or coming back home to the dinner table full of delicacies prepared by him. On holidays he doesn’t even let you wander around the kitchen forget about helping him, saying it’s your rest day. He prepares all your favourite dishes and the look of content on your face is his biggest compliment ever.

If Jaemin can he’ll cook for you everyday just to be able to see you smile and be relaxed, it’s his way of saying that no matter what happens you will always be greeted by his love and affection when you come back to him, he’ll always be here waiting for you and that he loves you.

CHENLE. braiding your hair

If he’s captivated with anything apart from watching Stephen Curry play it’ll be your hair. Boy just can’t get enough of them, if you’re near him he has to have his fingers run through your dark locks every moment.

One of his favourite activities with you, when you both are together and doing absolutely nothing is braiding your hair. He seats himself on the couch or corner of the bed with you down on the floor trapped between his legs while he softly braids your hair in various hairstyles he has saved all over the week.

Chenle spends hours sitting there leisurely braiding your hair while chatting with you about everything and nothing. Sometimes you sit there reading a book to him or maybe playing games or petting daegal.

Often in between you whine about him taking so much time and he pulls at a few strands lightly to tease you, his giggles filling the room. After putting on a cute hair clip or a bow —mind you he buys you a lot of hair accessories— he finishes and clicks a ton of pictures of his creation, not forgetting to compliment you on how beautiful you look every time.

JISUNG. creating playlists

The first time Jisung sent you a playlist he was shaking due to nervousness. What if you don’t like the playlist ? What if these songs aren’t of your liking? What if you think he’s a creep? And many more questions like these clouded his mind until you texted back about how much liked his taste in music.

From then on it’s almost like a routine for him to make playlists especially for you, share songs which remind him of you, or songs which he loves. His members call him cheesy for doing this but paying no attention to them he sometimes spends hours on creating playlists for you.

If you feel overwhelmed by work or studies he sends a playlist for you to calm down, if he’s away from you he’ll send a playlist full of love songs which makes you feel as if he is next to you. Boy is so helplessly in love with you that he often confesses his feelings through playlists sometimes with songs and sometimes with the titles of them.

He has never been good with words and whenever he says ‘I love you’ he gets so shy that his face burns like a tomato and then he often finds himself regretting that. But sending you playlists like this seems much more comfortable and meaningful to him.

masterlist.

a/n. hii, thank you for interacting with my work <3! this is my first fanfic on Tumblr and I hope you liked it. I’ll really appreciate comments, messages or even requests! Tysm for reading 🩵 looking forward to making friends here

[mariacallous]

Picture this, if you will: hundreds of grey-haired grannies ganging up to face down a group of neo-Nazi skinheads. Some of the skinheads have beer bottles in their hands. The grannies are armed with nothing more than umbrellas and hand-knitted woolly hats. It sounds like a corny sketch for a TV comedy show. But no. It’s election time in Germany’s eastern Länder (federal regions), and the grannies are out on the streets.

There’s no Granny Party. The movement, called in German Omas gegen Rechts (Grannies against the right), has grown into a national and international force since it was founded in 2017 by an Austrian psychotherapist and evangelical priest, Monika Salzer.

It is widely assumed here that apathy and low voter turnout will result in a far-right victory. But election posters showing a cartoon granny with a rainbow flag carry a simple message: “Granny says – go out and vote!” Apart from the rainbow, a symbol of tolerance, sexual liberation and diversity, there is no instruction on how to vote.

In between elections, the Grannies are busy knitting and babysitting. But they also raise funds, for example by baking and selling cakes, to finance the poster campaign and a set of beer mats that make up a pub quiz.

In Leipzig, my new home town, the Grannies have raised enough money to install three new Stumblestones (Stolpersteine). These are little brass plaques inscribed with the names of people whom the Nazis deported and murdered in the 1930s and 40s. The new plaques commemorate the Wesly family – Hermann, a Jewish publisher of music and books, his wife, Berta, and their daughter, Margot. Berta and Hermann were taken to Auschwitz and murdered in the gas chambers. Margot escaped to England – but the British authorities put her in a concentration camp too, as an enemy alien.

A violin and an accordion were played during the installation of the little plaques where the Weslys’ house once stood. The stonemason’s hammer punctuated the music with a slow beat. Then Granny Gisela read out a short account of how the family was persecuted and how we must never forget. Many spectators were in tears. The memorial is on the doorstep of the new building that now stands on the site – a kindergarten. Its head teacher joined the ceremony and promised to find a way of explaining the story to the kids “without scaring them too much”. I remarked that it was a very special moment. Granny Sylvia put me right.

“Sadly, it’s not so special. This brings the number of Stolpersteine in Leipzig to almost 800. There is one on almost every street,” she said, before inviting us all to join her for coffee and cake.

Later she shared a link to the Stolpersteine app in the Google Play store (also on Apple). It’s true – there are hundreds of Stumblestones. Many are not for Jewish victims, but for brave souls like William Zipperer who tried to stop the Nazis and save their neighbours. He was executed in January 1945 for plotting against the state. 

As a mark of respect, the Grannies regularly go out to polish the small memorials set into the pavements, to light candles and lay flowers.

There is another side to the movement. They are part of the Antifa, Germany’s radical ultra-left. Not quite as radical as Lina Engel, the antifascist activist who is serving jail time in Dresden for plotting physical attacks on neo-Nazi pubs and meetings. Nor have any Grannies been caught setting fire to building sites where executive homes are replacing the old affordable blocks of flats – a typical Antifa action. 

They upload videos to TikTok. And they are taking their campaign out of the city and into villages and suburbs where right wing parties recruit people who feel neglected or “left behind” by the Berlin government.

“Solidarity without borders instead of right wing propaganda,” says the Radical Grannies’ poster, urging supporters to join them in a mass demonstration. These are Grannies who don’t knit. 

[cailinsblog]

Can you please write more Husband Nathan Mackinnon, please? I love the first one ! 😍

Omg yesss😻😻 I love people that give me requests and I love Nathan Mackinnon thank you for the request much appreciated💕💕💕

Golfing with the Mackinnons-Nathan Mackinnon

Nathan Mackinnon x reader

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon in Denver, and Nathan MacKinnon was excited for a rare day off. The Colorado Avalanche had just wrapped up a string of games, and he was looking forward to spending the day with his wife, Y/N. She had suggested a round of golf, and Nathan—though not much of a golfer—had agreed enthusiastically, more for the chance to spend quality time with her than for the sport itself.

Y/N, on the other hand, had grown up playing golf and was a natural on the green. She was looking forward to showing Nathan a thing or two about the game. Of course, the couple had been married for a couple of years, and they both loved teasing each other, especially on days like this. They had planned to keep the mood light and fun, no matter how competitive Nathan might get.

As they arrived at the golf course, Nathan couldn’t help but look over at Y/N, his heart skipping a beat. She looked absolutely stunning in a simple yet stylish white skirt that flowed gracefully as she walked, paired with a fitted polo that showed off her athletic build. Her golf shoes clicked on the pavement as she made her way to the course, and Nathan couldn't help but feel a little bit proud—his beautiful wife was about to show him up on the golf course. He adjusted his cap, making sure his own attire was just as on point. He’d donned the classic golfer look: a collared shirt, khaki shorts, and sneakers.

As they approached the first hole, they both grabbed their golf bags, which were marked with “MacKinnon” on the sides in bold letters—each of them with their personalized clubs. Y/N looked at Nathan with a playful smile as she swung her bag over her shoulder. “Ready to lose, MacKinnon?” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Nathan smirked, holding up his own bag confidently. “We’ll see who’s really losing by the end of the day,” he replied. “Don’t forget, I’m competitive.”

“Oh, I know,” Y/N said with a wink, “but I’ve got years of experience on you.”

They both chuckled as they made their way to the first tee. Nathan went first, setting up his shot with precision, but it wasn’t as clean as he hoped—his ball veered slightly to the left and ended up in the rough. Y/N raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest with a grin.

“Not your best shot, Mr. MacKinnon,” she teased.

Nathan shot her a look, clearly not pleased with the result, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “Hey, it’s only the first hole,” he said, shaking his head. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Mrs. MacKinnon.”

Y/N set up for her shot with a perfect stance, her form graceful and poised. With one smooth swing, the ball sailed down the fairway, landing right in the middle. Nathan stood there, pretending to be unimpressed, but his grin betrayed him. “Nice shot,” he admitted. “But don’t get too cocky.”

She laughed, turning back to him with a wink. “It’s just the beginning, Nate.”

They spent the next few holes teasing each other as they went. Nathan would challenge Y/N to a bet on who could drive further, and when she inevitably won, he would grumble good-naturedly. Y/N, for her part, had a knack for playful banter, always throwing in a compliment to keep things light, though she’d sneak in a comment here and there about how Nathan's competitive side was starting to show.

But it wasn’t just the golfing that made the day special—it was the moments between shots, the small laughs and the little jabs they exchanged. The couple had always enjoyed their time together, and days like these reminded them why they loved each other so much.

As they reached the golf cart after a few holes, they both paused for a moment, eyeing each other. They both knew what was coming—the battle for who would drive the cart.

“Alright, it’s my turn to drive,” Y/N said, already reaching for the keys.

Nathan quickly stepped in front of her, blocking her path with a grin. “Oh no, no, no. I’m driving this cart, Y/N. You’ve had enough driving for the day.”

“Excuse me?” Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed with Nathan’s claim. “You know I’m a better driver than you.”

“That’s debatable,” Nathan said, crossing his arms and leaning against the cart. “Besides, I’ll drive. You can just enjoy the ride.”

Y/N smirked, pretending to be offended. “Oh, really? Because I seem to remember you almost crashing the cart last time we went out.”

Nathan chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “That was one time! And I was distracted by your terrible golfing skills.”

Y/N laughed, pushing past him to open the golf cart door. “That’s funny, because I think you’re just trying to avoid losing the battle of the drivers, Mr. MacKinnon.”

“You’re on,” Nathan said, finally stepping aside, a playful grin on his face. “But only because you’ve got me in this competition.”

She settled into the driver’s seat with a proud look, starting the engine. “Thank you, kind sir,” Y/N said, giving him an exaggerated curtsy as she grabbed the steering wheel. “Now let’s see if you can keep up with me.”

Nathan jumped into the passenger seat, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I love you,” he teased as they started rolling down the path.

“I know,” Y/N said with a smile, glancing over at him. “You’re a lucky guy.”

The golf cart ride was full of laughter and playful teasing as they made their way to the next hole. Nathan pretended to complain about Y/N’s “reckless” driving, but the truth was, he loved every second of it. They argued over the silliest things—who hit the better shot, who was the better driver, who had the better golfing outfit—but deep down, it was just an excuse to spend time together and enjoy the little moments.

By the end of the round, Nathan had definitely won the majority of holes, but Y/N had kept him on his toes, challenging him at every turn. As they wrapped up their last hole, they made their way back to the clubhouse, both of them feeling a little bit more relaxed than when they’d started.

“You know,” Nathan said, his arm around Y/N as they walked toward the exit, “you might’ve lost today... but I’d still say you’re the better golfer.”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, nudging him with her elbow. “I don’t know about that. I think I just let you win.”

“Sure, sure,” Nathan said, his grin widening. “I’ll let you think that.”

They walked hand-in-hand back to the car, both of them feeling happy, content, and already planning their next round of golf together.

“Next time, I’m definitely driving the cart,” Y/N said as they got in.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll let you,” Nathan teased back, chuckling as he started the engine. “But only because you’re my wife.”

Y/N smiled, resting her head on his shoulder as they drove off. “Best day ever.”

And for Nathan, it certainly was. No matter how competitive the game, he knew that the best part was simply being with Y/N.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

✶ Pendulum ✶

✶ Pairing: model!hyunjin x model!chubby!fem!reader

✶ Genre: fluff, angst, smut

✶ Summary: You visit Hyunjin on the night of his big art exhibit intent on closing this chapter of your life but he's not willing to let go that easily.

✶ Word Count: 1.2k-ish

✶ Warnings: Hyunjin's a lil bit possessive, fingering, nibbling, marking, and that's about it my loves

✶ A/N: This is part two of a Hyunjin/Minho love triangle fic that has come to emotionally wreck me but I love it and fingers crossed you will too! 🖤 part three is here 🖤

It’s been three weeks since Paris Fashion Week. Three weeks since you fell in love with Minho. Three weeks of falling asleep on FaceTime and sneaking little moments in with each other between your busy schedules. There was no way to anticipate that you’d come to mean this much to each other, your feelings deepening as the days go on.

Saying yes to that date with Minho opened the door to a new way of being cherished that only he can offer. But there remains a thread tied to the corner of your heart, tugging you back to your past. If you’re to step through the door that lies before you, you must first shut the one that lies behind...

And that’s what brings you here...

to an upscale art gallery a half hour before Hyunjin’s first exhibit. Crisp autumn leaves dance along the pavement, a ballet of deep reds and vibrant yellows, as you flee the chilly night air for the warmth of the sleek, rustic gallery. Matte black walls combine with polished cherry wood accents to give you the sense that you’re somewhere you can be comfortable. But not too comfortable.

You can already smell his cologne, cedar and spice, coasting through the air to greet you before he appears at the top of the stairs to your left. “You came,” he says, feigning indifference as he takes his time descending the stairs. After he broke your heart you insisted that he no longer held any power over you. The spell had been broken, or so you thought. So you hoped. But no such thing is true.

Hyunjin moves like a gazelle, his limbs long and graceful. He somehow manages to make the simple act of walking feel like a performance art piece. Tonight he’s pulled his hair back into a high ponytail, a few delicate strands left hanging to frame his now smiling face. Standing before you, he extends an arm, his hand patiently at your service. You slip out of your jacket, tossing it over his arm.

“Well, you said you wanted to talk so I’m here.” Hyunjin laughs, finding amusement in the way you’ve turned the tables. Pretending not to care when you both know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. “I was going to take your hand—” he starts, his gaze trailing behind you as you journey deeper into the gallery.

You always thought it a shame that people could never seem to get past his physical appearance long enough to see what’s truly special about him. Surrounded by his art, drawings and paintings he’d once only been brave enough to reveal to you, you can’t help but feel proud of him. “Hwang Hyunjin, jack of all trades” you sigh, stopping to get a closer look at a watercolor painting of butterflies whose wings seemingly melt down the canvas.

Hyunjin joins you, ignoring the painting to admire your silk black dress.

“Jack of all trades, master of none, but I’m still, I guess, better than a master of one.”

“Mmm, I don’t know about that. What’s so bad about a master of one? Maybe the master of one just knows where his heart is.”

The back of his hand strokes your arm, sending an electric current through your body. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that he’s moved closer. Close enough for the sensation of his breath on your neck to give you shivers when he asks, “Where’s yours?” “Where’s my what?” Your head snaps toward him, the accusatory tone of his voice triggering your defenses.

“Your heart. Do you know where it is?” 

“You have no right to ask me that. Not when you broke it.” Every fiber of your being is telling you to run away and Hyunjin must sense it because his arms are around you before you can make your grand escape. “Don’t run from me” he pleads, “Just tell me what I can do to fix it.” You’ve never seen Hyunjin cry before but the moisture pooling in the corners of his eyes is a sure sign that you might.

Nothing can erase the pain that he made you feel yet you can’t deny what he’s done since to ease it. Showing up to Paris Fashion Week alone, refusing to arrive with any woman who wasn't you. Admitting where he went wrong when it came to being honest with you. Apologizing in every language he knows and in a few he doesn't. Professing his love for you openly among your social circle without a care for how sensitive they may think he is.

He’s stepped so far outside of his character that occasionally you had to pinch yourself to make sure his efforts weren’t all in your head. To ask more of him feels almost sadistic. “It’s not you” you admit, lifting some of the pressure from his shoulders, “I’m just, I don’t know. Afraid?”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“Of the piece of my heart that’s still here with you.” You love him still. And you can’t outrun it any more than you could the way your heart ached for Minho when he first touched your hand, comforting you before the red carpet all those nights ago. You hate yourself for it, wishing that you could make these feelings disappear, all the while surrendering to Hyunjin’s kiss.

He sweeps you into it without warning, no longer able to control the need to feel your tongue against his. Kissing him is that first bite of your favorite food after you’ve been deprived of it for far too long. Your senses are aflame, moisture creeping between your thighs as he presses your back to the wall. Hyunjin buries his face between your breasts, his tongue lashing and nibbling as they rise and fall with each bated breath you take.

Your fingers tangle with his hair, the tie that keeps his ponytail secure quickly slipping to the floor. “You have to be mine again,” he says, not asking but telling. Demanding. He raises one of your legs to straddle his hip, pushing a hand between you to knead your pillow soft thighs. “He can’t have you. I won’t let him.” Hyunjin kisses you all over, suckling at your sensitive skin to mark his territory.

Pushing his hips further between your legs, he teases the wetness of your panties, your clit already stiff enough to feel through the thin cotton. “Hyunjin, please—” you beg, not quite knowing what you’re begging for. Less? More? The arch of your back as his fingers dive into your core decides it’s ‘more’. He pulls back, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, “Say my name again.”

His fingers pick up speed, your walls spasming with each unforgiving twist of his wrist. “Hyunjin” you whine, gripping his shoulders to keep yourself from crumbling to the ground. He missed seeing you this way. Dressed up all pretty, lipstick smeared across your face, moaning his name. Your juices stream down his wrist, leaving tiny drops of your arousal on his sleeve. He welcomes it. Welcomes anything that’ll leave your scent behind for later. “Mine. Always mine” he repeats, circling your clit with his thumb. 

You should’ve never come here. You should’ve stayed as far away from this man as possible. But there’s no use crying over spilled milk. The reality is that you didn’t stay away. Hyunjin called and you came now you’re coming around his fingers, allowing yourself to be claimed once more by the lust filled demons of your past. And, oh, what a glorious one he is.

[noxturnalnymph]

The Devil's Wife

Devil!Joel x Witch!OFC (7.1k) DARKAU! Joel Miller where he is the literal Devil, and the OFC is a witch named LUNA with moderate physical description. 

Summary: OFC is a witch who is a member of an elite coven who take their relationship with their Dark Lord quite seriously. This upper echelon of witches practice the darkest of magic and initiation to their circle involves a wedding ceremony that has them pledging their lives and bodies in unholy union to Lucifer himself. What happens when one of his brides (ofc) calls upon her betrothed for help one Halloween night? Will the Devil rise to save her? And what will be the cost of his rescue?

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Satanic worship, witchcraft, SEX, satanic panic seduction, coercion, DubCon, monsters of the blood-drinking variety, talk of blood, violence, and death.

A/N: Entirely based on a dream I had last year but never got around to writing it. Is it Joel Miller, or is it just Pedro in a black suit? I don't know, who cares? Just enjoy it (or don't). Happy Halloween!!

The clouds part just as she steps out into the chilly October air, showcasing the sliver of the waning crescent moon hanging precariously in the sky. A breeze gusts down the alley, scraping leaves along the pavement and blowing her skirt tightly against her ankles. She pulls her maroon cloak over her head and forces herself against the wind, heading towards the warm glow of the sidewalk streetlamp.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home, Luna?” a tender voice calls from behind her.

She turns towards the voice, her friend and fellow witch Jadis following her out of their coven’s late-night gathering. The shorter witch’s honey-colored eyes probe as she tucks her lower lip between her teeth. Her rich, dark skin blends completely with the alley but begins to look like melted chocolate as the orange glow of the street crosses her rounded face. Jadis draws her cloak tight around her middle, mumbling about the cold and the hour of the meeting’s conclusion.

“You live in the opposite direction than I do,” Luna says, forcing a smile on her cheeks against the numbing chill of the wind, whipping violently now that they’re out in the open.

“I just worry about you walking all that way alone-”

“It’s Halloween, my friend,” she interrupts. “The streets are full of revelers.”

“But it’s 3am!” her friend counters.

“Then the streets will be full of drunks,” she says, clapping her hands together and silencing any further refutation from her worrisome cohort. “I shall be perfectly fine, just as I always am.”

They part ways with a hug and the lone witch cinches her hood tighter, marching down the street against the wind with her head held high. She makes it to the edge of the cemetery, humming a tune in harmony with the whistling wind, before she starts to have regrets about her late-night walk. It’s not the temperature of the biting air, the tedious walk through the village to her little part of the woods, or the spookiness of the creeping fog rolling through the wrought-iron gate that runs alongside the stiff gravestones. It’s partly the snickering she keeps hearing popping up behind her - potentially drunk frat boys about to play games with the wrong witch, but mostly the wet shoe she’s currently plodding on - having just stepped ankle-deep into a freezing puddle formed between the broken sidewalk stones.

“Girl,” she hears them whisper for the tenth time. 

She looks ahead of her just in time to see a large dark figure curl around the tall brick column that marks the entrance gate of the cemetery. Great, she thinks, they got brave enough to come out and play. She stealthily moves her hand to her inner pocket, grabbing hold of a small vial of a special brew she concocted for situations such as this. She sees his pale painted face contort into a nefarious grin, the dim lights dotting the street glinting off his elongated canines. Another Twilight fan, she groans, rolling her eyes in the shadow of her cloak.

“Little red riding hood,” the fiend croons, stepping out onto the sidewalk. 

She hears the scraping footsteps of at least two of his friends closing in behind her.

“Sorry Sparkles, I’ve got a date with the big bad wolf,” she mutters, attempting to step around him.

His cold hand reaches out faster than she expected, grabbing onto her arm. Cursing, she tries to pull her arm free from his grip but hears his nails ripping against the fabric of her cloak. What kind of claws did this guy put on tonight? She thinks he must be sobering up from whatever party he skulked out of, because his hold remains firm and he yanks her back to face him. She hears the scuffling come to a halt behind her, as his companions resume their snickering laughter.

“Don’t be rude,” he draws each word out purposefully.

A thought occurs to her that bruising her arm with his grip might actually be what is considered rude, but she doesn’t bother to voice it. Mortals can be so irksome when they’ve imbibed enough alcohol to embolden their twisted desires and put action to troubling behaviors. Pulling it out of her cloak, she lifts her unrestrained arm high, the small vial clutched tight in her hand, and drops it to the ground swiftly.

It breaks open with a soft tinkle, dark smoke rising from the cobbled stones, obscuring her surroundings and sending her would-be attackers into a coughing fit. She feels his hold loosen as she slips her arm away, stepping aside and darting into the cemetery gate beyond, leaving them behind to suffer her spell. She manages to stifle the laugh that bubbles up inside her and slinks along the pathway in the ancient resting place, ducking under old tree boughs and over wet blades of overgrown grass.

A short while later she finds herself nearing the back edge of the cemetery, the western woods looming just beyond. She would have preferred to take the worn pathways into the forest - her forest - to trek back to her cozy cottage home, but those bothersome boys have changed her plans. No matter, this way will be faster, she’ll just have to deal with cleaning the mud off her shoes and clothes when she gets home. She reaches to unlatch the creaking gate at the back fence, its lock long since broken, when freezing cold fingers lace over her bare arm.

“Not so fast, little witch,” he hisses.

She gasps a breath that doesn’t fill her lungs. How did he escape the effects of her potion? The tall, pale-faced man stands before her once again. She looks down at his hand, ghostly white against her skin, darkened veins showing even in the low light, and long dirty nails sharpened to a dangerous point. It doesn’t really look like a costume now that she’s up close. She drags her eyes to his face, noting the dark hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes. His coal-black eyes. His dark red mouth twists into a smile once again and she is beginning to think his sharp incisors aren’t part of a costume either.

“Monster,” she spits. “Unhand me.”

She spins out of the way just as one of the others snaps his jaws next to her ear, missing his target. With her arm still ensnared she is unable to move very far, and collides into the chest of the third, a rotten scent wafting off him hitting her nostrils as she stumbles towards the ground. Out of the clutches of the creature once again, she scuttles back, cornering herself against an old sunken grave with a broken headstone.

She reaches her left hand out in front of her, palm facing them, momentarily halting their movements. The plain band on her fourth finger glints off the moonlight, catching her attention. It gives her an idea.

“You bloodsuckers don’t know who you’re messing with, do you?” she hums, cracking a sideways smile.

The two giggling figures skip around her in circles as the towering demon lowers his face to meet hers, a wet smirk curving his face into a twisted visage.

“Why don’t you enlighten us,” he replies.

“My husband is-” 

Her next words are replaced by a piercing shriek, as the fangs of one of the beasts connect with the left side of her neck. She feels his sharp teeth ripping through her delicate skin and the pain burns across her in a fiery wave. Before she can fight him off, the grinning ghoul in front of her grabs her arm yet again, the left one with the simple golden ring, sinking his greedy maw into her wrist. Sharp pain shoots up her arm and her lungs empty on a scream. She sucks in air to cry out again but a filthy hand is clamped over her mouth first, muting the wail she attempts when the third monster’s teeth pierce the flesh of her other arm just above her elbow.

She lies on her back on the ground, the pain searing through her quickly giving way to a numbness washing across her skin. With the cool soothing of the pain comes a stilling calm, altogether paralyzing her from fighting back or even wanting to. The grimy hand slides from her lips as her mouth fails to make any additional sounds. My husband, she mouths the words. Her eyes drift to her left hand, her wedding ring just beyond the monster’s head still reflecting light, even as blood drips from her wrist across her fingers. 

He’s going to kill you, she thinks, unable to even form words now.

The cemetery has turned dark and she slowly realizes that she must have closed her eyes. She can still hear the wind whipping through the trees, creaking branches and blowing dried leaves against the fence nearby. There are no other noises among the silent tombs other than the sloppy slurping noises of the three vampires who are draining her body. 

She sees a dim light in the distance, like a flickering candle. No, she thinks, it can’t be a candle because her eyes are closed. She watches the candle getting closer to her, or maybe she’s getting closer to it. The bright orange glow from the candle becomes clearer as it nears, until finally she sees it right in front of her.

It’s a solitary tapered black candle, gently burning as wax drips slowly along its side. It’s just like the candle she lit at her initiation ceremony, she thinks. The coven of witches she belongs to is elite and extremely difficult to join. Her aunt had extended the invite when she showed rare magical aptitude as a teenager. Only second daughters can join, as the condition of induction was to pledge your body, mind, and life in unholy matrimony to the Dark Lord Lucifer himself. She was honored to be chosen and after many years of apprenticeship, she lit the black candle on a full moon a little over a year ago. It was identical to the candle she is looking at now, the candle she lit at her wedding to the Devil.

The flame before her suddenly gutters and goes out, leaving her in complete darkness.

***

She feels it before she senses anything else, the warmth spreading across her face, radiating out from her lips. Her cheeks burn against the freezing wind and her hair, no longer bound by her cloak, tickles wispy tendrils across her forehead. Long moments pass as the warmth spreads and finally she opens her eyes, suddenly swallowing a scream. Except she can’t scream. There is a man pressing his lips to hers.

She is being kissed by a stranger. 

A man with deep espresso eyes meets her gaze, dark curly hair falling over his forehead. He pulls back from her, his facial hair tickling her lip as his mouth curls into a shy smile.

“Welcome back” his voice, thick as syrup, coats her consciousness.

“I-,” she starts, realizing that the warmth is now spreading down her chest, across her stomach, and flowing into her arms and legs. “Did I-”

“Die?” he finishes quietly. “Yeah.”

Her eyes widen, the sharp teeth of the creatures coming back to the forefront of her mind. She looks around frantically, suddenly worried they might return to rip into her flesh and drain her dry.

“They’re gone,” he answers the question she didn’t ask.

He rises up onto his feet, and she sees he’s dressed in all black. He wears pressed black trousers and shiny dress shoes that somehow don’t have a speck of mud on them. He tugs on his black suit jacket, straightening it, and presses his hand over his black shirt and tie, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. This man looks like he just came from a fancy gala, she thinks, not that he was just crouched over her lifeless form in a dirty cemetery.

He reaches his hands out to her and she surprisingly takes them without question, allowing him to help her to her shaky feet. Before she can protest he wraps an arm around her waist and although part of her wants to object she knows that she wouldn’t be able to remain standing if he hadn’t done so.

“Let me walk you home,” he says softly, guiding her to the back gate and basically carrying her along the neglected path into the woods.

She doesn’t speak, although her mind is racing a mile a minute. Did she really die? She remembers being attacked by the vampires and not being able to fight them off but she doesn’t remember what happened after that. She weakly raises her left hand up, inspecting her wrist and seeing nothing but unblemished skin absent of any marks including any dried blood that should be there, remembering how it ran in rivulets from the monster’s wet lips. She brings her fingers to her neck, brushing them over smooth skin there as well. It would seem that her bite wounds have somehow been healed and she has been cleaned of any and all evidence of her attack.

Who in the world is this man, she wonders. Maybe the vampires left and he luckily showed up just in time, perhaps reviving her somehow. He certainly doesn’t look like someone who just fought off three bloodsucking beasts and how could he anyways, without being attacked himself? It isn’t until they reach the clearing in the woods where her small cottage sits, a lantern on the porch giving off a warm glow, that she realizes she never told him where she lived.

She pulls away, feeling a bit stronger now, and wanting to distance herself from the seemingly kind but rather unusual man who has inexplicably returned her to her secluded abode. Wait, was that mouth-to-mouth or was he kissing her when she was dead? She gives him a sideways glance and plasters the most polite smile she can manage onto her face. Smoothing strands of her tousled hair away from her face, she turns to him and her eyes widen as the man in black reaches forward and plucks a leaf out of her hair. He drops it, letting the wind carry it away as he smiles sweetly at her, looking harmless as a lamb.

“Thank you for-,” 

“What is your name?” he interrupts.

“Oh-, I-, Luna,” she stammers, caught off guard by his inquiry.

“Luna,” he repeats, drawing her name out as he wraps his lips around the vowels.

“Yes, and thank you for-” she attempts again, trailing off as he slowly steps around her, continuing to walk towards her porch. “-for helping me, I guess,” she finishes, turning to follow him while wondering what she’s really thanking him for. Did he save her? “I don’t know how to repay you,” she speaks to his back as he climbs up the steps, “but I’m thankful for your assistance.”

“Do you live out here all alone?” he asks, ignoring the gratitude she’s attempting.

“That’s-,” none of your business, she thinks. She doesn’t want to be rude so instead she says, “this cottage has been in my family for generations.”

It’s not a lie. She is - in fact - the only member of her family living in the one-bedroom dwelling right now but it has been lived in by members of her family for over two hundred years.

“It’s not safe for a young girl to be out here alone in the woods,” he says, reaching for the handle and opening the door she knows she locked when she left the house earlier today with no resistance.

She wants to protest that she can take care of herself, which is her usual response when people say things like this, but given what has transpired tonight she bites her tongue. Instead she follows him as he enters her home without invitation, drawn into the main room. She watches as he closely inspects framed photos on the walls, touches the spines of old books on her bookshelf, and toggles the flue of her chimney as he passes the hearth.

She wants to ask him to leave. No, she wants to physically shoo him out of her home. Who does this man think he is and what right does he have to waltz into her home and parade around as if it were his own? She reaches towards the vial in her pocket only to bitterly recall having already used it tonight in her attempt to disable her attackers. 

She follows a way behind him, straightening what he’s poking out of alignment and trying to ignore her growing sense of unease. She looks up at the man in black to find him stopped and standing very close to her. She gasps in a sharp breath as he seems to examine her with a curious stare. A long moment of silence passes as a gentle smile builds on his face. She pushes past the knots forming in her stomach in an awkward attempt to match his gesture.

“You’re married?” he asks.

“What?” Her brows knit, surprised by the query.

“You were mumbling about a husband when I found you,” he explains, pointing to the golden ring on her finger as further evidence.

“Oh, I-,” and she pauses, unsure of how to proceed. 

She turns towards the fireplace, using the hand he motioned towards to push some dust around the thick wooden mantle. She curses herself. She should have said she lived here with her husband when he asked if she was alone but he’s already come to the conclusion she is the solitary occupant of the tiny cottage. But she is wearing a wedding ring and he apparently heard her talking about her husband in the cemetery. She can’t very well explain to this mortal man in black that she’s married to the Devil, he’ll come back with a pitchfork carrying mob. Best case scenario is she winds up in a psych hospital and worst case is that she becomes kindling.

Wait, how did he hear her talking about her husband, she thinks? She only remembers mentioning him to the vampires before the attack and then any words beyond that didn’t seem to leave her mind. 

She whips back around to find him standing even closer now and before she can react he grabs her left hand in his. She opens her mouth to scream but he lifts her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss right over her wedding band. A warmth spreads across her hand and up her arm, jolting her body as images play across her mind.

***

Her body lay bloodless over the damp soil of someone else’s grave. Three greedy ghouls, licking crimson from their craws, eyes glistening with glee. The thrashing wind comes to an eerie still and the man in black materializes in the shadows of a nearby willow. He stalks silently but the creatures see him coming and let out a loud hiss, frantically fleeing at the mere sight of him. The man in black raises his hand, snapping his fingers, and white-hot flames instantly engulf each vampire. He stops to watch them burning, their tormented howls piercing the night, until they are nothing but shadows and ash carried away on the breeze. He moves to his knees at her side, touching the ring on her left hand reverently, before he leans down and places his lips over hers.

***

She takes in a deep breath, her lantern-lit cabin coming back into focus around her, the man in black still bowed slightly in front of her, lips against her hand. He raises his head and his rich brown eyes meet hers once more, only this time she knows exactly who she’s looking at.

“Hello, wife,” he smiles sweetly.

Her eyebrows climb up her forehead as she attempts to pull back her hand from his gentle grip, which tightens in response over her delicate fingers. She’s no longer a stranger to the true nature of the man in black who stands in front of her, having sacrificed her immortal soul to him in order to draw on his supernatural influence to fuel her dark magic. But to have him actually standing in her living room, the raw power radiating off him is enough to make her bones ache, and she finds herself stunned and a bit scared. She continues to try and wriggle out of his crushing grip until he stills her with his words.

“Aren’t you lonely out here all alone?” he questions, his lips still upturned into a saccharine grin.

“No I-, I prefer to be alone,” she stutters.

“Is that why you want me to leave even though I just got here?” his mouth turns to a frown.

“No!” She exclaims. “I don’t want you to leave, I just-”

“I did exactly what you wanted, didn’t I?” He lets go of her as he begins to circle her in the small space. “You wanted me to destroy those monsters who dared to lay a finger on you and I did. And then I fixed you up good as new. Well… almost” he winks at her as he tucks a loose strand of her messy hair behind her ear. 

“Yes, I was-,” she shakes her head, the nerves sending a hot wave up her neck to burn at her cheeks. “Thank you,” she stammers.

“You don’t have to thank me, wife,” he hums. “I always take care of what’s mine.”

“Yours…” she trails off.

“Yes,” he smiles. “You are.” He strokes his fingers against her cheek, so warm against her still-chilled skin. “You were saying something about repayment and I think I’d like to make a request.” His smile is sickly sweet once again, boring deep into her.

“Oh-,” she starts before he grabs both her hands in his, silencing her.

“I think I’d like another kiss.”

Another, she thinks, because their first kiss was when she was… deceased.

“Yes,” he continues as if reading her thoughts. “Our first kiss felt like ‘Snow White and the Prince who woke her from her slumber’. But our story isn’t a fairytale, is it my dear bride?”

“No,” she whispers tentatively.

“No,” he agrees. “Our story is one of dedication,” he places his large, warm hands on her shoulders. “Of adoration,” he continues, pushing down until she sinks to her knees. “Of worship,” she tilts her chin to look up at his dark gaze above her now. “And that deserves a very different kind of kiss, don’t you agree?”

She manages to nod her head slightly as he reaches to unbuckle his belt. Watching as he unzips his trousers and pulls himself out of his pants, she’s not surprised to see how well-endowed he is but is a bit shocked at how stiff he’s already become.

He cups his right hand around her neck, pushing his length towards her face with his other hand. She finds herself pursing her lips together in a kiss only to have him push past them into her empty mouth. Of course she knew what he wanted, not just a kiss, but she’s still feeling a bit disoriented. He makes tentative, shallow thrusts while her hands rest on the front of his thighs before she hears him muttering above her through clenched teeth.

“Come now, wife, I thought you were grateful.”

She reaches to grip him and puts some effort into her ministrations. It’s not that she’s inexperienced but it has been a while since she was with a man, since before her wedding ceremony certainly. When she pledged her body to the Dark Lord, she certainly wasn’t envisioning having to perform an act such as this. However, she figures the best course of action is to not just let him take what he wants, but to give him an unforgettable experience. It's in her best interest to show him how appreciative she really is of his rescue.

She pulls her head back, swirling her tongue over his tip, while pumping him firmly with one hand. When she hears him moan in response and grab her hair in his fist, she knows she’s on the right track. She flattens her tongue along her bottom teeth and lets him guide her head up and down, taking him deeper with each pass until she begins to make choked gagging noises.

He lets go and she pants, wiping away the drool that now streaks her chin and hears him chuckle above her at the sound of her gasping breaths. Before she can stop herself, she scratches her nails down his thighs, probably harder than she should have given the fact that he’s the Prince of Darkness. A hissing intake of breath is followed by a deep, rumbling laugh that seems to reverberate off the walls of the small cabin and vibrate deep in her chest, and then his hand is back in her hair in a rough, twisting tug.

He shoves himself past her lips in one go this time, hitting the back of her throat with a gurgle and this time she lets him use her mouth like a toy, grabbing at his ass and holding on tightly. This goes on for several agonizing minutes, him allowing her to gulp in much-needed air in between the rough, dominating ramming of his pelvis into her chin. Finally she hears him cry out just as he pulls away, immediately grabbing himself tightly at the base of his shaft and shaking his head.

“Oh, that was close,” he says breathlessly, laughing without humor. “That lovely mouth of yours is so decadent, wife, that I almost lost control.”

Good, she thinks, and she can’t stop the smug smile that creeps across her face.

“Proud of yourself my little witch?” He tilts her chin up to meet his eyes, brushing away escaped saliva from her cheek. “Let’s see what happens when you’re the one being so deliciously tormented.”

At this point she has no idea what to expect of him but grabbing her off the floor and throwing her over his shoulders was certainly not something she anticipated, so the surprised wail that escapes her lips is almost inaudible to human ears. She hears him chuckle yet again as they pass through the door concealed as a bookcase to carry her into her bedroom. The man in black walks through this home as if he owns it, she thinks, before she recalls herself bowing before a black altar and offering everything she possesses in service to him. 

Perhaps this house is more his than hers, she recognizes, as she hears him hum in agreement to a thought she didn’t speak out loud. Before she can question his possible reading of her thoughts she’s deposited onto her four-poster bed, with its velvet emerald curtains wrapped around walnut-hued spires, vines carved in swirls around them. Her vision focuses on the man in black before her only to realize that he’s no longer wearing a stitch of clothing. She opens her mouth to speak but her eyes catch on her own body, laid bare in front of him.

“How- ohhh,” her questioning is cut short when he dives forward, spreading her legs and latching his mouth to her core in one fluid movement. 

He drags his tongue up her seam and then closes his lips around her sensitive nub. He begins to pulse his tongue against her and she is unable to stop herself from immediately crying out in pleasure. She’s positive that he knows exactly what he’s doing when in under sixty seconds her back is already bowing off the bed, her nails digging into the sheets, her voice crying out in ecstasy.

He pulls back and gently places kisses on the insides of her thighs, she feels the warm huffing breath of his laughter blowing across her wetness. He gives her a short moment of reprieve before he slowly pushes a gloriously thick finger into her wet heat, moving to swirl his tongue across her overstimulated bundle of nerves. He lets her writhe and wiggle, attempting to move away only until the sensitivity fades and she finds herself grinding her center towards his face for more.

Somehow she has her wits about her enough to grab his hair this time, eliciting a hum of approval from him that she feels vibrate against her. She’s proud to see that she’s able to hold out a bit longer before her orgasm tips her over the edge, but her ego crumbles when instead of stopping he continues his ministrations to bring a third crashing wave of pleasure immediately after the second.

Delicious torment, indeed.

He pulls his face back again, glistening with her arousal and smiles a devilish grin, his pupils blown so wide that his eyes are nearly black. He roams up her body, placing kisses that feel more like bites than smooches, devouring with his eyes what his mouth can’t reach.

“Husband,” she keens, the desperation in her voice unfamiliar to her ears.

The responding growl that escapes his chest seems to shake not only the room but the entire forest around them, vibrating deep into the wood foundation. He grabs her ankles and spreads her legs obscenely wide, notching his thick head at her entrance and sliding it back and forth, coating himself in her wetness. He waits until she’s clawing at his chest, head thrown back and begging him in frenzied babbles, and only then does he finally push himself into the clutch of her.

“My magnificent mate, what an agreeable display of thankfulness you’ve given me today,” he proclaims, setting a fervent pace. “So welcoming to your dark angel, eagerly performing such valued wifely duties for him,” he continues to prattle, more for his sake than her own since all she can manage in response is frenzied moaning. “Perhaps I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you, my wanton little witch.”

He pushes on the back of her legs, driving her knees towards her chest and hitting inside her at a new angle that causes her to scream out in bliss. She wraps her own arms around her legs, holding them tight to her as he mutters words of encouragement and praise. She feels another orgasm building inside her, starting as a tingle at the base of her spine.

He leans forward and spans his large hand across her throat. “Whose pussy is this?” he asks, giving her no time to respond before he’s demanding more answers. “Who’s the only one who gets you down on your knees? Who is the only one who makes you come? Who do you belong to? Who? Who?”

She manages to scratch out a long wail of “you,” beneath the pressure of his hold before she starts to tremble and break apart, coming again in a seizing crest. In a half growl he demands she open her mouth and when she enthusiastically obeys he leans over her and spits, gripping tightly at her neck to feel her strained swallow. Only then does he let himself lose control, grabbing her hips with a bruising grip and pounding away half a dozen more times before he lets loose a roaring release, pumping his warm spend deep inside her.

***

She pads out of the shower, head and body wrapped in warm towels, and comes across her amorous husband perched on the edge of the bed once again dressed in his all-black ensemble. She sees him looking into the nightstand drawer he has opened and before he can reach his hand in to grab what she’s sure is something she’d be rather embarrassed to have to explain, she clears her throat. His hands still but he doesn’t appear surprised by her presence, likely having no qualms about being caught peeping through her unmentionables.

Wordlessly, he shoots her a glare, displaying ire that is no doubt driven by the trove of sex toys he’s just discovered stashed away in her bedside drawer. She shrugs and heads to her dresser, turning her back on him to pull out her pajamas and giving what she hopes is a flippant but playful reply. 

“Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself when I’m alone.”

He says nothing in response but she hears a throaty rumble and notices the flames dance higher for a moment in response. She turns to find him behind her, although she didn’t hear him approach, so close now that she can feel the heat of his body radiating onto her skin. He pulls the towel loose from her hair and caresses the side of her face, tucking some loose strands behind her ear. She bumps backwards against the dresser but stills as he leans forward and places a gentle kiss onto her forehead.

“Are you leaving?” she asks, hating the disappointment she hears evident in her voice.

“I have things to attend to, but worry not darling wife, I will return to you,” he speaks against her forehead and she isn’t sure if the flip her stomach does is from excitement or fear of his promise. “Be careful out here in these woods alone, it’s just not safe,” he echoes his earlier sentiment and she nods her head silently in a placating gesture. 

She shuffles her slippered feet, seeing him to the door and watches him as he walks until his dark form reaches the edge of the glow of the lantern lights and he slips back into the shadows.

***

“I can’t believe it,” Jadis guffaws, having listened to Luna’s entire recalling of the events of Halloween night.

“I swear to you, every word is true,” she lies, having told her friend the truth of the evening almost a fortnight ago up until the moment the man in black pushed her to her knees. Something about how the night ended made the whole encounter feel even more unbelievable, so she twisted the truth a bit to tell a story of a grateful wife ending the night with a chaste kiss instead.

“No, I can’t believe you waited two weeks to tell me about it!” the small witch exclaims loudly, both of them erupting into a fit of laughter, the hysterics sending the small car wobbling in its lane. “Did you tell the coven elders about it?” she wonders, having finally gotten a hold on her laughter and the steering wheel.

“Oh, Gods no,” Luna deflects. “This sort of thing is probably so commonplace, I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m bragging.”

But that was another lie. She knew damn well that if the Morning Star himself had ever appeared before any of the other witches in her coven that entire memoirs would have been written about it, let alone engaged in the manner of acts that he had with her. She felt heat passing across her cheeks as her mind flashed through memories of them together. As for telling the coven, she was never one to brag and she didn’t want to set off any jealousies. 

Technically they were all married to him, each and every one of a long line of witches having given themselves over to him and while it gave them deep and lasting power, he’d never bestowed any personal gifts upon any of them. In nearly two centuries of recorded history of their coven, he had never whispered sweet nothings on the wind, sprouted flowers in a garden on an anniversary, or intervened at all in any of their daily lives.

Even while she practices this internal rationalization with herself she knows that it is also a lie and that the real reason she's kept it secret is that his visit to her had made her feel special. It made her feel like she might really be the powerful witch she’d been told she was while growing up and that even their Dark Lord took unique notice of her. It made her feel cared for, perhaps a feeling intensified by her solitary lifestyle and etched into her mind by his repeated reminders of her being “all alone in the woods”.

She remembers the way his warmth spread across her as he placed his lips over hers and the mischief that danced in his eyes when he stood above her in her living room. A buzzing feeling spreads down her chest and settles deep in her belly as she recalls the way he coaxed pleasure from her over and over again, and his delightful threat to keep a closer eye on her plays on repeat in her mind.

Loud sirens sound behind them, knocking her from her reverie and startling Jadis into quickly pulling over on the side of the road. Two large fire trucks speed by them, blaring horns and flashing lights. Behind them follow several police cars and two smaller fire department trucks. Once the raucous cavalcade passes, Jadis pulls back onto the road and follows along the darkening route out of town.

A short drive later as the car meanders along the winding drive into the woods, the fading sunlight gives way to quite a spectacle ahead of them. The woods ahead seem to be glowing a magnificent orange while red and blue lights flash blindingly against the tree trunks. A heavy fog obscurs the view as bundled figures run from truck to truck, dragging hoses around and shouting muffled orders from behind helmets with face masks.

Not fog… smoke.

Her woods are on fire. Her cottage is on fire. She ignores Jadis’ protests and jumps from the passenger seat of the car before it has even stopped moving, vaulting herself towards her home. Before she can get close she feels large arms wrap around her middle, stopping her forward movement as two firemen approach her with their arms out, trying to calm her down. Eventually she settles and the man holding her, dressed head to toe in firefighter gear, releases his grip around her while keeping one hand gently on her shoulder.

When the blaze is finally extinguished she lets the fireman who has comforted her guide her around the smoldering perimeter of what was her centuries-old home. The inferno had burned hot and quick and she doesn’t recognize anything to be salvageable, save for the cast iron cauldron she sees sitting among the fallen hearthstones. She turns to him in the dark, his face completely hidden behind his mask, and sees only her own image reflected in his visor; trails of tears streak her soot-covered cheeks and strands of hair chaotically twist in the wind, matching the mood of the evening.

She feels more tears stinging at her eyes and lets the broad-shouldered fireman turn her away from the sight of the destruction, tugging her against his smoke-scented jacket and tapping a gentle hand on her back in sympathy. She feels herself break open and let go, sobbing deeply into this stranger’s shoulder for several minutes before she takes deep breaths and slowly collects herself.

A tall, tie-wearing fireman approaches her alongside a shorter man sporting a police uniform and a very thick mustache. She turns to them, sniffling and wiping her tears from her face.

“Is there anywhere we can take you, Miss?” the officer questions with a nasally voice.

“Do you want us to call anyone, your husband maybe?” the warm voice beside her asks.

“Oh, sorry ma’am, I didn’t see the ring,” the officer apologizes. 

“They think the fire may have originated from the nightstand in the bedroom, but the fire investigators are still working,” the tall man speaks in a deep soothing voice while she focuses on the glinting badge pinned to his chest that reads 'Fire Chief'.

“Can we take you back into town?” the officer continues. “Maybe there’s a hotel or somewhere your husband can meet up with you?”

She sniffles, the mention of her husband stinging at her wounded pride. The man in black had been attentive enough to bring her back from the dead but apparently not to stop her home from burning to the ground. Keep a closer eye, my ass, she thinks bitterly. She wants to be upset but a part of her tries to rationalize that she should still be grateful that he intervened at all on that violent Halloween eve. However, tonight’s events have the euphoric high of the last two weeks quickly wearing off, and she feels another jab of hurt that he hasn’t tried to contact her once since he left.

“I can drive you to your Aunt’s house,” a small voice speaks up behind her, and Luna emerges from the fog of her thoughts to realize that Jadis has been here the whole time.

Fresh tears spill down her cheeks as she nods a small thanks, taking her friend’s outstretched hand and letting herself be guided back towards the little car parked down the drive.

“Hey,” she hears a shy voice speak up. 

She turns around to see the familiar broad-shoulders of the fireman who has been her companion for hours. He takes large steps, coming to stand right in front of her in the drive and Jadis continues on to wait in the car, giving them privacy.

“Be careful, okay?” he pleads, and she opens her mouth to tell him she’ll be fine. “It’s not safe for a young girl to be out here alone in the woods,” he finishes, reaching a gloved hand forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She freezes, watching her own eyes go wide in the reflection of his visor. She reaches a hand forward slowly, grabbing the bottom of the mask. When he makes no move to stop her, she flips it up, knocking his helmet off of his head in the process. She knows what she’s expecting to see under the mask, or rather who she is expecting to see. 

What she doesn’t expect is for the entire uniform to collapse in front of her very eyes, landing in a limp pile on the ground at her feet as if nothing but a spectre had inhabited it. With shaking hands she leans down and grabs a small white paper sticking out of the collar of the empty jacket. She flips it over in her trembling fingers, reading it several times. It’s a business card for Joel Miller, a familiar face smiling from a photo on one side of the card. The Devil’s in the Details, Inc., it says, and below that is written ‘Home Building & Realty’, along with a local address and phone number.

On the back of the card is a handwritten note:

I always take care of what’s mine. xx - your loving husband

[daisynik7]

The Takada-Chan Handshake Event

Pairing: Aoi Todo x f!reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: ~3.5k

cw: explicit language, suggestive dialogue, switch POVs (reader is in 2nd person, Todo is in 3rd)

Summary: Takada-Chan’s first Handshake Event of the summer goes better and worse than you expect.  

Author's Notes: Here’s Chapter 2! Thank you everyone who has supported this series so far. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, would love to hear what y’all think so far of the story! Thank you for reading! Divider credit to @/saradika.

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Two weeks after the concert, Takada-Chan hosts her first Handshake Event of the summer in a convention center twenty minutes away. It’s currently six in the morning as you stand outside the doors, a thermos full of hot coffee in one hand and a small tote bag of your belongings in another. Because of your sour experience at the concert, you plan thoroughly today, deciding to arrive at the convention center. Six hours early. 

Basic logic and reasoning are clouded by your extreme dedication to this pop idol. This is what you realize as you wait outside the building at the crack of dawn, still half asleep. The only solace you find in your current predicament is that you are first. No one can stand in front of you this time.

You packed all the essentials you need to make the next several hours pass by quickly. A small blanket to lay flat on the ground, marking your territory. The pillow to cushion your bottom from the hard pavement. Even snacks and a small bento for lunch for when you get hungry. No matter what the circumstance, you are not leaving this spot. 

Settling in comfortably into your makeshift camp, you start one of Takada-Chan’s concert specials downloaded on your phone. With no one around yet, you listen to it out loud without headphones, nodding your head along to the beat of the music. Fortunately, with Takada-Chan as a welcomed distraction, the first hour flies by. 

7 AM. Five more hours to go. There are a few people around now, walking by to kickstart their day, though no one falls in line behind you. Good. You pat yourself on the back for being here ahead of everyone else. If that’s not true dedication, you don’t know what is! You check your text messages from Sara, sending her a selfie of you holding a peace sign along with a message saying, “Early bird gets the worm!”

You don’t expect a response right away, considering she’s still asleep on a Saturday morning, like a normal person. She thinks this isn’t worth waking up at the ass-crack of dawn just to receive a handshake. In fact, her exact words to you were, “You’ve got to be out of your fucking mind.”

Maybe you are, but you don’t care. Most people have hobbies or interests they would do crazy things for. This is fun for you. You are willing to do it. Would it be nice if you had someone that shared the same level of interest you have for Takada-Chan? Sure, because you won’t have to keep dragging Sara around with you, subjecting her to your ridiculousness. While she is generally a good sport about it, you’d feel significantly less guilty if she actually liked Takada-Chan as much as you. You don’t blame her at all for not wanting to be with you right now, especially in these conditions.

At 7:30, you hear footsteps walking towards you. It’s a young man with spiky, pink hair wearing a yellow tee and blue shorts, seemingly a few years younger than you. He falls in line behind you, leaning against the wall. When you look up at him from your seated position, he gives you a friendly smile, waving. “Hello.”

You return his greeting happily. “Good morning.” 

After formal introductions, where you find out his name is Yuji Itadori, he puts his hands in his pockets and sighs. “Can’t believe you’re here earlier than me. What time did you get here?”

“6:00 AM,” you answer.

He lets out a whistle. “Dang. Dedicated fan, huh?”

You laugh as you stand up, matching him. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. The last event was completely ruined for me, so I learned from my mistakes.” 

His expression becomes curious. “What happened the last time?”

“I was at her mall concert two weeks ago. This massive guy blocked my view the entire time, refusing to move.”

He buries his face in his hand, shaking his head and chuckling. “Sounds like Todo.”

Your eyes widen, recognizing the name. “That’s him! He screamed out to her as she walked off stage! Is he really your friend?”

“Were you near the front of the stage?” After you confirm with a nod, he adds, “Yup, that was him. Oh man. Sorry, but Todo will do anything for Takada-Chan. You stood no chance at all.”

The rage from that confrontation comes surging back, still fresh and hot on your mind. You groan, frustrated. “Ugh, I can’t believe that guy is your friend! He’s such a jerk!” 

He shrugs, stating plainly, “That’s Todo. When it comes to Takada-Chan, he gets pretty crazy.”

You cross your arms over your chest, pouting. “Well, I hope I never have to see him again. Sorry, I know he’s your friend, but I can’t have another event ruined for me.”

Itadori flashes you a guilty glance, mumbling, “Well, actually…”

Suddenly, a voice booms out from the distance. “Brother! I got coffee and donuts!” Oh hell no. It’s him, the asshole! Why? Why is this happening to you? You planned today out perfectly! The giant meathead struts to his pink-haired friend, as cocky and aggravating as the first time you saw him. You turn around so your back is facing the two men behind you, desperately hoping the idiot doesn’t recognize you. In a panic, you take your phone out and text Sara:

SOS NEED BACKUP ASAP 

also, can you please bring me a donut

~~~

Todo orders two iced coffees and a half dozen classic glazed donuts from the café across the street. Today is off to a great start; he managed to convince his best friendo to wake up early and stand in line with him for Takada-Chan’s Handshake Event. This isn’t his first; in fact, he’s quite the regular at these type of events. Hopefully the idol actually remembers him this time. 

Balancing all the treats in his hands, he walks to the convention center, certain that they’ll be first in line. There’s no other fan dedicated enough to wait hours before the event starts just for a handshake. Only heloves Takada-Chan enough to do that. So, it’s a major surprise when he finds someone already ahead of Yuji, literally camped there with a blanket and pillow. 

He announces his presence, approaching Yuji to stand next to him, inspecting the person before them. In the lowest voice he can muster, he whispers, “Is this person here for the event?”

Yuji rubs the back of his neck, replying in a hushed voice, “Yeah, she’s been here since 6 AM.”

“What?!” Todo yells, completely abandoning any discretion. He glares at the woman ahead. Who is this chick? How dare she claim the first spot in line! That should be his!

He pushes past Yuji, tapping on the woman’s shoulder. “Ahem, are you in line for Takada-Chan?”

“Yes”, she responds, not moving a muscle. 

“Well, you see, I’m Takada-Chan’s #1 fan. I’ve known her since middle school. She’s actually my future wife. That being said, I think that I should be first.”

No response. She remains motionless, refusing to even glance back at him. The nerve. 

Growing impatient, he asks, “So, think we can switch?” 

Finally, she cranes her head just enough to peer at him. “Nope,” she answers, facing forward again. What. The. Fuck?! 

A little louder now, he cajoles, “Come on, don’t be like this. You’re going to deny her #1 fan his rightful spot?”

“Not my problem,” she says, venom laced in her tone. Why does this interaction sound familiar?

It all comes rushing back to him. In the same nanosecond it takes for him to imagine fake scenarios from his childhood, his mind returns to an actual memory from two weeks ago. He uttered those exact words to that short girl who was behind him at the concert. The girl who argued with him, called him an idiot and an asshole. This is the same girl. The loser. 

His rival. 

If she thinks she can compete with him in this battle to be Takada-Chan’s #1 fan, she has another thing coming. No one beats Aoi Todo in a contest. No one. And when it comes to the pop idol, there isn’t another living entity in the world that can match his devotion to her. He accepted her rejection in middle school for crying out loud, a fact that all people except Todo continue to dispute. This gal has no idea what she just got herself into. 

Through gritted teeth, Todo growls, “So it’s gonna be like this? Fine. I hope you don’t mind me singing then. I’ve been told I’m tone-deaf, but if I sing loud enough, I’m sure I’ll hit the right notes!” He starts his playlist on his phone, maximizing the volume. In his biggest voice, he begins belting the first song, Love Gem. Yuji hides behind his palms, embarrassed.

She whips around, finally meeting him face-to-face, yelling, “Oh fantastic! I love this song! I hope you don’t mind me joining in!” Her singing is even louder than Todo, which surprises him. He can admit that she carries a tune better than he could, but still, it’s annoying.

They go at it for about thirty minutes, two noisy, obnoxious adults angrily screaming Takada-Chan lyrics at each other. Todo even tries to play some underground tracks that he thought only he knew, but she perfectly recites it with a raised eyebrow, willing to accept whatever challenge he presents to her. 

Seriously, who is this chick?

~~~

It’s been a half hour long battle of attrition against the imbecile, to which you think you’ve won. Todo seems winded, strands from his neat bun coming loose, sweat beading off his forehead. It doesn’t surprise you since the guy has been straight up screaming at you for thirty minutes. 

Sara finally arrives, carrying a backpack with another small bag in hand. She approaches cautiously, ending the bizarre singing match. Todo huffs and puffs, glaring at you as you catch your own breath. “I could hear you from down the street,” she says, smirking. “Sounded like two sentient cats starring in their own musical. Imagine my disappointment finding out it’s just you two,” She passes you the bag, carrying a donut inside, as well as a water bottle she retrieves from her backpack. “Thank you,” you say, taking a swig. 

“So, what is going on here?” she asks, pointing at you, then at Todo. 

“This idiot asked me to switch spots with him even though I was here first. He thinks he deserves it, or whatever.”

Todo interrupts. “I don’t think, I know I deserve it!”

“I wasn’t talking to you, idiot!” you yell back. 

“Stop calling me an idiot!”

“Stop being an idiot then!”

Sara, once again, steps between you, intervening. “Cut it out. You are adults, act like it. You two are going to be here for the next four hours, do you really want to waste your energy bickering with each other?”

You pout, knowing she’s right. It’s difficult containing your pettiness with him; something about him really grinds your gears.

Eventually, Todo’s grimace softens, muttering a reluctant, “Fine.” 

Sara looks at you, waiting. You roll your eyes, obliging. “Fine.”

She claps her hands with a smile, as if she just solved world peace. “Alright! Now shake on it. Did you even introduce yourselves yet? Shouldn’t the top two Takada-Chan fans at least know each other’s names?”

He grunts, extending his large palm to you. You grab hold of it, surprised at how soft his skin is. The two of you shake hands slowly, stating your names, neither of you letting go. Letting go means you concede. Letting go means you lose. 

He tugs you slightly forward, whispering, “You may be first in line, but I’m still Takada-Chan’s #1 fan.” He gives you a smirk, tightening his grip on you.

Feeling bold, you clench him tighter, also pulling him closer, using all your strength to move his mountain of a body. You’re practically nose-to-nose now. “Have fun waiting in second place, behind Takada-Chan’s true #1 fan,” you retort, returning his annoying smirk with one of your own. His eye twitches, annoyed with you. Sara groans beside you while Itadori cackles, amused. 

The next couple of hours elapse normally, thanks to Sara’s presence and the distraction of the two behind you. Sara and Itadori seem to get along well as they chat with one another in line, laughing often. Todo and you stay firmly in your spots, listening to your own Takada-Chan playlists on your headphones. Occasionally you’ll exchange irked glances, arms crossed, guards still up. No matter what, you won’t let him win whatever bizarre competition you currently find yourselves in.   

More fans line up and by 11 AM, the convention center opens, workers directing you inside. By this time, Sara and Yuji leave, neither friend intending to stay for the actual event. You are led through velvet ropes until you see a small table set up in front of a black backdrop. This must be where Takada-Chan will greet people with a handshake. By 11:45 AM, you can’t help but tremble with excitement. 

Todo scoffs obnoxiously. “Something funny?” you ask, facing him. 

“For a self-proclaimed #1 fan, you make it so obvious that you’ve never been to one of these before. It’s comical,” he says, eyebrow raised at you. 

You scowl at him. “Just because this is my first one, doesn’t make me less of a fan.”

“Actually, it does. I’ve been to so many of these, I’ve lost count. The fact that you haven’t been to any, and you still stand here claiming to be #1. It’s pathetic.”

It takes all the resolve you have to keep calm. Only fifteen minutes to go. You’ve managed to last the past four hours with this asshole breathing down your neck. Don’t let him ruin it now. “You can think whatever you want. I know in my heart how much I love Takada-Chan. You can’t take that away from me,” you argue, voice wavering with animosity. 

“Love? If you think your love for Takada-Chan exceeds mine, then you’re more delusional than I initially gave you credit for.” 

He really knows how to get under your skin. Where are Sara’s brass knuckles when you need them? “Alright, I get it, you’re in love with Takada-Chan. Creep. I admit, I haven’t been to many events yet, but we all have to start somewhere. Plus, I already proved to you that I know the lyrics to all her songs, even her underground stuff. Don’t think I didn’t notice you testing me earlier.”

He lets out a barking laugh. “Yeah okay, that was impressive. But you still have a lot to learn before you can call yourself a true fan. I can teach you a few things if you want.” 

“And why would I want that?”

He leans in close, grinning, a wicked look in his eyes. “I’m a pretty good teacher,” he says in a low voice. “I’m sure there’s a lot you can learn from me.” 

Something about the way he says it is intriguing, almost enticing. You remember he is an absolutely douchebag, so the thought passes quickly. “I know everything I need to know about Takada-Chan, thank you very much.”

“Oh really?” he challenges, rapid firing questions about Takada-Chan, to which you answer perfectly. This occupies your time until you hear the other fans in the crowd start to scream. You didn’t even notice Takada-Chan walk into the room because this moron distracted you. But lo-and-behold, there she is, posing in front of the black backdrop, cute as ever. You turn away from Todo, frown literally turning upside down into the brightest smile, in awe that she’s right in front of you.

The security guard beckons you to the table. Your hands jitter with excitement as you walk towards her, stuttering, “Hi Takada-Chan!”

The pop idol smiles politely. “Hi there! Does your boyfriend want to come up with you?” 

Confused, you respond, “Huh? My boyfriend?”

She points at Todo, standing in the front now with a delighted expression on his face, gawking at Takada-Chan. You wave your hands, trying to explain. “No, no, he’s not my – ”

She cuts you off. “I just love couples! It’s rare to see female fans, but it’s even more rare to see couples! How adorable! I love it so much!” she beams, motioning to Todo. Bewildered, he slowly steps towards the table, standing beside you, blushing.

“Aw, you two are just the cutest!” She shakes both of your hands enthusiastically. From your peripheral, you can see Todo glowing, completely unaware of the context.

Takada summons one of her security guards, requesting, “Can you grab a few posters from my dressing room?” The man nods, walking to the back room. She faces you and giggles. “I wasn’t supposed to give any posters away until my next event, but I’ll make an exception for you two.” She winks, and you’re almost certain yours and Todo’s hearts will soon burst from your chests.

“Thank you so much, Takada-Chan!” you say in unison, tears in your eyes. 

“Of course! How about a Taka-Tan Beam? You have your phones ready?”

You and Todo absolutely lose it. He holds his phone out, hands trembling, actual tears rolling down his cheeks. You shuffle around your purse to retrieve your phone, also shaking, ready to record.

“Ready? Taka-Tan Beam!” she exclaims, flashing her signature pose. 

The two of you clap your hands enthusiastically, praising her. Talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular… 

The security guard comes back carrying posters rolled up under his arm. He hands them to the pop idol, who then gives them to you. “Thank you so much for coming!”

Todo leans forward, palms on the table. “Thank you, Takada-Chan! Thank you! Thank you!”

“Thank you, Takada-Chan!” you repeat, pulling Todo by the sleeve of his shirt to the exit with you. As you leave, he bows continuously towards the idol, who waves farewell kindly. 

Once outside, you find a bench to sit at. Todo is nearly foaming at the mouth, still unaware of what just happened. You hand him half of the posters, which he takes without looking at you.

“Taka-Tan. Beam,” he mutters in his catatonic state. His gaze is completed glazed over.

“Hey, Todo. Snap out of it,” you say, waving your hand in front of his face to get his attention. When that fails, you bop his head with one of the rolled-up posters.

“Huh?” He finally comes to, focusing on you. 

You laugh. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

“I can’t believe it either. But what was she saying exactly? I was too distracted by her beauty…” he trails off. You tap him again before he goes into a trance.

“She thought we were a couple,” you explain. 

“EH?”

“Yeah. I guess she saw us bickering in line and just assumed,” you elaborate, shrugging.

“She gave us special treatment,” Todo muses, stroking his chin, contemplating. 

What a turn of events. As much as you despise this man, being associated with him worked out the best for you in this particular instance. Takada-Chan thinks you two are a cute couple and she likes it, so much that she gave you exclusive items and extra attention. The sparkle in her eyes was mesmerizing as she performed the Taka-Tan Beam. It went better than you could have ever imagined.

Todo starts to speak, bringing you out of your reverie. “Look, I’m not that keen on Takada-Chan thinking I’m taken, especially by you. But since she can’t date right now anyways, I guess I don’t mind pretending. As long as we keep getting her attention.” 

“What are you saying? You want to pretend to be a couple?”

“Only for Takada-Chan events. Obviously.” There’s that smug look again. 

Eyebrows furrowed, you comment, “What, am I not good enough for you?”

He stands up, towering over you with a shit-eating grin on his face. “I know you’re not good enough for me.”

Hot rage tingles in your belly. What a fucking asshole. On your feet, you only come up to his chest, so you tilt your gaze up to glare at him. “You couldn’t handle me anyways, you fucking prick.” 

He leans down, his breath tickling your skin as he whispers, “I hope you don’t kiss anyone with that dirty mouth of yours.”

You get on your tippy-toes, closing the gap even more, challenging him. You swallow hard, not sure how to respond, but not afraid to back down. He holds your gaze, his mouth twitching slightly as his grins.

All of sudden, you’re very aware of how provocative this situation might look to an outsider. You feel it yourself. Whatever this angry tension is, it’s sort of… 

Okay brain, stop thinking like this. You hate this man. Despise him. Angry thoughts. Angry. 

He doesn’t relent. If you’ve learned anything about this beast the two times you’ve encountered him, he will notback down from a challenge. And knowing yourself, you won’t be able to keep up with him. But you can try. “I’d rather eat shit than be your fake girlfriend,” you hiss at him. You grab your purse and stomp off, leaving him behind. 

“Ha, then don’t expect my help at the next Takada-Chan event!” he yells out. 

As you walk to the train station, you make a promise to yourself to never interact with this oaf ever again. 

[detectivestucks2]

Escape with the Cursed King VIII

18+ content, Minors DO NOT interact

Pairing: Sukuna x F!Reader

Summary: Sukuna takes you out to help him handle business with the various hords of curses around the country. Your powers continue to grow which impresses Sukuna and feeds his feelings toward you. After your most recent battle you make a realization and Sukuna decides to take an important step with you.

Warnings: NSFW, choking, belt-play, violence, fingering, oral, 69, unprotected penetration, cream pie.

Word Count: 5.8k

Art Credit: @akirasukuna

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 9

“Submit to me or prepare to die” Sukuna warns. 

Piles of small, low grade curses litter the ground. Some are still smoking from Sukuna’s flames, some lay pinned to the ground by the needles and daggers you created with your technique.

Based on the number of bodies strewn over the cold pavement, you’d think that there was a full-out war waged on the streets of this small city however, the opposing team only had two men, you and Lord Sukuna.

Recently in these confrontations, Sukuna made you do all the work, throwing in one or two well-timed assaults to flex his power before stepping back and admiring how beautiful you look in the midst of battle. He was proud of you and your strength. A talented and beautiful special-grade sorcerer, all to himself. 

The culprit of commotion this time is the humanoid creature before you, with three ponytails running down the center of its skull and an unnerving pair of black eyes contrasting its ivory-pale hide. 

“Unlikely”a demonic voice rings back in response to Sukuna’s demand.

A challenge to Lord Sukuna? Are they dumb? A stupidly hot smile twisted your king’s features before his eyes glanced sideways at you. 

“I’d recommend bending the knee before I have this one force you to.” He says tilting his head towards you. 

“What’s a puny human going to do to me? Surely you mock me by threatening me with your plaything. I may just take her as my own to spite you for your mockery.”

“Ha!” Sukuna’s voice becomes a deep rumble as he spits back at the curse with the very same word, growling in a low tone, “Unlikely.”

You launch towards the curse, a dead sprint set for him, to touch him and gain control. Your powers have continued to grow these past months. Once you had to touch their foreheads to manipulate a curse’s actions. Then it was anywhere on their head that did the trick. Now you simply have to graze anywhere on their skin in order for your ability to take effect. 

Sukuna always works you hard. Training you the way he promised. Sometimes he captures curses and brings them back to the estate for you to train, even after you have just won a battle. There is little time for rest when your King has a goal and however gruesome his methods are, you can’t deny the results. You have become a force to reckon with for sure. Your cursed daggers have grown in size, weight, and sharpness. Their remnants last for weeks. 

As you hurtle towards the sickening demon before you, you sharply inhale, pulling Sukuna’s strong cursed energy into you and blow out three large daggers that pierce the air, racing towards your target. He summersaults away and allows his hands to melt into fists of fire. He hurls a ball of flames in your direction before you jump out of the way. 

A vein in Sukuna’s skull bulges but he keep his composure, knowing you can handle this. “If you think hurting her is going to change anything, you would be sorely mistaken.” he taunts as his eyes flick back to you, watching as you realign your efforts.

All you need is one touch. One touch to lay your mark and then Sukuna’s will is forced upon him. 

You suck more cursed energy between your teeth and spit out a long katana-like sword into your hand. You twirl it in your palm before wrapping your fingers tightly around the handle. Reeling back your elbow, you fling the blade at the curse and severely wound his lower extremities. Successfully slowing his speed with your strike, you bound up to him and grab him by the hand, giving a playful wink as you work your magic. One knee touches the ground, followed by the other, along with his forehead in a compelled bow. Confusion knit his brows together as he bent down. 

“You see, she has the ability to control cursed beings with her technique. It’s quite useful in reigning in rouge pawns such as yourself.”

“I am not a pawn! Let me go!”

“I don’t think so. What do you you think, Princess?”

“After his earlier threat, I think not.”

“See, even she’d rather keep you in her grip than let you loose.”

You could see the pale skin of the creature darken as inky black blood pooled under his husk in frustration. He was trying to fight his own body, surely wondering how long he’d be stuck in this compromising position.

 It was Sukuna who had the thought to test how long your power could work. You only knew that you could control the curses. You never bothered to see if it was temporary or permanent because you always exorcized them right away. It was Sukuna’s twisted idea to bring opponents back to the estate and check how long they stayed under your influence. Originally the effects of your technique lasted several hours, impressive for a regular battle but Sukuna wanted you to have the ability to control them for years so that he could use you to gain long term cooperation with the curses of the country.

 You knew he had selfish reasons for training you but you couldn’t help the swell of pride you felt at becoming his right hand in battle. He trusted you, which is saying a great deal since a man with so many enemies rarely trusts anyone. You would never betray him. You knew what others thought and said about him. You knew his past. But you knew that you could never let someone else harm him. He was yours. 

Though still small compared to his usual state, you watch the evil grin split his face as he marches up to the folded curse as if he were larger than life. One shoe firmly on the gravel, the other pressing it’s sole into the back of the curse’s head, he pushed down, an enraged hiss of pain coming from the demon.

“Defy my order again and you’ll be dead. Next time I won’t have her deal with you. It’ll be me that puts you out of your misery…permanently.”

Another thrust of his weight is shoved against the back of the creature’s head as he punctuates his sentance and you see a puddle of blood oozing on the ground. Sukuna’s face is full of disgust but as he looks up towards you it softens. “Ready to go home?”

You smile wide and nod, threading your arm through the elbow he extends to you. The both of you turn towards the mountain and stride over the corpses of the deceased minions scattered all over the vacant street. 

Returning home,  an uncontrollable wave of need crashed over you. A singular doe-eyed look his way and a knowing smile spread his lips. 

Placing one hand on the small of your back, he pulls you into him. His free hand catches the back of your head, crashing your lips together in a heated kiss. 

Something about the thrill of battle planted seeds of desire in your core that couldn’t be stopped. The two of you stagger towards his chambers, unwilling to separate for even a breath. The staff roaming the halls ducked into nearby rooms, avoiding any disastrous disruptions to your passion that could result in their end. 

Blood peppered over your skin and clothes, lingering adrenaline pumping through your veins, you ride the high together. 

The crash of his door opening left you stumbling to the bed where your bodies fall on top of one another. 

Quickly the fabric of your battle clothes is torn away with only a small squeak of discomfort passing your lips. 

“Come here baby” he beckons as he stands up and signals for you to swallow him. 

Needy coos seep past your throat while you wrap your lips around his tip and rhythmically take him deeper and deeper. 

Your tongue points and strokes along the underside of his shaft as you pull back before it dips into the salty fluid weeping from his tip. His hips mindlessly push forward with each downward thrust of your head, bobbing back and forth before he spins you around and pushes you down on the mattress. With your head laying off the side of the bed slightly, he can sink himself in your throat with ease. 

You gladly take him like the proper slut you’ve become for this man. Everything he gives you, you take, never wanting to disappoint him. Every limit he pushes, you work until you’re unconscious. (Which has happened often these past few months.) You’ll do anything to feel the enormous pleasure he provides and that’s why when he stuffs your mouth, you open wide and loosen the back of your throat, letting him fuck you till he decides it’s time for air. 

When Sukuna pulls out, he sees how red your chest is and how heavy you pull air into your lungs. 

“Such a good girl f’me. She deserves a reward.” Sukuna climbs on the bed, hovering over your naked silhouette. Your legs, which had been rubbing together in an attempt to relieve the tension between them, are pried apart. His lips lock over your clit before he suckles, stimulating the nerve bundle and sending sparks throughout your body. 

You gasp below him, kicking your legs, your hands grappling at his hamstrings. “Kuna” you gasp as he pulls back till the suction is broken. 

“Open that pretty little mouth”

You feel him prod at your face before you open wide and let him stroke into your windpipe once more while his head drops back down to feast on your center. Animalistic grunts permeate the air as his tongue winds around your engorged nub. You jerk and twist, unable to handle the sensitivity. But with each movement Sukuna slams into your throat in protest of your insolence. 

Back arching, hands clawing, mouth drooling, desire has torn through you and possessed your body. His hips thrust in and out of your mouth openly, freely fucking your face as you slip out of consciousness.

Torn back to the present by two fingers stuffing themselves into your tiny slit, all in tempo with the strokes of his tongue. His hips still their movement as he anxiously digs into you with his fingers and tongue before getting frustrated with the angle and flipping you on your back so your hips lined up with his. 

His fingers thrust into your cavern, stroking quickly and making you clench. Your entire core tightened as you clamped down around his digits. He shoved a third one in. Three thick digits curling up and stroking your g-spot causing you to whimper in pleasure. Your hand shot to his free arm, clasping him tight in your grasp. 

“Does she like that?”

“Yes”

“Look how wet she is, such a good girl gushing for her king.”

You bite your lip and look up at him in agreement. 

“Gotta prep your little pussy, Princess. Make her nice and loose so she can take me. I’ll have you all stretched out and ready for your future husband like the good little whore you are.”

Through clouded vision and mind numbing pleasure, you are pulled out of your bliss by his words.

“Wait, what?” It came out breathless and soft

“Shh, Princess. Don’t you worry, I’ll still leave you in one piece.”

“No” you breathe, “What do you mean my future husband?”

Sukuna slots himself between your legs, shoving his member deep inside and you feel the satisfaction of such fullness well up inside of you. But there’s no time for that now, you need answers, so you lightly put your hand on his stomach signaling him to stop.

“I’m serious Sukuna, what do you mean by my future husband?”

Annoyed that you would address him so informally, like a peer, Sukuna gives one last harsh thrust before stopping. 

“What are you talking about? Isn’t that what you humans do? Grow up and get married?”

“We do, but I thought I’m yours?”

“Yeah, for now.”

“For now?”

“What did you expect? Concubines don't live with their masters forever. They are dismissed and free to live their own lives after their duties have been fulfilled."

“I-” you are at a loss for words. You didn’t realize this is how he viewed you. He saved you; he trained you. Yet sex was all you were good for. You thought you were different. Had you been so naive to think that you were special? Had you been merely a toy to him this entire time?

“I guess I didn’t realize I was only a concubine to you.”

You withdraw from him and scooch all the way back to the headboard, tucking your knees into your chest. You look down at the rumpled sheets feeling a weight center in your sternum. 

Sukuna couldn't help the sorrow that took hold of him seeing you so hurt. He had never considered the fact that your relationship was more than a concubine and her master. Other such relationships are foreign to him. Never did he consider the fact that he had unknowingly entered something more…real. 

"My lamb, I'm sorry.” He takes a large inhale, carefully considering his words. “You're right. You're not simply a concubine; you’re more than that."

"But you still plan on sending me away."

"Don't you want to eventually leave and start a family of your own?"

Your glassy orbs finally look up to meet his and he can see from the pain on your face that he is very wrong. How could you care for a hateful monster such as him? And as much as he hated to see you upset, a warmth spread along his body. It was a sensation he had only experienced a few times and each of those times was around you. He realized in his long existence that no one else brought out these feelings other than you. No one would ever compare to you. No one ever has. Which caused him to blurt out his next words:

"Marry me."

"What?"

"Be my wife."

"Be your...but only a moment ago you were going to send me away when my ‘duties were fulfilled’."

Sukuna smiles and shakes his head. "No my lamb, you are right. You are not merely a concubine. You are very important to me."

You watch as he adjusts himself and kneels down next to the bed, by your side. 

"I want you to be my queen."

You lost your ability to speak. You just look at him in disbelief of what he is saying. "Sukuna, are you being serious?"

"When have you known me to be anything but serious?"

It was a fair point. Sarcasm and humor were never his strong suit. 

"Okay." You whisper to him still shocked by his proposal. 

"Try again. I need a proper answer."

"Yes, I will marry you."

A light kiss graces your cheek before two heavy hands push you down on the mattress. "Good, then it is decided. Now prepare the buttcheeks!”

You all out laugh at Sukuna’s attempt at humor, grabbing him by the base of his neck and pulling him down on top of you. His playful smile turns to one of pure mischief;a sign that things are about to get wild. 

Darkness blankets the earth early these days and you watch as the inviting pink sky fades into a black sparkling display. You gaze out the window in the dining hall when one of the staff approaches from behind. 

"Madam, it seems Lord Sukuna is running behind. Would you like to take a stroll in the west garden while you wait?"

"That sounds nice, do you know how long he will be?"

"I do not, but my wife will come get you when he arrives."

"Thank you Kazuo, I appreciate it."

The opaque sky with its glittering lights pulls you forward as you lightly push open the glass door, anxious to count the constellations. You wander the familiar trail, unaware of your mouth slowly falling agape.

"Hello, Little Lamb."

You jump, hand flying to your chest, slightly startled by the warm deep voice that greets you.

"Sukuna! You scared me!"

"I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"I thought you were running late."

"I was, I got lost in thought, here in the gardens."

His large palm finds purchase on your hip as his arm gently circles your back. He guides you down the trail and you see a warm glow around the corner.

"Join me, would you?"

He motions for you to walk before him. A table for two is set up in the center of the stone walkway. Short white candles are spread on the ground surrounding the table. Flames flickering as they dance in the soft breeze. A lantern is placed in the center of the table, illuminating plates of food freshly prepared. It was all a ploy to create a romantic evening just for the two of you. 

"This was your doing I assume"

A close lipped smile stretches Sukuna's features as he pulls out your chair. 

"Thank you, my Lord"

Sukuna takes a seat across from you and places the folded napkin in his lap.

"I've been thinking since last night. I believe it is time for me to switch vessels."

You drop your fork in surprise. "But I thought you didn't-"

"I changed my mind."

Though the words never left your lips, your face conveyed your question perfectly.

"It doesn't seem right to keep a vessel if it makes you uncomfortable. Plus I want you to have another friend around when I am away."

Sukuna looks off to the side as if to regain his pride after having conceded to a puny human. 

"That makes me very happy, my Lord. Thank you."

"I also believe that it is time to change how you address me. I no longer wish to have you call me by formal titles in private. I would like you to call me by my first name: Ryomen."

Sukuna's crimson eyes firmly set their gaze on you as his words sink in.

"Oh, okay." you stammer out feeling a bit dizzy by the honor he just bestowed upon you. 

After a few bites of his meal, Sukuna wipes his mouth and sets down the navy cloth on the table before pushing out his chair and standing up. You make to do the same, believing the meal has come to an end. Sukuna...Ryomen, rounds the table and stands before you, grabbing your hand in his. Your eyes lock where your hands meet and you watch as he lifts your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it.

"It's time I do this properly." Lowering down to one knee Ryomen pulls out an antique ring adorned with a blood red ruby and several small diamonds nesting around it. He looks up into your eyes as they well with tears, complementing the goosebumps that cover your arms and legs.

With one hand holding up the ring, the other grabs your left hand, "My angel, my lamb, my princess, will you do me the honor of standing by my side as my queen?" He punctuates his question with a soft kiss to the back of your hand while his crimson eyes look at you with a softness unnatural of such a domineering man. 

Your hands begin to shake. Your unsteady voice forces the word past your lips, "...yes"

All of Sukuna's sharp teeth glitter in the candlelight as the widest of smiles stretch across his face. He pulls you into a hug and whispers in your ear, "You have no idea how happy you just made me."

You hug him back with all your strength, your heart pounding with excitement. You don’t have long to bask in the glow before he sweeps you up and wraps your legs around his waist.

Lifting you with his immense strength, he pulls you panties to the side under your dress and rubs his fingers along your folds, dipping his fingertips past them and pulling out with a string of wetness trailing from your lips.

“Someone’s ready” he smirks into your ear.

Normally you’d be embarrassed but something about his teasing made you weak for him. Like you are sucked in and just a toy on a string.

The heat in your core burned hot. His commitment to forge a life long bond consumed your hormones. You were no longer his; he was yours. And better yet, no one could take him away from you. He lived a dangerous life, but however dangerous his enemies may be, you know Sukuna is more dangerous still. 

The thrilling life you currently lead is born out of this romance. A fairytale full of twisted desire. 

Sukuna walks you towards a large statue and pushes your back up against it, propping you up as he undoes the ties of his pants to pull out his member. It springs out of the fabric constraints and your eyes couldn’t help but gaze down. Instantly drool spurts from under your tongue. So long, so thick, and throbbing to be inside of you. 

Your eyes pan back up to catch him staring at you with utmost satisfaction. As a self-centered man, nothing makes him happier than being worshiped and adored; you happen to be captivating when you do both.

The fluid leaking from his tip is proof that you enthrall the man. He rubs his head up and down your center before pushing in. You gasp, the intrusion sending a ripple of goosebumps down your back and across your limbs. The small breath invigorates him. You can feel the rush of blood flow to his cock and your walls close around him tighter in response. 

Hips rolling up into yours, you are shoved up against the cool marble of the statue, moaning in your king’s ear as he drags his head in and out of your silken cavern. 

“Please Kuna, need you.”

“I need you too, Princess.” he coos, assuring you of your importance. 

He lets your legs down and spins you around, keeping your dress hiked above your hips. He bends you forward and lifts your hips to better angle himself as he reenters your middle. 

A pleasured cry rings from the garden and your new fiance is quick to slap a heavy palm over your pretty mouth to shush you as he slams into you from behind. Rhythmic claps join your muffled moans from the weight of his jewels slapping into your nub. Slowly you unraveled. Any composure that existed was ripped away by the sensation of his member shredding your insides and taking your sanity for ransom. 

A broken and high pitched “y-y-y-y-yes” is the only word that passes your lips while being railed by the Cursed King in all his enthusiasm. He rather enjoys what this engagement has done to you.

The trust that had already existed between you only grew. He feels there are no boundaries he can push that you will object to. Testing this theory, he slips his belt out of his pants and threads it through the buckle before wrapping the loop around your neck. He yanks on the end, shrinking the space your neck now occupies and chokes you so that your airway is substantially constricted. 

“Good job, baby.”

You gag and struggle but when he yanks on the end of the leather you obediently rest the weight of your upper body against it and allow the tension from the strip of hide in his hand to block the passage of air to your brain. Feeling the tingle of oxygen deprivation roll over your body.

“That’s it baby, that’s it. Good girl.” he praises as you lose all sense and feel a gush of fluids spurt out of your entrance and run down your inner thigh. 

A growl vibrates the shell of your ear; you about lose all control. Sukuna releases the belt and grabs your elbows, yanking back on them and pounding up into you with such force that you quite literally bounce off his hips. The sight of your flesh rippling in waves upon each impact fuels his desires. He grabs you around the waist and lifts you, carrying you like a doll to a bench to bend you over. 

“You wanna get fucked like a whore tonight, huh? I can do that”

You grunt in pleasure as you’re pinned over the back of the bench, your fingers curling around the edge of the seat for support. Your head falls forward and your stomach tightens. Pleasure crashing over you and causing your legs to shake, but still he does not stop. Sukuna slams into you faster. His pace builds with each passing second. Quickly, you topple over again, body twisting in pleasurable agony. His speed increases till you scream from the third orgasm in a row, your entire body writhing in pleasurable anguish. 

“Please,” you call, legs shaking and clit twitching.

“No.” 

He grabs the base of your ponytail and drags you over to a grassy patch and pushes you down on the ground. Folding your body into a ball he sinks in, lifting his hips with each thrust, a piston plummeting in and out of your squishy walls. You felt your organs move with each stroke, he bullied them out of his way with his endowment and you squirm under him, unable to bare the intensity. 

Another pathetic plea his way is shut down. Lost in his feelings, he tore into you, hips thrusting faster and harder till you swear you have bruises on the bottoms of your cheeks. His hand clamps around your neck and pushes down as he uses the hand to support his own weight. 

 “Almost, baby, almost…” 

A series of euphoric grones break through the ringing in your ears. His thrusts slow but still punctuate each moan as hot ropes shoot out and fill you. When he’s done he collapses on top of you. Panting from one of the most intense releases of his existence. He loves you. He knows that. It scares the hell out of him but it won’t stop him from being with you. 

As if a switch flips in his personality, he goes from choking you to scooping you up gingerly in his arms. At the drop of a coin you suddenly become some breakable treasure that needs to be handled with expert care or you will be ruined. 

Cradling you as he walked from the garden, through the halls, and to his room, you felt yourself drift off. Only mildly aware of the warm bath and the change of clothes. You feel safe and don’t even register that he has redressed you, ties up your hair, and lays you in bed to rest. Your mind slips to the sweetest of dreams that reflects your current reality since it truly is the happiest situation your mind can invent. 

Sukuna slips under the covers next to you and holds your hand, feeling you leg twitch as you enter REM sleep. He kisses the back of your hand like he always does, his thumb grazing the ring, before rolling on his back and drifting off himself. 

Normally in the morning you feel the warm spot on the sheets left behind after Sukuna Ryomen leaves the bed. Today, however, you roll over to find his toned body right where the vacant spot usually existed. A pair of strong arms greets you and pulls you into a well cut torso that your little hands press up against with all the greed in your loins. You feel a slight soreness between your legs and reminisce about the night prior, remembering the magical evening and feeling the underside of your new ring band with your thumb. 

You tuck your chin into his chest and feel him squeeze you tighter. To think someone like you will be the wife of someone like Sukuna. A terrifying monster, somehow turned the kindest of men around you. You made him softer but never any less strong. Anyone who would confuse the two will have made a grave mistake. 

A light knock at the door pulls you out of your thoughts. An unfamiliar female attendant walks through the door. She bows her head as she walks toward you with a large tray loaded with food. You lift your head towards Ryomen who smiles. “I figured you might not feel up to eating in the dining room since, yah know.” 

You giggle but notice the girl who brought your food seems displeased. You give her a quick glance that Sukuna doesn’t miss before thanking her and looking back over at him. A beaming expression paints your face. Your eyes linger on the tattoos adorning his face, especially the one across the bridge of his nose. 

“Like what you see?” 

You giggle once more. “Maybe. I like your tattoos.”

“Good, you’ll have to look at them for the rest of your life.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ll also have to wear them.”

“I have to wear them?”

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, “It is part of the ceremony.”

“You’re bringing a tattoo artist to our wedding ceremony?”

“These tattoos are not your typical tattoos. They are the physical markings of cursed energy.”

“You’re cursing me on our wedding day?! Naughty Ryo.”

A deep chortle rumbles from his bulky chest. “Our wedding ceremony will also consist of a binding ceremony. You will be bound to me. Your veins will carry my cursed energy.”

“So I carry you. Do you carry any of me? Or am I the only one being bound here?”

A satisfied smile splits Ryomen’s face. “So the human thinks she can binde the King of Curses, does she?”

“It’s only fair!”

His laugh cracks through the air, bouncing off every corner of the room before it subsides. He looks down on you with amusement, “Little lamb, yes, the binding ceremony works both ways. You are bound to me, and I am bound to you. The difference is that my power will make your binding stronger, and since I was once a human, I will not feel the effects of your binding the way you will with my cursed energy.”

“Will I also be bound to Yuuji?”

“That is why I need a new vessel. Once the binding is complete, my vessel will be lost to me.”

You look down feeling sadness for whomever the poor soul is. Quickly, a large and warm finger tucks under your chin, lifting it. “That is why we are looking for a volunteer, is it not?”

“Right.” your eyes cast to the side in thought. “So does that mean our wedding date hinges on when you find your new vessel.”

“It does…”

You push the tray of food out of your way and rise up to you knees. “Then we better get started.”

“What’s the rush, little one?”

“No rush, I’m just excited.”

“What for?”

“It’s our wedding. Does there need to be more of a reason?”

Once more amused by you he chuckles out, “I suppose not.”

“Then it’s decided. I’m going to check online for Sukuna fan clubs and also scout out some dresses.”

“Oh? Don’t you think something more traditional would be nice?”

“Maybe, but I also feel like a cursed wedding might warrant a little more pizazz.”

“You are truly one of a kind.” he breathes out while leaning in to kiss your forehead. 

He had become so tender with you these past two days. It is as if his decision to marry you has put you on a completely different plain. 

“Don’t forget that I still intend on continuing your training, even if you’re planning a wedding. …however… I will not be taking you out with me anymore. Not till after the binding. I’m not willing to take the risk.” Sukuna stands up and heads towards the door, leaving to get ready for the day.  

You call after him, “I’m not weak, you know.” Sukuna pauses with his hand on the open door, “I know, but you are weak compared to how strong you’re about to become.” He then passes through the threshold and leaves you to get dressed.

Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 9

[cablecar-s]

to love and self loathe

Note :

AAAAA I'M ALIIIIVEEE!!! I'm not dead I swear!! Real life just has me in a chokehold at the moment I'm so sorry guys T-T. Also! Since it's a special someone's birthday (Jason Todd, the love of my life).. YOU GUYS GET TWO UPDATES!!!

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Insert Clown Music

Rain fell on Jason as he sped through the forest, the sound of his motorcycle revving in the darkness. Speeding by all the trees, Jason tried to drown out his thoughts that were full of 'what if's and 'maybe's. 

He revved his bike, loud, and tried to drive through the forest quicker, feeling as if the branches of the trees were trying to pull him back. Coming out of the clearing, Jason made his way across the bridge and back into the city, having to slow down before he ended up hydroplaning.

He slowly came to a stop in front of a red light, the streets quiet and empty for once, an honest surprise since it was Gotham after all. Jason having lean on one of his feet as he waited for the light to turn green, he became lost in thought, the raindrops that fell onto his body almost entrancing.

Maybe he should have stayed at the manor after all.

But what if he ended up regretting to stay there?

Would Bruce regret asking him to stay?

It was probably for the best that Jason hadn't said yes after all.

Maybe Jason shouldn't have even gone to the party in the first place. It would've been better if he just stayed back to patrol like he said he was going to. Maybe then—

"WATCH OUT!"

What?

Jason's brows furrowed, but by the time he tried looking, something, or someone to be more specific, had crashed into him. The sudden crash caused him and his bike to both fall and skid against the pavement.

The vigilante grunted, his entire body slightly aching as he stared up at the night sky, the rain falling down on his helmet. Slowly turning his head to the left, he had found his bike lying on it's side, the engine still running as the headlight was now slightly cracked.

Just. Great.

Slowly getting up, he grunted once more, his bones popping as he got himself up to his feet. Walking over to his bike, he looked at the side that it had fallen on. A frown made its way to his lips, seeing the scratch marks all over on it now.

A groan could be heard over the soft pattering of the rain, and when he had looked over, Jason's face only soured more at seeing the familiar spider suit. She seemed to lay there on the asphalt for a good while before slowly sitting up.

"I knew I should've taken the bus." She grunted, getting herself up on her feet. She began to brush off any gravel that stuck to her suit, quietly muttering to herself before seeing a pair of boots stand right in front of her.

Slowly looking up, she looked at the familiar red helmet and white glowing eyes that stared her down.

"We really gotta stop meeting like this." She tried to joke, an awkward smile on her lips.

". . ."

The two vigilantes only stared at each other before the Spider cleared her throat, shooting him small finger guns. "Good talk.."

"You scratched my bike." 

"Sorry?"

"You scratched. My. Bike." He repeated, enunciating his words more.

She stared at him for a good moment before leaning to the side a bit, her head peeking out from his broad shoulders to see his bike propped up, seeing faint white scratch marks on its left side.

"Oh. It seems I have." She looked back at him who only continued to stare her down.

She shuffled a bit under his piercing gaze, feeling a bit uneasy at his lack of raging emotions that wasn't turned towards her.

"I can uh.. I can pay you back?" It came out as more of a question, but Jason only rolled his eyes. 

"I don't want your money." He scoffed, turning around and walked back to his bike. The Spider quickly followed behind him.

"My offer still stands though!" She quickly said. "I mean, maybe not right now, but if you give me a bit of time—"

She let out a small 'oomph!' as she crashed into his back. Soon, the second Robin had turned back around, slightly leaning down and stared right into her large slanted lenses.

"Wow you are.. Very close..." She chuckled nervously.

"I am about this close to putting a bullet through your big ass eyes if you don't shut your damn mouth." He threatened. He soon turned back around, swinging his leg over his bike.

"No small talk, duly noted." She muttered. Clearing her throat, she stood to the side. Jason only ignored her though, about to start the engine to his bike until the words she spoke had baffled him.

"Got room for one more..?"

Jason froze, staring at his hand that was about to turn the ignition on. Slowly turning his head, he looked at her who just stood there a bit awkwardly.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Very."

Jason only stared at her in disbelief while she rubbed the back of her neck, beginning to ramble.

"Usually I wouldn't have a problem getting home, but I didn't realize how far the city was from Wayne Manor and by the time I made it here I sorta ran out of my webs. And you know this usually doesn't happen, and I promise that-"

Jason was going to lose his goddamn mind.

Her words were going through one ear and out the other for him. And the more she talked, the more he could feel his patience running thin. Honestly, she was worse than Dick, and that says something because his brother doesn't know how to shut his mouth either.

"Which is crazy because-"

"Just get on the damn bike already."

"What?" She quickly straightened her posture once looking at him in mere surprise.

"Hurry up before I change my mind." He turned the key in the ignition, his bike roaring to life again.

"Oh! Uh, okay!" Quickly jogging over, she slid herself behind Jason. "Do you have another helmet or-"

"Nope."

And he sped off, causing the woman to yelp and quickly wrap her arms around his mid-section tightly. He couldn't help but let out a small amused huff, a slight smug smirk on his face, continuing to speed down the streets.

At some point, she had pointed out where he could drop her off, saying she could walk the rest of the way back to her apartment. 

Slowly coming to a stop, the Red Hood leaned on his foot while the Spider got off his bike. 

"Well, thank you again for—"

SCREEEECH!!

"Aaaand he's gone..." She watched as he sped off, the sound of his motorcycle becoming more and more distant.

"At least I don't have to pretend to start walking..." She muttered and looked over at her apartment building. 

Looking around, she jogged her way over to an alleyway before climbing up the wall of the apartment building she resided in. Once she made it to her bedroom window, the Spider let out a long sigh, relieved to have finally made it back home. 

With tired limbs, she dragged herself through her window, using whatever strength she had left to close it. Pulling the mask off from her head, she shuffled her feet near her bed, only to fall face first into the covers.

Another exhausted sigh left her lips, this one being a bit more exaggerated.

Today was definitely tiring. From having to swing to pretty much the country side to get to the mansion, to fighting Black Mask's men and then swinging back to the city, only to end up having a bit of a gnarly fall and meeting Red Hood again—which she was sure he hated her guts.

Her entire body ached, not having moved that much since her more active days as Spider-Woman. Turning her head, she stared at her phone that was resting on her bedside table. With a lazy arm, she swiped it off from the table, looking at the unread messages.

One being from her Aunt May and the other being from her boss.

Shit, right. The pictures..

With an exhausted groan, she pulled herself away from her comfortable bed, shuffling her feet over to her laptop. Grabbing her USB, she plugged it into her laptop, looking at the files that held all of the photos she had taken throughout the years with bleary eyes. 

Letting out a large yawn, the Spider rubbed her eyes while tiredly humming, picking a random file and letting them be transported to her USB.

While that was happening, she got back up and tiredly changed out of her Spider-Woman suit, throwing the pieces of her suit all over her bedroom floor. Continuing to drag her feet against the floor, she was able to make it to her bathroom to give her face a quick splash.

Eyes not even opened anymore, she shuffled her way back to her laptop, quietly cursing as she bumped into a few of her things or stubbing her feet into whatever she had decorated her room with.

Squinting her eyes opened, she saw that the photos were done uploading. Unplugging her USB, she closed her laptop and put her USB into her camera bag. Turning around and going back to her bed, the vigilante dove face first into her blankets and pillows, only to knock out a few moments later.

In the morning, the Spider was making her way to her work, coffee cup in hand, camera bag slung around her shoulder, and feet shuffling against the ground. 

She was unbelievably tired. She didn't know what time she had got home or what time she went to bed, all she knew was that she didn't get enough sleep at all. She wondered how she could stay up so late and be energized in the morning back in high school.

She'll never know.

Walking up to her boss' office, she stared at the door, hearing female Jameson's voice just beyond it. It was obvious she was irritated with how she was practically yelling at whoever the poor soul was.

Continuing to wait for a few more moments until it was complete silence, the Spider soon gave the door a light knock. Once hearing a stern 'come in' after the knock, she quickly entered the office.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before exhaling quietly and entered the office. The woman was currently on her computer, not even looking at the vigilante.

"Ma'am I-"

"I want you to take pictures of Spider-Woman."

"What?"

"Preferably with Gotham's vigilantes." 

Turning her computer screen to face her employee, the secret vigilante's eyes widened, seeing a shaky video of her, Red Hood, and Nightwing working together to take down Black Mask's men.

Oh she was—

"—So dead." Jason muttered, staring at the video that was playing the fight from last night. People were commenting on the video like a wild fire, and soon enough, different articles of Spider-Woman started to be published as well.

SPIDER-WOMAN SEEN IN GOTHAM CITY!!

A NEW VIGILANTE IN GOTHAM CITY?

WILL SPIDER-WOMAN BE REPLACING THE BATS?

"Replacing the bats?" Jason scoffed at one of the titles. "I bet she couldn't even kill a fly." He rolled his eyes. 

The door in front of him opened, making Jason look up, turning off his phone simultaneously. Alfred was there, a warm smile on his face.

"You do know you can enter the manor as you please, don't you Master Todd?" He chuckled. "You do live here as well."

The second Robin gives a small chuckle at this as well. "Yeah I know, just something in this article caught my attention Alfred."

"Spider-Woman I presume?" He rose a brow, taking a step back while Jason entered the mansion, the butler closing the door behind him.

Jason sighed, a small frown on his lips. "Seems like she's the talk of the town recently." 

"It is obvious that her skills are nothing but mediocre compared to my skills." A young, yet arrogant voice could be heard from one of the rooms up ahead.

"She seems to be the talk in the manor as well." Alfred chuckled softly, Jason only groaned at this.

Parting ways, Alfred going back to the kitchen while Jason went to the room all of his siblings seem to be currently in, he watched Tim wave his phone around, a smug look on his face.

"Really? Because to me it seemed like she caught you by total surprise." He mused.

Damian only glared at his adopted brother. "Father told me I was not allowed to fight in any way, I was simply following orders."

Jason snorted at this, making the two boys look over at him. "You? Follow orders? That's hilarious."

All eyes were soon on Jason.

"Well look who finally decided to show up." Dick mused from the couch.

Jason only rolled his eyes and made his way over to the youngest. He handed him a neatly wrapped present. The boy let out a huff of annoyance, taking it with silent gratitude and opened it, only to reveal a copy of Les Misérables.

"Happy birthday demon bird." Jason mused, ruffling the boy's head who glared at the taller man, quickly fixing his hair. 

"These traditions are still stupid.." The boy muttered, looking down at the book, the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips.

The older siblings all glanced at each other, knowing smiles on their faces but kept quiet. 

"You think we'll see her later tonight for patrol?" Stephanie questioned, watching a video of Spider-Woman fighting, Cassandra—who was sitting next to her—watched the video as well.

"I will make sure she feels my wrath after what happened at the party." Damian huffed

"Oh you mean her webbing you to the ceiling?" Tim pulled out his phone, waving it around in the air for everyone to see a zoomed in photo of a not-so-happy Damian stuck to the ceiling.

"If you do not delete that Drake I will murder you." The fourth Robin hissed.

"Already in the group chat." Barbara chimes, making the others snicker.

Damian let out a small Tt while crossing his arms.

"That's enough teasing." Bruce comes into the room, a small chuckle leaving his lips. "It's his birthday after all."

"All the more reason to tease him." Tim rolled his eyes.

Jason tensed as Bruce had all taken a good look at his children until he landed lastly on him. He smiled at Jason, almost making the second Robin slightly squirm under his gaze.

"Glad you could make it Jason." He said softly.

"..Yeah." Jason crossed his arms, looking away.

A sad smile made its way to Bruce's face, but Dick was quick to try and not make the room too sad or awkward.

"Find anything useful on the cameras?" He quipped.

Looking over at Dick, he only shook his head. "Nothing, just a replay of Sionis's men blowing up the ballroom wall." He answered.

"We also seem to have a broken camera." Alfred walked in, setting down a plate of cookies onto the coffee table. "It seems our surprise guest accidentally broke it." He chuckled softly.

"Got it." Barbara chimed, waving her tablet in the air. 

Everyone grouped behind her as she played the security footage from last night.

Nothing was shown at first, until the body of someone climbing up the wall could be seen at the very edge, and then the view was quickly pointed down at the wall instead of the yard.

"Oh shit..!" A voice quietly hissed. 

The view of the camera began to swing a bit, the quiet sound of webs coming out as the camera was once again facing the yard, and then the mask of slanted eyes with webs decorated on it appeared.

"Hi Mr. Wayne, uh, sorry about breaking your camera. I kinda fixed it? You might have to replace it though because my webs disappear after a certain amount of time. I would like to say that I would pay you back but I mean, you're not called a billionaire for nothing right?" She laughed nervously.

Soon, the camera shook, the sound of an explosion going off, alerting the Spider.

"I should, probably go tend to that." She pointed out of view of the camera. "Hopefully me saving the party is a good repayment for breaking your camera. Anyways, uh, I'll be going then." She soon began to crawl off, a distant 'Sorry about the camera again!' being picked up from the mic before the footage ended.

"At least she was nice enough to apologize." Tim commented.

"She seems fun!" Stephanie smiled, Cassandra nodding along.

As everyone continued to talk along, Jason only stood off to the side, his lips pressed into a thin line, his arms crossed.

It wasn't long until an arm slung around his neck, his body being slightly pulled down as he was briefly given a noogie.

"Hey—!" Jason exclaimed, pushing the culprit away, who—of course—was none other than Dick.

He laughed a bit, a grin on his face. "Come on Jaybird, she's not all that bad." He tried to reason.

Jason rolled his eyes, trying to fix his hair. "Yeah but she's still a pain in the ass." 

"She can't be all that bad." The first Robin smiled. 

"Maybe for you.." Jason muttered, remembering how she had crashed into him last night, causing a bit of damage to his bike, it was brand new too.

Now Jason was starting to become irritated just thinking about it.

With a slight nudge from Dick, Jason had an unimpressed look as he looked at him.

"Ah come on, you don't really mean that!"

Jason in fact, did mean it.

Especially when she was the cause of the both of them getting caught by Black Mask.

Jason stared at the wall, annoyed as they hung upside down on the ceiling from her web, the two vigilantes slowly spinning.

"So uh.. Nice weather we're having..?" She laughed nervously.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

next chapter ->

[svuobsessed]

Elliot Stabler X Olivia Benson X Victim freshman Reader

Request: Hey can I request a victim of rape reader whos a freshman and she’s friends with Maureen and stabler and benson are on the case and Elliot doesn’t know about her being friends with Maureen it’s brought up.

So sorry for the wait!

Third person pov...

In the vibrant halls of Manhattan's bustling Hudson University amidst the throngs of eager freshmen, resided Y/N L/N an innocent and vulnerable soul.

Unassuming and quiet, she had found solace in an unlikely friendship with Maureen Stabler in their drama class together.

They had been working with the other members on their play, Y/N had been stressed so she'd gone for a late night walk.

On a crisp autumn night, as Y/N made her way back to her dorm from a late walk for some fresh air.

As she walked a chilling hand reached out from the alleyway, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the darkness. Fear coursed through her veins as she struggled against her assailant's grip.

The attacker, a masked figure, pressed a cold blade against her skin, threatening her life. As she struggles in his grip he slaps her making the teen go silent and stop moving.

"Quit it or you die" he threatens her holding his hand over her mouth.

As the assailant fled, Y/N lay trembling on the pavement, her mind reeling from the trauma.

After calming down after the attack she eventually got safetly back to the dormitories, as she walked through the door her room mate Maureen Stabler was sat in bed.

She had been waiting for Y/N to return. "N/N! I was worried" she says getting up from her bed and waking over to the

H/C girl, once she got closer she saw the fear on the Freshmans face.

Her E/C eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Y/N?" Maureen was worried, holding her friends arm she shook Y/N out of her thoughts.

"Maureen, hi" when she looked up, Maureen worried when she noticed a red mark appearing on her face, the teen went to touch the spot but Y/N flinched.

Maureen stopped dead, her eyes wide as she looked at her friend, the H/C girl was looking at the ground. "N/N did something happen?" She asks the girl.

Y/N breathes in shakily, slowly she looks up at Maureen, tears in her eyes. "I was raped" she whsipers tears falling down her cheeks.

Maureen gasps before pulling her friend into a hug, holding her as she cried and told the girl what happend.

Meanwhile, at the bustling office of the Special Victims Unit, Detectives Olivia Benson and Elliot Stabler were briefing their team on a series of disturbing attacks targeting young women.

The unmistakable modus operandi led them to believe that a serial predator was at large.

Olivia and Elliot arrived at Hudson University, they had been told of a rape that occurred, a Freshman called Y/N

L/N was raped and had only just told the teachers.

One of her friends who wished to remain anonymous told a teacher because she was worried for her friend, the teacher then called SVU and let Y/N know that two detectives will be speaking to her.

As they canvassed the halls, Stabler's gaze fell upon a vibrant flyer for a Drama Club performance. The name Maureen Stabler jumped out at him, stirring an uneasy sensation within him.

Benson, sensing Stabler's unease, discreetly inquired about Maureen. "Maureen had mentioned about a new friend called Y/N" he told his patner, Liv patted his shoudler.

"It'll be okay El, we'll catch this guy" she reassured the worried man, Elliot smiled tightly at Liv, they then ask a student walking past, who pointed them towards a rehearsal room.

As they walked in they saw a group of students each working together to create the stage backgrounds and practising their rehearsal. "Hey Police" calls Elliot and Olivia as they walk in holding up their badges.

One of the students walk over. "Hey who do you need?" He asks clearly one of the elder students, Elliot looks at him before answering. "We're looking for

Y/N L/N" he says, the teen points him in the right direction.

The two detectives find the two girls, they were sat together painting a background for thr play, as they two laught, Benson and Stabler then walked over to the girls.

Smiling Liv held out her badge, Y/N looked worriedly at the two, Maureen looking at her friend holding her hand.

"Hi Y/N right, I'm Olivia this is Elliot we are with Special Victims" she told the girls, she smiled at them.

Y/Ns eyes widened before she turned to look at Maureen. "You told them" she says her voice quiet. Maureen looked at her friend quilt across her face as she nodded.

She then took the H/C girls hand. "I'm sorry Y/N but they can help you, I told you my Dads a detective" at that Y/N nods. Maureen gives her a smile.

"This is him, he helps Victims of rape, they will catch the guy" she explains to her friend, Y/N sighs. "I tell you everything" she says to Benson.

She then told the detectives what happend with Maureen's holding her hands.

Together, Stabler and Benson delved into the investigation, their professional prowess intertwined with personal ties.

As they unraveled the threads of the attack, they discovered a twisted plot involving jealousy and a desire for revenge.

In the end, justice prevailed, and the perpetrator was apprehended. Y/N's ordeal had been traumatic, but the support of her friends and the unwavering determination of Detectives Benson and Stabler had seen her through.

Her and Maureen kept their friendship during the ordeal, Y/N was grateful that she had such a friend.

The end!

Hope you liked this oneshot, so sorry it took me so long to write this, didn't have any ideas until now, as usual sorry for any grammar and Spelling mistakes.

Requests are open!

Word count : 1020

[the-heaminator]

Dude trust me there is something wrong with that green-eyed bastard

@hetaween-event

day 1: Witches, i had fun writing this an wrote this in about an hour and a half so idk what goes on in it but its fun, ps, search up what a brexit tackle is.

Alfred had always found Arthur strange, he never knew why; he was just wrong.

Wrong as in half a degree off a right angle. Alfred could feel him staring sometimes, eyes too green, too large, too bright boring into his skull like he was drilling holes. No one really understood why he was unnerved, because for all intents and purposes Arthur was a model student, deputy head boy, got some of the highest grades in the year, and never really got into trouble. 

He wasn’t someone anyone would consider dangerous, he wasn’t one of those lads who carried knives or sold vapes, even tucked in his shirt and was unlikely to show up with skid marks on his trousers after brexit-tackling someone in the muddy fucking field.

But to Alfred, there was something wrong, and he had the sinking, deeply sinking feeling that Arthur knew about his fears. Why else would he stare at him like that? Otherwise, he was almost mild-mannered, not the type to stare, and most definitely not the type to stare like that.

Not that Alfred could tell you what that meant, kind of like he was undressing you, but not peeling you of your clothes, noo, that would be too normal, Alfred swore he was being stared at like he was planning on removing his skin. Alfred very much did not enjoy that.

He told Matt, his brother, his confidant, his idiot in arms while walking back from school, of his suspicions, and Matt just laughed him off, come on, no way was he scared of Arthur fucking Kirkland, Matt was in his maths set and genuinely there was no need to be afraid of him. 

“Those eyes dude!”

“They’re just green, it's not that deep bro, chill out.”

“Nah, nah, Antonio’s eyes are green, this fucker is staring into my soul like he wants to peel my skin off.”

“Look at you, being all dramatic, you really should have taken drama.”  Matt had such a shit-eating grin on his face that Alfred really wanted to tackle him right then and there.

“Oh for the love of god Matt stop being an asshole” He knew damn well that asking Matt not be an asshole to him was asking the sun to rise in the west and for fish to climb trees, but god fucking dammit why didn’t Matt believe him!

“Oh come on, I believed you when you said you saw Natalya skinning a crow behind the English block, trust me here, there is something wrong with that man.”

“Natalya was a special case, tell me you don’t think her ass would do that. She barks at dogs dude, you’d be insane not to believe me. But Arthur has done absolutely jackshit to you, or anyone else, so what gives.”

“What gives is that I swear that man is trying to peel my skin off with his eyes and I Do Not Fucking Like That.”

“Alfred.”

“Matt.”

No one said anything for a while, mostly because they were staring at each other, Alfred having to crane his neck up just a little to meet Matt’s eyes, neither willing the other to say anything, and also they were blocking the pavement so they had to get a move on.

“Fine, but I swear if nothing happens I will steal all your lunch for a week.”

“Come on, that's a bit much!”

“Put it this way, if you really think there's something up with that bastard then you’d be happy to take this.”

“You bastard. ” but they shook on it anyway. Matt probably wouldn’t steal his lunch. Probably. Hopefully. Besides, Arthur definitely had something up with him, Matt would see it, just watch. Perceive him. Really perceive him, and he will reveal his true fucked up colours. Just you wait.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“That bloody fatass is perceiving me.” Why the fuck had Alfred of all people decided to perceive hi, that man wa sa blabbermouth if he’d ever met one and he’d already probably blabbed to half the school that something was off about him.

Lukas raised his eyebrows, right, what had gotten into Arthur this time. He never really got perceived, it was Vlad’s job to get accidentally perceived, but he was used to it and could always play it off as a joke to the point that him being slightly off-putting was part of his entire vibe.

But Arthur? Arthur hadn't been perceived properly since the Great war??? The fuck??? He was practically a model student too. Damn the whole dying of whatever the fuck (causes of death had grown far more boring in the past decades) and having to grow up again and again and again. The fact that they always had to die on the same day was stupid too. But who were they to question a fucked up spell.

Lukas for one was enjoying this, Arthur had broken his streak of not being perceived, Lukas was last properly seen in the late 90s. Matthias. Wonder what he was doing now. Anyways, spill the fucking tea.

What tea was there to spill! Alfred was looking at him like he knew something was wrong, he'd flinched when Arthur looked at him like it burned him, meant he wasn't being purely perceived but Alfred had an idea. And the boy had an overactive imagination, this was both good and bad.

For one, being known for an overactive imagination meant that no one would believe him, so him being a blabbermouth wouldn't be much of a problem there, but that also meant it was easier for him to perceive the lot of them.

Right. What should they do about it.

“Flirt with him.”

“Lukas no.”

“Why not, have fun with him, fuck him up.”.

“You're a bastard, you know that Lukas.”

“Renowned in 4 countries for it. Yes”

“I am not going to flirt with him.”

“I dunno. Kill him.”

Vlad just burst in, covered in mud. What the fuck had he been doing “Who are we killing!” He sounded far too bright given the subject content.

“We are not killing anyone, Vlad.”

It was rare for Lukas to smile, let alone snigger, “The fuck happened why is the snow prince giggling?”

“I am not the snow prince, if I was I wouldn’t be dealing with you dinguses.” He was laid down on Arthur’s bed, hanging off it upside down, “But anyways, Artie over here is being perceived.”

“Oooh, broke his streak did he?”

“Oh shut up Vlad, you are constantly perceived.” 

“Hey, not like I try to hide it anyway! But you, Mr Kirkland, have been perceived.”

“I still vote to kill him. Or fuck him.”

Vlad stared at him “Why is that your answer to everything Lukas.”

“It works.”

“RIGHT, Lukas, shut up, Vlad, why are you covered in mud, Bess, get your fluffy ass here right now.” Bess, short for Elizabeth, was Arthur’s little familiar, wasn’t a sleek black cat, noooo, it was a dumb idiot ginger who was far too fat for her own good and could probably wake satan with her screams if he even dared to shit without her present.

He tied a note to her foot, and told her, his fucking idiot cat, staring at her in the eye “Give this to Alfred F Jones, make him respond, then come back. Okay.” Bess went out the window and Arthur mildly hoped that she wouldn't do something stupid, a wasted thought, she would anyways, but it was good to dream no?

“I still vote on killing him.”

“ SHUT UP LUKAS!”

[novankenn]

Spirits of Vengeance...

(2)- the Punisher (Jaune)

He watched the comings and goings through the side door of the dilapidated and boarded up store front, from the driver side mirror of his battered black panel van.

It had been five months since the loss of his wife and children to a White Fang firebombing in Atlas. Four months since he used his incomplete Special Operations training to hunt down those vermin. Four months since he did what Atlas' authorities seemed impotent to do.

At twenty-years of age, Jaune Arc had thrown his promising military career, the connections to his still living parents and sisters... for a singular driving goal. To end those that hurt others. To punish those that preyed on the innocent.

"I've seen enough. It's a safe house." he mumbled to himself as he rose from the driver's seat and climbed into the cluttered back of his mobile home. Removing his coat he proceeded to prepare himself.

The first was his tactical vest, followed by several magazines and clips in their proper places, ending with his armaments. A sawed off pump-cation shotgun, a .44 caliber pistol, and finally a well modified military issued assault rifle.

"It's time." he mumbled to no one as he took one final look at his intended target through the back windows of his van. The pair of doors swung open and he stepped out. His highly polished combat boots splashing muddy stale water as his feet made contact with the pavement.

He moved quickly, and with purpose. Reaching the unguarded entrance in just a few seconds. With his back against the wall on the opening side of the door, he pulled a small cylinder like object from a side pocket of his cargo pants. The door squeaked feebly as he pulled it open just enough. Propping it ajar with the toe of his boot, he pulled the pin... and tossed the object into the entryway.

The door swung closed and he turned his head to the side. A couple of seconds later there was a muffled bang, followed by pained and startled shouts. Viciously yanking the door open he stepped inside.

With practiced precision he brought his weapon up and into position. His left index finger ghosting over the trigger of the AR. He moved through the lower floor of the building, his head on a swivel, his weapon up and ready. His finger tapping the trigger.

The AR barked at his commend, unleashing short bursts of brass jacketed rounds into any and every figure he encountered. Blood splattered walls and the floor. Faunus wearing the signature White Fang mask fell along side suited men and women wearing red ties.

In the space of three minutes Jaune had pacified the first floor of the building. Finding the door to the basement, he lobbed another flash-bang down the narrow flight of stairs. With a muffled thump it went off... followed by silence.

Finding the door to the stairwell to the upper floors boarded off, told him he was done. Letting his AR hanging from it's combat sling he moved through the macabre scene of slaughter without pause. Finding a over turned folding table, he knelt down and began to sort through the scatter papers, and maps.

"Now what's all this?" he mumbled to himself as he scanned each piece with his cold remorseless eyes. Finding the marked up maps of Vale interesting, he gathered them. Standing he stepped over the corpses he had created and walked out of the building.

A couple minutes later the van started up, and slowly rolled off, vanishing into the dimly lit streets of Vale's waterfront district.

(Master List)