#a part of me was thinking it would be a black swan

[sopaprimordialy]

Boppers, hear me out.

Victor is Luther's father.

Ok, now, you might be thinking: "what the actual fuck are you talking about?" Well, in this essay I'll expose favorable arguments to my theory/theses/head canon that, in the album, the police officer Victor is Luther's father. Keep your radio tuned tight, boppers, bcs I might be crazy OR I might be onto something.

(There will be spoilers)

1. First of all...

For context, Victor is the cop that kills Fox. He's played by David Patrick Kelly, the actor who plays Luther in the original movie, The Warriors (1979). This alone is a huge reason for me to believe that they are somehow connected, BUT THERE'S MORE!

I think we already established that what a character claims to be their reason for doing something is not always their real reasoning, or, at least, not the entirety of it. I do believe Luther kills Cyrus because he enjoys the chaos and has a lot of hate in his heart, as Swan wisely says, but I don't think that's all.

We have hints among his lines that he's also misogynistic and racist. "Well, duh?" You might say, because there were few white men who weren't those things by the time this story takes place, but sometimes we may underestimate how heavy this stuff weighs in the narrative. If he really likes chaos that much, why not kill, Idk, a police captain? That would certainly create generalized chaos just as he likes, but instead, he deliberately targets marginalized groups' leadership — he kills a black woman, a powerful black woman who was trying to unite her community.

She was obviously an obstacle for the cops to keep up with their oppression towards these groups because unity is strength, and all they don't want is strong communities that knows their rights and won't accept to be chased down like animals when they've done nothing but trying to survive.

In the very first track of the album, the question "but is Cyrus atractin' police action?" Is asked. The answer we find further on, especially when the police invades Van Cortlandt Park right after she's killed, is: *yes*, of course she is.

* Also, the timing here is too convenient, don't you think? Just like the police knew exactly when to attack, when the desperate crowd would be disorganized, when they would be easy prey... anyways 😛

2. That weird af phone call

Now that we have established that there would be a lot of interest on the police's part to have Cyrus killed, let's move on to the next topic.

Suddenly, without any further context or this being ever mentioned again, Luther talks to *someone* on the telephone. This happens in the album, and in the movie as well, it is not confirmed who the hell Luther was talking to on that phone call. I've already seen some people theorizing that he has contacts inside the force and that he's talking to them, and I agree, but I think he's not talking with some random cop, I believe he's talking to Victor.

Come think with me: how did Luther instantly knew Ajax had been taken by the cops ("Holy shit, Warrior down [...] Picked the wrong fight / now she's in for a long night", I'll talk about this later btw), and most importantly, what exactly was Victor doing at Union Square's station?

Let's compare this approach with Barnes' one at the park.

Barnes was alone in the bench, and only when Ajax approached him (and started beating the shit out of him), he called for police reinforcements. It didn't feel planned, even tho he was trying to bait them to come closer to him, I think it was much more about sexual harassment than him actually intending to arrest them. With Victor, however, it doesn't feel like a random encounter.

"Officers are on the scene". This line repeats a lot during Reunion Square, that alone indicates that there are a group of cops there, like they've been called. They knew the Warriors, specifically the Warriors, would be there, and why was it so important for them to get the Warriors if they're just a "likkle Coney Island crew"? Because Luther would be FUCKED if the Riffs reached them alive.

Of course, the Riffs could just not believe the girls, but he was not willing to risk it — after the phone call, Luther tells Cropsy the Riffs wanted the Warriors alive, but they don't. And he was right, wasn't him? Cleon being alive and telling the Riffs the truth was the only reason for him to be caught and... well, we don't know for sure what they did to him, but we can imagine they weren't gentle.

That being said, we have strong evidence that Luther was in touch with the cops, else he would have no way of knowing Ajax was grounded. And Victor needed a reason to be there as well; not only an informant, but also a motive, and if we consider the theory that he was talking to Luther, we have both things.

3. Trust in the impunity of a daddy's boy

During the entire musical, Luther thinks he can get away with about everything. I atribute that not only to the fact that he's a white man targeting women of color, but he must also have other reasons to believe he's immune to justice of any kind, and there's where I start to try to convince you that he's Victor's son.

I mean, when Cropsy shows that he's worried the Riffs would go after them, Luther, rather ignorantly, responds with "they're looking for the Warriors, remember?" As if the fact that the Riffs are going after the Warriors is enough for him to believe they would never even think about interrogating them, trying to find the murder weapon, etc.

This behavior suits someone that has never been held accountable for any misdeeds at all, and who would fit this description better than a cop's son?

Let alone that Victor is a captain. He holds even MORE power within the police. Being the son of a cop, even if you're a fucking gang member, you'd feel safe enough to do just whatever the fuck you want without even thinking about the consequences.

Like, how many times he could have been caught doing something illegal, just tell the cops "do you know who my father is?" AND IT ACTUALLY WORKING? I firmly believe he was the one to inform the cops about all of this — the gathering, the Warriors' location, and the fact that he needed daddy to arrest the women who could potentially cause something to happen to him, because the Riffs are not the police, they'd not give af abt who his father is, even someone like him would have to be a little worried about being taken by them.

4. Fox & Luther — Parallels

I bet you did not see that one coming. "What do you mean there's something in common between Fox and Luther specifically that makes Victor killing her an interesting parallel with his (supposed) son?"

Well, games. That's kinda it. Old games.

So, there are only two characters that canonically like games in the musical, because they actually mention them: Fox ("A-yo I'll take you on an Odyssey like Magnavox") and Luther (with his multiple references to Pacman during the entire thing and other game expressions, like "I was at the top of the screen when I took that shot")

The Magnavox Odyssey is actually mentioned on the movie (according to my own father. I confess I don't remember this part, but I trust my nerdy father who actually have a connection with old consoles to notice that) by the Lizzies (fem version of the Bizzies), and Fox was not even there at the moment. Actually, movie Fox does not have a lot of... personality, if you ask me, he was kinda irrelevant. Anyways, even if Lin and Eisa wanted to reference this specific part in which the Lizzies offer to play Odyssey with the Warriors to lure them, why not have the Bizzies saying that? Why Fox?

Because that would be a bitter irony in the future. I might be crazy, BUT HEAR ME OUT, Victor killing a young woman that shared his son's interest for games was a foreshadowing for him being responsible for Luther's death as well — because he failed.

This is other thing they share: they failed. Victor failed to stop the Warriors from going home, Luther failed to kill Cyrus and blame the Warriors with no consequences, they failed together at silencing them, and this CAUSED Luther's (probable) death.

5. A gang member who endorses the police?

Ok, this last section is based in my belief that, even tho the crews fight and have their diferences, they all share a common enemy: the cops. That was the reason for them to accept the truce after all, the cops are their common enemy.

But somehow that doesn't feel true for the Rouges.

First of all, they killed Cyrus, which obviously means they were not in favor of the truce. But why? They sure would suffer from police brutality too if they were a normal gang. And we can all agree that they are even more violent than the average gang (I mean... have you listened to their leader?).

Also, this line intrigues me.

I mean, "picked the wrong fight"? It is clear that Luther's view is biased to take the cops' side. In this case, one could argue that his misogyny would play a big part on him diminishing Ajax's will to fight against an abuser. Anyhow, I think that this evidences that, even tho he's a gang member, he has a strong connection with the police.

CONCLUSION

I think we can all agree that Luther has something going on with the police, and I hope I have convinced you that he has something going on with Victor specifically.

It is possible to argue that their connection is only "tactical", or even go as far as to say that they are friends or something (tho, I don't think that's possible. One thing about brats like the Rouges: they don't go well with old people, with all due respect. I don't personally see this working as a friendship), but I'll stand with the father-son relationship till the day I die!!

Thank you for reading this madness and please lmk what you think! If there's something that doesn't make sense, if you have your own theories... I mean, I'm far more invested in this than I ever thought I would be, please give me more content 🙏🙌

[legendary-cookies]

(Source)

FUCK

[teddybeartoji]

now that i have aventurine i'm just left wondering how the fuck was i doing anything before😭😭😭😭😭

[iceunhie]

voicelines about you: as their lover ! (part 2)

featuring: sunday, aventurine, blade (+ black swan, acheron) [ part 1: dan heng, jing yuan, gepard, kafka, jingliu. ]

notes: well. the long awaited part 2 is here! (i took absolutely wayyy too long to finish this but a lovely anon requested the penacony cast so i just waited until now haha) stay tuned for either a future aventurine fic or a sunday fic tho; reblogs are appreciated! main masterlist.

Sunday

About [Name]: Ah, you speak of my beloved. [Name] has managed to strike your interest as well? Heh, I'm joking. You aren't that type of person, no? ….But yes, my lover truly is quite stellar, if not incomparable. I doubt I'd find anyone in the universe as lovely as I do them.

About [Name]: Smitten Robin often jokes about how my eyes change whenever I see them. ‘Softens like the smitten man you are,’ she says. Well, my sister is hardly wrong about matters of the heart, and to be fair, her words are indeed correct. While I cannot be with them every second of the day, despite my only wish to do so…. I suppose this much is fine. At the very least, this bewitched version of myself shall ward any that dare take [Name] away from me.

About [Name]: Preparation. …My mansion has everything [Name] shall ever desire. As for I, what I only desire is them alone, and for them to be right by my side. When the time is right, what's mine shall also be theirs, and none shall ever separate the two of us again. Should anyone attempt it, well, there's a reason my mansion is built the way it is.

Aventurine

About [Name]: [Name], [Name], [Name].... I see that you too have an eye for priceless treasures. Unfortunately for you, this particular one is already mine to behold. Mm, I wonder how my lover must be faring right now…. Missing them is truly, horribly debilitating.

About [Name]: Unworthy Whenever I think of [Name] being with me, of all people… Sometimes, the thought is unbearable. To think they would care for someone like me…. How truly lucky I am. Or maybe it's the other way around? Hehe, take a guess.

About Topaz: Contradictory Topaz and [Name] get along fairly well, despite her rather obvious dislike for me. Nonetheless, I suppose I can understand why. My lover is irresistibly charming~ Now, does this make me jealous, I wonder…. How about we bet on that?

Blade

About [Name]: Though this sword may be battered and broken, if you harbor any intention of harm towards them, I will not hesitate to brandish this blade.

About [Name]: Mara Infliction When afflicted with mara, the senses are ravaged ceaselessly, muddying the mind—being unable to distinguish ally from foe. This is my path. And yet their face is clear, pure amidst the carnage, alleviating the haze for but a moment. My mind may be overridden with hatred, but I will never forget that feeling of salvation.

(BONUS: Kafka’s Voiceline about [Name] !) About [Name]: Truly A Shame Bladie’s little darling, hm? Definitely a wonder, that one, taming him so easily. Those two are definitely an interesting case, that's for sure. Scary, marastruck Blade and them…. truly a shame. Even I know just how the ending of that particular script will end.

Acheron

About [Name]: …They are my lover, yes. Hm? Tell you more about them? Heh, I think you'd have better luck asking [Name] instead of me. I probably wouldn't even know where to begin.

About [Name]: Keeping Memories Despite the fact of my memories being in less than the best condition, [Name] always tells me about all the exciting things they've come across, whether it be delicious food from various planets, or even the most mundane things like the sound of the rushing water, the sight of fireflies in the night. They truly make everything worth remembering.

(BONUS: Black Swan’s Voiceline about [Name] !) About [Name]: Eye Of The Storm Ah, you speak of that Galaxy Ranger's companion…. The abyss that is her consciousness seems to only become calm in the face of them, akin to the eye of the storm. A shining light in the middle of nothingness—that is something that even she cannot let go of. No wonder Miss Acheron is quite taken with them.

Black Swan

About [Name]: The memories of Memokeepers are sorted into various categories by their importance. As my lover, my memories of them hold the greatest value of all. Such memories…. even if the Remembrance wishes for me to hand them over, I doubt I will ever allow it.

About [Name]: Dancing My proficiency in the act of dancing is all thanks to my continued practice with [Name] on our shared time together. Fufu, ‘dates,’ if you will. Every moment I spend in their arms, swaying to the beat of the music at every turn… those are the memories I wish to forever retain.

About Acheron: Indebted One time, Miss Acheron managed to get lost in the middle of the Reverie Hotel’s halls... as usual. [Name] came across her then, and proceeded to have a lovely chat with her. I owe her a debt for keeping my lover company as I was preoccupied with some matters the Garden of Recollection entrusted to me to relay to the family. Next time, perhaps I should invite her over for some dinner with [Name]....

end notes thanks for sticking around the part 2 (for the ogs who read pt 1) and do look forward to more HSR content in the future! also did i say i love aventurine

© 𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐈𝐄 : do not repost, copy, or plagiarize my work.

[crescenthistory]

Marauders Era Masterlist

💌 = fluff I 📭 = angst I 📬 = hurt/comfort I 📜 = smut I 🪧 = humour

࣪𖤐 regulus black

(3.8k) Totally Just the Fifth and Sixth Wheel (💌🪧: mutual pining, reg and reader in denial about their feelings are called out by friends)

⤷ (4.8k) Part 2, Still Just Totally the Fifth and Sixth Wheel, You Guys (💌🪧: the triple date to hogsmeade, more pining and denial ensues) ⤷ (6.8k) Part 3, Okay Fine Maybe We're In Love! (💌: the culmination of their feelings paired with an eventful quidditch match)

(2.6k) You occupy my every thought (💌📬: reader just gets regulus and he is flabbergasted, sunshine x grumpy dynamic)

(3k) Are you falling asleep on me? (💌: you would rather spend a late night studying in the library with regulus than be without him; he is enamoured with you for it)

(5.7k) Professional Meddlers (🪧: the girls play matchmakers with you and regulus, some hurt/comfort if you squint)

(6k) Come Running (📬: regulus is the last to find out his girlfriend is injured, feat. found family with your shared friends and madam pomfrey)

⤷ blurb about rosekiller's reaction

(5.5k) And what will come of us then? (📬📭: regulus finds reader sobbing with magical ink on her hands and is forced to confront himself)

(3k) on the tip of my tongue (💌: regulus says "i love you" for the first time and reflects on what love has been for him over the years)

cat!animagus!reader (aka the adventures of whiskers, feat. bsf!marauders)

⤷ (3k) Feline Touches (💌🪧: regulus knows exactly where to find you when you're hiding from the cold) ⤷ (2.4k) Sweet Like Honey; Karma is a Cat (💌🪧: wolfstar neglect to wake you when you and reg fall asleep in cat form) ⤷ (2.4k) Padfoot vs. Whiskers (💌🪧: you and reg get revenge on sirius in cat form) ⤷ (1.7k) Where Padfoot Lays His Head (📬: whiskers comforts padfoot) ⤷ (1.3k) the furred shoulder (📬🪧: reader remains in animagus form when she has a petty fight with reg, he tries to get her back)

drabbles:

(1.5k) let me see you (📜: reg is working on letting go and opening up to you; you're encouraging him)

(1.3k) he seeks a celebration (💌, suggestive, when slytherin wins the quidditch match, regulus just want to celebrate with you)

(1.3k) nothing matters but you (💌, cuddling the night before your birthday)

ִ ࣪𖤐 barty crouch jr

(4.2k) Toe The Line (💌: potentially suggestive, friends to lovers, confronting barty about his flirting with you)

(3.4k) Murder’s On the Wishlist (📬: you’re forced to go home for christmas, barty is your comfort)

(3.7k) steady me, guide me, love me (📬: when barty gets into another fight you have a serious talk)

(3.6k) You woke me up for this? (💌: barty is bored in the middle of the night, so of course he goes to you)

(2.3k) the blood means i love you (📜📬: reader accidentally makes barty bleed and he loves it, aftercare)

grumpy!reader universe

⤷ (2.4k) Aren't you just a sweetheart? (🪧: kinda sunshine/grumpy dynamic, bickering type of flirting) ⤷ (3.1k) and what about it? (🪧: your friends find out you and barty are dating) ⤷ (6k) this isn't fun anymore (📬: it gets serious and that scares you both) ⤷ (2.7k) an insufferable dance (🪧: set before they start dating, dance at hogsmeade) ⤷ (2k) sleepy midnight escapades (💌: an anxious remus goes looking for you at night when you miss curfew and finds you with barty)

𖤐 marauders

james fleamont potter

(3.7k) The Boy with the Glasses is Blind (💌📬: pining, james mistakenly thinks you're in love with your best friend barty)

remus lupin

(14.4k) It's Nice To Have A Friend (💌📬: childhood best friends to lovers, you are the only person remus is comfortable being physically affectionate with publically)

poly!marauders

(3.5k) What You Became (💌🪧: poly!marauders react when their clumsy girlfriend becomes a swan animagus)

platonic!bestfriend!marauders are heavily featured in animagus!reader x regulus black:

Feline Touches & Sweet Like Honey; Karma is a Cat & Padfoot vs. Whiskers & Where Padfoot Lays His Head

𖤐 slytherin skittles

includes: barty, evan, regulus, dorcas, pandora

headcanons:

the holy bible of crescenthistory canon for the slytherin skittles (individually & together)

how would the skittles react to you walking into a party looking smashing? (suggestive)

barty as the best man at reg x reader’s wedding

[vitaminkyeom]

telephone || k.mg

“NOW IT'S TIME FOR ME TO RETURN THE FAVOUR”

PAIRING || Mingyu x Female Reader

GENRES || Horror, 911 Operator!Mingyu, Romance

SUMMARY ||  Working the night shift as a 911 operator was hard as it is and the last thing Mingyu needed was those calls from his ex-girlfriend. Whom he had not seen in years. For obvious reasons of her being dead.

Or, in which, Mingyu kept getting calls from his ex girlfriend claiming that she had murdered him.

SERIES MASTERLIST || till death do us part

WARNINGS || inaccurate 911 stuff, description of murdered body, horror, mention of murder and ghost

WORD COUNT || 3k

A/N || If you recognise this story, no you don't. but anyways this was one of my most favourite works even though i'm not that great at writing horror so i'm really glad i'm starting off with this story for the series. i've tried my best to make it as scary as i could (sorry but im a pussy) so yeah any feedback would be really helpful!

TAGLIST || @monamipencil @nonuify @black-swan-blog27 @hipsdofangirl @wonuilu @kibs-and-bits @unlikelysublimekryptonite @gyuguys @hanicore @alyssng @hyneyedfiz @weebotakuboy @aaniag @thepoopdokyeomtouched @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @sea-moon-star @hrts4hanniehae @athanasiasakura @doubleshoticedshakenespresso @asasilentreader @isabellah29 @mrswonwooo @nonononranghaee @hoichi02 @cheolsboo @dinossaurz @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @tinkerbell460 @bluewbwerry @hoeforcheol @kawennote09 @iamawkwardandshy @winterbeartaehyungbestboy ​ @jjeongddol @k-drama-adict @mnstxmnbb @stervahaha @escoupseu @wonvsmile @mansaaay [if you want to be added to my taglist please fill in this form!]

“911, please state your emergency.”

Static. He waited for a minute more but there still wasn’t any sound coming from the other side.

Mingyu sighed exasperatedly, sure that this was another prank call. Halloween night was looming close which also meant teenagers found it funny to call the operators up at night to scare them.

But he was used to this. Which was funny because Mingyu was the biggest scaredy cat in his group and could not even watch Scooby Doo without whimpering at least once. But he took his responsibilities very seriously and there was no way he was going to let his fear come in the middle of his work.

He was about to hang up the call when he heard a sound. Immediately he jerked back the phone to his ear and strained them to hear anything, but all he could hear was a buzzing sound.

“Hello? How can I help-”

“Help.”

He inhaled sharply, the woman’s raspy voice very clear in the empty office. Mingyu was the only one serving night shift in his floor currently, and the only thing accompanying him was the soft beeping on the seven screens in front of him and the buzzing of the fluorescent tube lights above him.

“Ma'am, are you in a position to tell me what is happening?”

His fingers flew across the keyboard, noting down the number first and then quickly texting the other department to find out the location of the call.

“Pl-please help. Make him stop.” The woman whispered,  her ragged breath harsh against his ears.

“Make whom stop? Can you tell me who is near to you, ma’am?”

Mingyu felt an unnatural calmness settle into his bones, one that always came whenever he forced himself to calm down in such situations.

A message dinged on one of his screens indicating that they had traced the nearest cell tower of the cell phone.

“Officer Lee.” He said, already on the other line, talking to the nearest official he could see. “We have a 911 emergency of abuse.”

“Roger that. Address?”

“It's…” Mingyu’s voice trailed off on seeing the address. 

No way- How was that possible? There had to be some mistake right?

Because the address was of his house.

He cleared his throat, sure that the address was wrong since they tracked the nearest cell tower, and that could be kilometres away from the destination.

“Uh, the address shows my house. I… I think you need to be on the lookout for areas near my house.”

There was a pause, as though Seokmin seemed to be trying to process this information. Seokmin had been good friends with him, so Mingyu knew that even he found it odd, especially when his neighbourhood was a safe and nice one.

“On my way.”

“Ma’am,” Mingyu said, back to line one, “if you could tell me your name or your address, or even what is happening to you, I could help you out better.”

His eyes were trained to look at all the monitors at once, one monitoring the small dot that represented Seokmin heading towards the destination, another with a blank form about the caller and another one where he was rapidly typing what he was hearing, ready to call in other emergencies in case he heard something important.

“Help! Why don’t you help me? Please help!”

“Ma’am help is on the way, please calm down-”

He was interrupted by a loud pop as all the lights went out, the only source of light now being the soft glow of his computer screens. The room was now lit up eerily and he felt the hair on the nape of his neck rise up. Mingyu wasn’t very scared of the dark ever, but the growing sounds of gurgling and growling in the telephone line was causing shivers to travel down his spine.

“Mingyu…” The woman rasped, this time sounding like she had gargled razors, her screeching voice turning his blood to ice.

How did she know his name?

Goosebumps rose all over his skin as his breathing came out in sudden pants, feeling an icy invisible hand wrap around his neck. He sucked in a breath harshly and with a jolt, he realised how lonely he was, not a single soul on his floor whilst he was plunged in darkness.

Then the call cut off abruptly, and at the same time, the power surged back to life. 

Yet, the cold feeling hadn’t left Mingyu as though he could still hear the woman gargling in his ear.

“Mingyu?”

He jerked as the second line suddenly came to life, Seokmin’s voice clear through the landline.

“H-Hey. Did you find anything?” He tried his level best not to sound shaken, but it was hard because the more he tried to ignore wherever had just happened, the more the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach grew.

“Nothing. We will be needing to get a more specific address. Your entire apartment seems safe to me. Is she still on the line?”

Mingyu exhaled harshly, rubbing his chest with his hand to calm down his heart that was beating too fast. He then realised how dry his throat had become, and quickly took a sip of water before continuing.

“No. She cut the call. I- uh, I don’t think she needs help anymore. She sounded alright at the end.” He said, wincing having to lie. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling of horror he had felt when he saw his own address flash on to the screen.

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t we follow the protocol still-”

“She told me so herself.” Mingyu snapped, and Seokmin shut up, not saying anything more.

He sighed, rubbing his template, trying to forget what he had just heard. But it was like the noise had been ingrained into his brain. He could hear it even now, even though there were many other small sounds beside him.

But being a 911 operator, there was bound to be such horrors, right? He had heard some similar stories of ghost calls from his superiors. Maybe this was one of them?

“Well then…I suppose that’s it huh?” Seokmin cut the silence, causing Mingyu to flinch as he jumped out of his thoughts. “Are you calling it a night?”

Mingyu felt his heart leap to his throat.

Calling it a night? On any other day, he would have loved to crash on to his bed but all of a sudden going back to his house, the place where this lady claimed to be at, seemed like a distant nightmare, something which was waiting for him to tear him apart.

“Uh, n-no. I’ll continue my shift I think. Besides, Seungcheol won’t wake up if I call him now.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Seokmin asked, concern lacing his voice. “You sound…scared.”

“I’m fine.” Mingyu swallowed thickly, feeling a patch of sweat that had formed on his forehead as he tried rubbing his temples.

“We’ve dealt with these before, right?” Seokmin asked again, trying to sound bolder for his sake.

“Y-yeah. Yeah. We have. I’ll… hang up now.”

As soon as the phone went down, Mingyu buried his face in his hands, trying to forget the horrible sounds he had heard on the phone.

But the more he tried to forget them, the more he was convinced that they were no more voices in his head, but were coming from the room. It was almost like he could hear the noise coming from behind the door.

I’m probably just hearing things.

He got up and decided to get some fresh air. He walked to the door and paused, the sound still ringing in his ears. Clutching the door knob, he took in a deep breath and with his eyes screwed shut he turned it open, bracing himself for whatever lay ahead of his.

Silence greeted him as he slowly peeled his eyes open, looking around tentatively for anything that might jump on him out of the dark. 

Ding!

The sound of the elevator’s beep caused his heart to nearly stop, the sudden sound cutting through silent night that was almost engulfing him. He felt his entire body freeze as all he could do was watch the numbers on the screen of the lift increase until it reached his floor, limbs paralysed with fear. 

With another soft ding! the lift door began sliding open, and Mingyu found himself almost begging that he shouldn’t be greeted by someone, or something, once the lift door opened.

The dim blue light of the lift spilt out as Mingyu watched in terror, but to his relief only emptiness greeted him back. He looked at his own reflection in the mirror of the elevator. 

Mingyu looked deathly pale, his eyes tired and haggard like he had just seen a ghost. His cheeks were hollow and he felt his stomach lurch when his reflection wobbled, indicating that that the lift was about to close.

And then the lift shut close, leaving him alone with a pin drop silence that almost felt suffocating.

Weren’t there others who had night duty? Because there was no way he was all alone in the building, right?

The thought was enough to cause his stomach to lurch, and he swallowed thickly wondering if he should call someone to take his place.

But his house! Mingyu could feel goosebumps rising on his skin the second he thought of his house.

What if she- that thing was still lurking around his house? Or worse, was actually in his house.

The ringing of the telephone cut through the silence like a blade, causing him to jump a mile. His reflexes kicked in though, and clutching his painfully beating heart, Mingyu ran towards his computers to pick the emergency phone call.

“911. Please state your emergency-”

“Help.”

Mingyu froze, the familiar voice draining out all the blood from his cheeks again.

No way.

He wanted to cut the call, wanted to block out whatever this woman was about to beg for because her voice was like icy daggers to his skin, rekindling his fear like never before. Mingyu had never felt so terrified in his life before. 

“Please help… Mingyu.”

It was like her whispering his name had opened Pandora's box, and lots of emotions hit him at once. He couldn’t even question how she knew his name because that wasn’t what terrified him the most.

But it was the familiarity of the voice of the woman. A voice he used to hear almost every day before it was snuffed out of his life suddenly.

“Y/N.” He whispered, fear clutching his stomach as he felt his heart hammer in his chest.

In the empty office he could only hear his own ragged breathing and the slight buzzing sound coming from the phone.

But how was this possible?

Because you had died six months ago.

Or rather, you had been killed in his apartment. Murdered in cold blood even though it didn’t make sense because you were the sweetest and most caring person he had met in the world. 

At first, he had been charged with murder. Those two months of investigation had nearly driven him mad. It was hard as it is dealing with your death but constant poking of the police made it even worse.

Finally he was set free due to the lack of evidence. 

Even thinking about you made his head throb. 

“Help please.” You rasped again. “Help me-”

“Where are you?” He whispered urgently, not sure why he was even asking questions. Because this had to be some sort of sick joke, right? Or maybe- maybe he was hallucinating after all. Hallucinating that you had come back to life to get some sort of closure.

“In our apartment! Why aren’t you helping?” You sobbed on the other end of the line.

He felt his head spin. Whom was he even talking to? With each word your voice turned more and more raspy and he could feel the familiar fear returning.

“If you don’t help me he’ll-”

Mingyu heard you gasp, followed by a whimpering as he heard someone slap you.

“Y-Y/N?” He asked, though he truly didn’t want to know what had happened to you. Was the person you kept mentioning your real killer? Then… was this your ghost he was talking to?

“Stay away.” A male voice spoke into the telephone suddenly, causing him to nearly fall off his seat. The hair on his arms and necks stood up at the familiarity of the voice.

“Stay away." He repeated.

He could hear his own voice on the other side of the telephone line asking him to stay away and Mingyu felt his head spin at the thought.

The telephone nearly slipped from his sweaty hand as he tried taking in a deep breath to calm himself down.

"And- and who’s this-”

“Just stay away from us.” He heard his own voice command him, before the line disconnected finally.

“Who was that?”

Mingyu jumped from his seat, hands flying to his mouth to prevent himself from screaming, until his eyes landed on Seokmin.

“You- you scared me!” He hissed, rubbing his sweaty forehead while trying to calm his shaking body down. What had just happened?

No way he had been talking to himself, right? How was that even possible?

Seokmin raised an eyebrow, walking towards him and sitting down on a chair opposite to him?

“Did I scare you? Or that call did?”

Mingyu looked away.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you.”

“I’m fine.” He snapped, wiping his sweaty face with a tissue. The last thing he needed was Seokmin asking too many questions before he started questioning his own sanity.

“You’re not. You asked the caller whether she was Y/N.”

Mingyu shivered involuntarily at the memory, giving away his fear.

“It sounded like her.” He lied, not wanting to remember what had just happened. Maybe if he was nonchalant about it Seokmin would leave him alone.

“Are you sure? That call before was unusual, coming from your house.” Seokmin said, still concerned. “It's okay to be shaken up by this, you know.”

He exhaled out, trying to calm down his nerves as much as he could.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry. Pretty sure it was a prank. I mean,” He forced out a laugh, which sounded odd against the silence surrounding the two of them, “How can it even be Y/N? That makes no sense. I probably miss her a lot. That’s why I can hear her everywhere.”

“You should go home.” Seokmin cut him, patting him on the shoulder. “I think you need to rest a bit if you’re that stressed out. Sometimes, stress causes us to see and hear things that are not real. ”

Mingyu opened his mouth to protest, feeling dread fill the pit of his stomach at the thought of going home, but with the way Seokmin was staring he knew he didn’t have an option. Or else he would need to explain how he heard his own voice speak to him and ask him to stay away.

Stay away.

Was that a warning, then? Was it a big mistake going back to his house?

But with the way Seokmin was staring at him, Mingyu had no other option but to get up slowly and pack up his things. His hands wobbled, causing him to nearly break his favourite mug, but he managed to force a smile and walk to the elevator, knees threatening to give out any second. 

Once inside the elevator, Mingyu chose to stare at his reflection’s nose, unable to meet its eyes. Something told him that seeing his reflection eye to eye would not be a good idea.

Please hurry up. Please open the door fast-

His heart jumped again as his phone rang suddenly, cutting the heavy cold silence which was accompanied by the occasional soft dings.

"Hello?” He whispered, wondering who was calling so late at night. It couldn’t have been Seokmin since he had his number saved, right?

“Why did you kill me?”

Mingyu froze, unable to breathe anymore. How did you-

“Y/N? How did you- Kill you- What are you talking about?” He panted, stumbling back to support his wobbly legs with the help of the wall of the lift.

All of a sudden the air felt cooler, and his clammy hands seemed to be unable to grip the hand bar of the lift. His eyes darted to the equally petrified reflection and a yelp escaped him, phone dropping to the ground.

Because standing right beside his reflection was you. You, looking just like how you had the day you were murdered. Except there was blood all over your dress and multiple stab marks on your chest and stomach.

You smiled at him sweetly. 

“Don’t you know? You killed me. Well, not exactly you. It was Mingyu. But he is you, you are him, right?”

His legs finally gave away as he pushed his back into the walls of the elevator, terror filling every single of his senses.

Helphelpelphelp-

He heard the lift ding as it reached the ground floor. Crawling to the buttons of the lift, he frantically pressed the open button, eyes not leaving your face as you grinned at him, baring your bloody and broken teeth.

Finally the door opened and Mingyu darted to crawl out but froze almost immediately, feeling his heart stop for real this time.

“No.” He sobbed, as he watched the real you walk towards him. Edging back, he felt his heart hammer painfully hard in his chest, every bit of rational thoughts leaving him as you stepped into the elevator.

You leaned towards him much to his terror, and Mingyu screwed his eyes shut as he finally accepted his fate. His breathing eased a bit but he could still feel how tense his entire body was, adrenaline rushing coursing throughout his body.

I don’t want to go.

“Now it’s time for me to return the favour.”

A/N: Please do tell me what you think about this story!! I worked really hard on it and I would love to know everyone’s thoughts on it~ Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

© 𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐌 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

[flowerandblood]

Hi, for the ask game you’re making

Glass cuts deepest

🖼️ Museum

🍁 Autumn

💐 Care

🎃 Jealousy

😬 Semi-public sex

🍓 Sexual tension

Congratulations on the milestone 😊!

The Art of Body

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ prompts: museum, autumn, jealousy, care, sexual tension, semi-public sex ]

[ warnings: unprotected sex, smut, mention of sexual trauma ]

A short written as a celebration of my 4000 followers milestone as part of this ask game, which is part of Glass Cuts Deepest story.

Rino Stefano Tagliafierro is the animation artist of François Boucher's "Leda and the Swan" 1740 [post by eucanthos]

______

"Are you sure? I don't want to force you to do anything. It's the middle of the school year, I'm sure there'll be a lot of people there." Wright muttered, looking at him with uncertainty.

He felt frustration, knowing what she meant by people.

Women.

The truth was that since they had been engaged, he had gradually but successfully managed to simply pretend that he didn't see them. When they were in a restaurant or on a walk he would focus only on her and on talking to her, often holding her hand – it made him feel safer, like when you are looking down a great precipice while holding on to the railing.

He was very proud of himself when one day they went to the cinema together to see an animation they both really wanted to watch – it turned out that there were women sitting on either side of their seats. Wright wanted to back out and just leave, recognising that they didn't need to see the film at all, but he was tired of running away all the time.

When they sat down, he shifted in his seat as close to Wright as possible, not wanting the person sitting next to him to touch him – his fiancée had been leaning over his ear throughout the screening, asking if everything was okay, and he only nodded.

He couldn't remember much of what he saw – he was unable to focus as he felt only the rapid pounding of his heart and the cold sweat on his back.

When they left the cinema, he felt relieved, but also proud, because he had done it – even though he felt sick a few times and wanted to vomit, he had endured and nothing had happened.

He felt that he was slowly ready to just go out to people and not wonder who he was passing on the way.

"I want to go there. It's the biggest museum in our country. We've been talking about it for a long time." He said, putting his black turtleneck over his head and sighed, seeing that he had ruined his elaborately styled hairdo by doing so.

Wright noticed this and involuntarily reached into his hair, trying to comb it properly again with her fingers.

He swallowed hard, simultaneously frightened and pleased that she had touched him so suddenly – he repeated to himself at times like this that he trusted her, her familiar scent and the warmth of her skin affecting him in a calming way.

"If you say so. Maybe you're right. I've wanted to see this place for a long time too." She admitted finally, and he smiled with satisfaction, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Give me a moment. I need to change." She said, opening his wardrobe, looking in it probably for one of her dresses.

Some part of him wanted her to change in front of him – she never did. On the other hand, he dreaded it – he had never seen her naked – not completely.

He had never seen her bare breasts or buttocks, only felt them beneath his hands when he put his hand under her shirt.

He swallowed hard as she threw him a warm smile and locked herself in the bathroom, feeling both relieved and disappointed.

He waited patiently for her, and when he heard her come out, he froze – her floral dress was fastened from the front with large white buttons, a fluffy, light-coloured jumper over her shoulders. She had said something to him, probably that she was ready, but all he could think about was that she hadn't put her bra on.

He could easily see the shape of her nipples under the material and something about the sight frustrated him.

Why should others look at something that even he couldn't see?

He wanted to say it, but before he opened his mouth he thought it was unfair – he himself wouldn't want her to dictate what he could and couldn't wear, and he thought his remark might be rude.

"Let's go." He said finally.

It took them a couple of hours to get there – during this time Wright had bought them tickets for all the exhibitions online, so they wouldn't have to wait in long queues at the box office. He liked how organised she was – the fact that she always helped him and didn't leave everything on his head.

He felt he could rely on her.

When they got out of the car, they ran ahead, holding hands – an intense autumn rain had broken up all around them, which meant that by the time they reached the main entrance, they were all wet.

The security guard scanned their tickets and pointed the way they should follow – after a while, their eyes were met by spacious, bright, richly lit halls with walls filled with paintings by great artists, with sculptures of wood, bronze and marble all around them.

His fiancée approached one of the medieval statues depicting the Beautiful Madonna and Child, the one they both knew well from their art history textbooks.

"Look! It's even more beautiful than in the pictures." She said cheerfully, quickly grabbing her phone, taking pictures of the sculpture.

He, however, stared at her dully, seeing the wet material of her dress clinging to her skin, her nipples clearly outlined, popping from the cold.

He felt both irritation and desire at the sight, his manhood pulsed softly in his trousers, expressing his desire to touch her.

He grunted and turned his head away, walking over to one of the baroque paintings hanging on the wall, trying not to think about it.

I'm sexualising her too much, he rebuked himself in his mind, feeling a kind of shame by doing what he himself would never want to experience again in his life.

He regained his good humour and walked with her through the long corridors filled with art, stopping constantly at some artefact – they talked about everything, delighting in the workmanship and details together, while criticising what they didn't like.

He felt an unpleasant twinge in his stomach again when, standing at one of the sculptures, he saw that the man standing opposite them was looking straight at Wright's breasts – he would have thought he was being oversensitive again if it hadn't been for the slight smile of satisfaction on the man's lips, which told him that he was pleased with how much was visible through the thin material of her dress.

He didn't know why, but he grabbed her wrist and tugged at it, pulling her the other way, frustrated and enraged.

"What happened? Did someone touch you?" She mumbled, following him obediently, thinking it was all about him, as usual.

He stopped and looked at her, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"Did you have to dress like that? Everyone's looking at you." He hissed, but immediately regretted his words – Wright blinked and shook her head, horror and discomfort in her eyes, as if what he had said had caused her pain.

"What do you mean? I don't understand. After all, my dress doesn't even reveal my cleavage." She said resentfully, looking down, only after a moment noticing what he and everyone else had seen.

She looked at him again and pressed her lips together, covering her breasts with her jumper and her hands, as if the sight of them was something disgusting, worthy of condemnation.

He felt a sting in his heart at the sight – at the thought that she felt it was her fault that other men were looking where they shouldn't.

He swallowed hard and grabbed her hands, lowering them down, making her involuntarily reveal again what she had tried to cover up only moments before.

"– forgive me – I shouldn't have said that – it's just – fuck – I just I have a hard time with the idea that someone else might be... looking at something that even I couldn't see –"

"After all, you can look at it." She whispered, speaking so that no one could hear her. "Even now, if you want to."

"Now?" He muttered, surprised by her words.

What did she mean?

"We can go to the toilet and lock ourselves in the cabin. Our first time was like that too. You did it because the area around you didn't remind you of the place where you faced something bad. About the bed." She reminded him, and he swallowed loudly, realising it was true.

He looked down once more, at the thing he wanted so badly, and nodded slowly.

"Okay."

He felt like a little boy, unable to look at her in shame when the toilet door closed behind them. Once they made sure they were alone, they hid in one of the cabins and just looked at each other for a while.

He felt his heart thump harder in his chest as her hands slowly rose to the buttons of her dress – he watched in disbelief as she began to undo it one by one, his erection twitching and swelling in his trousers, aching with desire at the sight of her bare skin.

When she reached the height of her belly, she stopped and her hands dropped – her dress was unbuttoned, but revealed only a small line of her naked skin – he could see that she was breathing heavily as was he, panting with excitement.

Involuntarily, he took one slow step towards her, then another – his large hand rose uncertainly to the height of her chest and pushed the material of her dress aside in a gentle, lazy motion. He sighed deeply, immediately covering what he saw with his fingers, feeling himself breathe through his mouth out of lust – he looked into her eyes as her hand closed over his, encouraging him to sink deeper into the structure of her plump, soft bosom.

He leaned in and kissed her, unable to withstand the tension he felt inside – his lower abdomen was filled with a wonderfully familiar, warm, tickling sensation that made his length completely hard. He pressed his hips against her abdomen, rolling them back and forth, trying to somehow soothe the need for closeness and tenderness that only she could give him.

"– feels good? –" She breathed out into his mouth, letting their lips caress again and again with the sticky clicks of their saliva, the skin of her breasts wonderfully warm and swollen, melting beneath his fingers.

"– pull down your panties –" He instructed, and she moaned softly into his mouth, immediately obeying his command.

He let her go for a moment, dealing with his trousers, only to release his heavy, painfully swollen erection – as soon as her underwear landed on the ground, he grabbed her in his arms and lifted her, so that her breasts were at the level of his face.

They both cried out as at the same time his lips closed over her hard nipple and the head of his cock opened her wide – he gasped in pleasure, feeling how warm and moist she was, but not seeing anything that was happening from her waist down, covered by the material of her dress.

"– ah –" She mewled as his arms embraced her in a confident hug and pressed her body against the cold tiles, trying to keep her balance as he sank all the way into her body with one, sure thrust of his hips.

"– be quiet or I'll stop –" He threatened and they both froze when they heard someone enter – his cock pulsed inside her greedily as he simply continued with her in that position.

He felt her hands tighten in his hair, her hot pussy squeezed his manhood hard as his tongue swirled around her little nipple, teasing and sucking on it alternately.

He grunted quietly as he felt her begin to roll her hips – some part of him wanted to stop her, hearing that someone was still inside, however the other, more animalistic part of him just wanted to pound into her – and that's what he did.

He heard her squeal softly and she immediately pressed her face against his hair, trying to deafen the sound, as their naked bodies began to slam against each other with loud, sticky smacks of her moisture. He was no longer interested in whether or not the person inside knew what had just taken place – all he could focus on was their heavy, ragged breaths, the wonderful, growing tension in his loins, the squeeze in his testicles testifying that he was close.

He couldn't contain the low growl of delight that passed in vibration across her breast, couldn't contain how desperate he was, couldn't contain what euphoria possessed him at the thought of looking, smelling, touching her naked body, experiencing nothing but bliss.

"– Aemond –" She mumbled softly into his ear, so that only he was able to hear it – her small fingers clenched on his body allowing her to keep her balance and take what he was giving her, as shocked by what they were doing as he was.

All he could think about was how warm and wet she was, how easily she welcomed him deep inside her, how much she wanted him even though they had been together for so long.

The level of trust he held in her made him able to focus only on pleasure, and after a few messy, loud slaps he came inside her with a gasp of relief.

Her nails digging into his shoulders and hair made it almost painful when he felt her body shake with an aggressive, intense orgasm, causing her to stifle a moan with difficulty, making a quiet, whimpering sound.

"– shhh – shhh, little one –" He whispered, still deep inside her, feeling his manhood and her fleshy walls pulsing in one united rhythm, snuggled into her soft, warm chest.

The touch of her bare skin, her heart beating beneath his cheek was so wonderfully intimate, personal, sweet.

Why hadn't he done this before?

They were both relieved when they heard the sound of the water being drained in the other cabin, then the door opening and someone's footsteps indicating that they were alone.

"– Aemond – my legs are aching –" She mumbled, still crossing her calves on his back, supported only by his hands that held her buttocks.

"– just a little longer –" He muttered, pressing his face harder into the silky structure of her plump breasts.

Just a little longer.

[willixmsonswife]

black swan/kyra cooney-cross

*kyra cooney-cross x fem!french!journalist!reader

*it's just an aftermatch interview with one of the new signings, what could possibly happen?

*word count : 2k

*a/n : this is part one of the black swan series, i'm still thinking about how many parts i'm going to do but yeah, this is more of an introduction and when they first meet so the next part is going to be the "actual beginning". let me know what you think :)

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you never really fit into your family. not that that was something you wanted to, god forbid, but it still hurts to think that you could've had a different childhood if you had learned to act differently. but who was supposed to show you how to "act different and more girly" like your father always said? you've never been someone who talks a lot, goes out every weekend but you've always been good at voicing your opinion, especially if it was to put someone (your father) back in their place. the moments were you and your dad agreed on something were rare and gave your mum some hope that maybe, just maybe your relationship wasn't completely ruined. but it was and she knew that, she just had a hard time accepting it. you had too, when you were younger. you had idolized your father like almost every other child idolized theirs but you soon realized that your father was not like your best friend's. it had started when you were about nine and your dad got a job in london which meant that you had to move there. it was easy for your parents but for you? you threatened your parents that you would never talk to them again if they were serious about the whole situation. they were, or at least your father was and your mum followed his lead, she always did. so they forced you to come with them, even though you insisted that you could continue to live in your small city in the south of france, you just had to move in with your best friend claire. your parents laughed at your multiple tries to convince them to stay so in the middle of the following summer you had to say goodbye to your sweet french life, your classmates and claire. many tears were shed but claire's mum promised that she would ask your mum for your address and your best friend pinky-swore that she would write you. as soon as your family stepped out of your old house, you stopped talking. not a single word left your mouth during the entire journey to the new and foreign country that was intended to become your home. your father called you immature quite a few times, which you thought was hilariously contradictory to say for a man who started to scream at you every time you didn't do exactly as he said. once you entered your new "home", you instantly knew that it was never going to become a home for you, it was just a house that you lived in.

since the day you moved in, fifteen years had now passed. you had studied journalism at a university in london and found your place in the world of journalism. you had decided to focus on sport journalism, women's football to be exact. the growth you were able to witness since you started watching the arsenal women at age 11 fascinated you more than anything, which made your decision pretty easy. for a few years you've now pathed your way in the industry and it was better than you could've ever imagined. the interviews, the thorough researches before, the matches you attended, it made everything worth it and you even caught yourself sometimes thanking your parents silently for moving here despite your protests.

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it was the day of the london derby, everywhere you look on the streets you only saw red and blue and kick-off couldn't come soon enough. you had made your way to the emirates stadium earlier today, now preparing your planned interviews. you would be interviewing the captain kim little before the match and another teammate after the match, but it was still unknown who would be willing to talk to the press afterwards. everything depended on how the match would go. you were called to the side of the pitch where you got mic'd up and excitedly awaited the arsenal captain. kim didn't let you wait for long and the interview started.

"hello to everyone who's watching, my name is y/n y/l/n and i am here with arsenal's captain kim little! first of all, hello to you kim how are you doing?"

"i'm doing good, mainly focusing on the game at this moment."

"this london derby will probably decide if arsenal will still have a chance in the wsl title race, how is the team feeling about that?"

"of course we're all excited for the match, everyone is in top form and will definitely be giving 100%. the team knows that this is a crucial game but i'm also very optimistic that we can secure our deserved place in the title race."

the interview continues, the first fans start to enter the stadium and you finished asking all of your questions.

"well that was it kim, thank you for your time and good luck out there!"

"thank you for having me!"

the camera sways over to film the arriving fans and the mics get cut. it wasn't your first time interviewing the arsenal captain so she stays around for a few minutes afterwards to catch up before she has to go back to the locker rooms.

"it's always nice filming with you kim."

"right back at you y/n. i have to get back to the girls now but enjoy the match and maybe we'll see you after!"

"i will thank you!"

kim turns to leave but you stop her for one last question.

"oh kim, i forgot to ask. it'd be nice if someone from the team could answer a few quesions after the game, so could you maybe ask around?"

"i'm sure one of the newbies is up for that. i already have someone in mind, i'm sure you two will get along. i'll send her your way later."

with that, she turns around and leaves. you slowly make your way up to the pressbox while you can't help but wonder if you really just saw a little smirk on kim's face or if you're starting to imagine things.

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the game went even better than you could've imagined, arsenal scoring their first goal in the 17th minute thanks to a corner kick from katie. the second one was quick to follow with steph assisting a beautiful header from kyra cooney-cross, one of the new signings. stina also got her goal shortly after half time and kyra made the victory clear with another amazing goal while leah got her second assist. after 98 minutes, the ref ended the match and the entire emirates stadium erupted into cheers. by the time arsenal finished their walk around the pitch, you already stood by the sidelines, mic'd up and just waiting for the arsenal player that kim promised to send your way. you didn't have to wait long because as you let your eyes waver around on the pitch, you saw kim talking to a younger teammate, number 32, aka kyra cooney-cross. interviewing the woman who was awarded player of the match and scored two goals in this important game would be the best thing kim could've possibly arranged. as soon as kyra nodded and started to make her way over to where you were standing, you felt yourself getting nervous. why were you getting nervous? you had done thousands of interviews with new signings, this was your almost daily routine.

"hiya, i'm kyra cooney-cross. i'm guessing your miss y/l/n?"

you snapped out of it as soon as you heard the soothing voice of the person who was standing right in front of you.

"i- yes, yes that's me. you can call me y/n though, nice to meet you." "alright, y/n it is then."

she looked at you and you could've sworn she had the prettiest smile you've ever seen. you felt your cheeks heat up a bit but tried to ignore it.

"i'm gonna guess kim send you over to answer some questions?" "yes, exactly." "okay, let's get started then."

you signaled your camera man to come over and took a deep breath, only focusing on the interview you were about to start.

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the interview went great, the conversation flowing like the camera capturing your every movement and reaction wasn't even there. maybe that's why you didn't care to control the blush creeping up your cheeks when kyra looked at you for just a moment too long. you forgot that every question you asked and every answer kyra gave you were being recorded live for the world to see, so when it came to an end you had to quickly pull yourself together to at least make the end seem somewhat professional.

"that was the last question, thank you for sacrificing your time kyra."

you gave her your sweetest smile which she swiftly reciprocated.

"thank you for having me y/n."

much to your dismay, you now had to turn your back towards kyra.

"thank you to everyone who's watching until now, i hope you have a great evening and will join us again next saturday when arsenal faces west ham at meadow park."

the camera man nodded meaning he had stopped filming and then walked away. you turned back to see kyra still standing there, looking at you with what you would interpret as pure admiration. you felt your blood rush into your cheeks, again, and mentally cursed yourself for blushing so easily.

"everything okay?"

"yeah, no, everything's fine, i just- how do you do that so easily? talk to the camera i mean."

you looked at her, almost shocked by the fact that she was impressed by someone like you.

"what do you mean?"

"when you talk, it's almost like you don't know that hundreds if not even thousands of people are listening to every word that's coming out of your mouth. it's crazy to watch that, you're really talented y/n."

oh god she was making this whole try not to blush thing really hard.

"when i talk to the camera, i know that people are listening. that's what calms me down, and that's why i do it. people tune in to watch these interviews because they want to listen to me, not because they have to. god, that probably sounds so selfish." you let out a small chuckle before speaking again. "i haven't really been listened to by anyone my whole life, so knowing that people now want to listen to me is just crazy to me. i try my best not to disappoint them."

"oh, i'm sorry to hear that." kyra looked down at her feet, not knowing how to continue the conversation after this.

"nothing to be sorry about, really. i'm better now." you offered her a small smile, which was immediately mirrored by her.

"sooo, don't you want to join the rest and celebrate your big win miss player of the match?"

"nah, they're probably not even missing me. i can stay a bit-" she was cut off by alessia jumping on her back. "kyra you're taking way too long! we're all waiting for you!"

she got down from krya's back and looked at you. "oh hi y/n! long time no see."

you got pulled into a bone crushing hug by the blonde and didn't even have time to answer her before she started to talk again. "i have the order to take you with me cooney-cross. we wanna celebrate your goals!"

as quickly as alessia appeared, she ran off again but this time with kyra. she turned around while running to wave at you and kyra looked at you sorrily before nearly tripping and deciding that looking forward while running would probably be for the best. you waved at them, feeling kind of disappointed because of your interrupted and therefore unfinished conversation with kyra but you decided that it wasn't worth the overthinking. she was just being nice, that's the type of person she is, you shouldn't read too much into it. right?

[sulumuns-dootah]

WHB demons' favorite horror movies

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

A/N: Another long post including all our demon boys :D Also thought I'd change up the look of these all-demon big posts so lmk if you like this one ^^

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Satan

You'd expect him to pick some torture-porn, but he actually picks something supernatural

More specifically a movie with vengeful spirits

People hurting each other? meh... Spirits messing with people bc they're pissed? Well, now we're talking

Favorite movie: The Grudge (2004)

Sitri

Rather than something scary, Sitri like watching something cosy

Doesn't want to spill his tea when a jumpscare gets him

The only time he'll watch something like that is with his partner, so he can hear their heart race

Favorite movie: The Shining (1980)

Amy

(We've had Amy just for a little bit so bare with me)

Rebellious boi allert (?)

Pretty boy loves to watch movies about other boys ^^

Favorite movie: Lost boys (1987)

Leraye

In last year's halloween-themed post I wrote that Leraye doesn't care as long as the movie has thunderstorms in it and I still stand by that

Who has the brain capacity to remember movie names when most of your blood is rushing south?

Paimon

Please, please, please introduce Paimon to Hereditary!

Still, despite the movie literally having them in it, Pai prefers more of a "girly" horror

Favorite movie: Jennifer's body (2009)

Belial

Okay, not really a horror movie fan per se, but a horror musical?

With a lot of good music with funny lyrics?

And the type that Jiyu enjoys singing?

You've got Belial's attention

Favorite musical: Sweeney Todd (2007)

Astaroth

We've got a psychological horror fan on our hands!

Oh, and if the movie has the characters speak in unordinary way?

A local accent or different language has Astaroth interested instantly

Favorite movie: The Vvitch (2015)

Zagan

Zagan likes the old classics

Or the old movies where the characters don't speak

Sadly, he doesn't speak up for himself when the nobles are arguing what to watch, so he has to watch a lot of movies from the others

Favorite movie: Frankenstein (1931)

Ppyong

As brave as Ppyong thinks he is, he doesn't like horror movies that much

Usually, someone has to be with him for comfort and safety while watching anything remotely scary

Favorite movie: Any of the Scooby Doo movies

Mammon

I... don't think Mammon has a preference.

Part of me feels like he doesn't really get the point of watching movies

Like, if you suggest snuggling up and watching something, he'll be all for it, but only bc of the snuggling bit

Favorite movie: Your favorite movie

Bimet

Is anyone surprised that this gold-digger loves any movie that follows wealthy people?

Me neither

Doesn't matter what genre it is, he's The Rich Person Apologist™

Favorite movie: American psycho (2000)

Eligos

Eligos doesn't like scary movies, but(!) horror adjacent movies are his thing

Loves all those teenage witch shows and movies like The Craft

Oh, also Scream Queens ^^

Movie nights with Paimon and Eligos >>>>>>

Favorite movie: Elvira: Mistress of the Dark (1988)

Valefor

Since Valefor like to know about other people's experiences in bed, why not extend that to the type of media he likes?

Found footage feels right to say that Valefor would enjoy

Also, why do a lot of the found footage movies contain sex scenes? :/

Favorite movie: Ghoul (2015)

Leviathan

I bet you expected something Lovecraftian, huh?

So did I, but couldn't find any movie in that genre that would scream Levi's name

But you know who fits his aesthetic perfectly? Tim Burton's movies!

It also kinda makes sense since I'd imagine our poor PTSD-having demon would hate anything making him feel on edge

He's had enough of being scared

Favorite movie: Corpse Bride (2005)

Foras

Ooh, another psychological horror fan!

I also imagine that all the Hades nobles like theatre/musicals/ballet, so let's look for somethin in the middle...

Favorite movie: Black Swan (2010)

Barbatos

You can imagine how Barbatos reacts to most scary movies, which usually consist of dark scenes shot at night

Not to say he won't watch anything with you, but he will complain about how pale the actors are :/

Favorite movie: Midsommar (2019)

Glasyalabolas

Okay, we can all see this coming

This fucker (affectionate) loves his torture-porn

I mean, most of us have read his H-scene

Favorite movie: Hostel (2005)

Orias

Our old/young man loves movies with creepy children since he looks like one of them

Some even give him inspiration for acquiring more souls for himself

Favorite movie: Sinister (2012)

Beelzebub

To capture this idiot's attention, a movie needs to be really interesting to him

Likes his cannibal movies

They, just like to Orias, give him inspo, but this time for recipes

Favorite movie: Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

Bael

Bael is more grounded with his taste in movies

Still a slasher fan, but more on the realistic side

Imagining him just sitting on a couch/armchair while sipping some tea under a blanket while watching a movie gives me tired single mom vibe idk

Favorite movie: Psycho (1960)

Naberius

An obvious fan of Werewolf movies since he's one technically too

Kinda hopes that he can learn something about controlling his transformation from them

(I don't really like werewolves alltogether so I found this one on google - I hope it's good)

Favorite movie: Wolf (1994)

Stolas

Rebelllious boi 2

If there's guns that shoot, Stolas will watch it bc it goes with his tough guy persona

Favorite movie: The Purge (2013)

Amon

Given that he'll most likely fall asleep during the movie if he's not watching it with Beel or you in the room

Likes 90's movies in general bc they're more chill and more about the vibes

Favorite Movie: Scream (1996)

Ronove

Another torture-porn enjoyer

Surprise surprise?

Yeah, him and Glasya having a movie night is an experience only for the stongest

Favorite movie: Laid to Rest (2009) or The Collector (2009)

Phenix

Phenix loves any and all movies and they don't need to be scary or anything due to their affliction

Still, I think if they weren't under Asmo's influence, they would enjoy a good succubus/siren movie

Favorite movie: Siren (2016)

Dantalian

Yep, another torture-porn fan, except this time for the opposite reasons

Glasya and Ronove look for fun gore, Danta is looking for hot ways to die

Favorite movie: Audition (1999)

Belphegor

Okay, not a movie but an anime

What else would you expect from our weeb snoozer?

Favorite anime: Junji Ito Maniac! (2023)

Beleth

Usually, Beleth loves his mafia type of movies

When it comes to horror, he wants to be laughing hard

Bonus points if he can relate in some sort of sense to the main villain

Favorite movie: Beetlejuice (1988)

Gusion

Teacher boy loves his horror villains S-M-A-R-T

Like the calculated, composed type

Favorite movie: Silence of the Lambs (2001)

Bathin

There's nothing scarier to Bathin than being contained to one place without the possibility to escape

It makes him feel claustrophobic no matter how big the place is

Like you could lock him up in a castle full of spacey rooms and he'll be anxious

Favorite movie: Misery (1990)

Andrealphus

Since Andre can't see, I don't really think he's enjoy movies

He does, however love the audio stuff

Audioboooks and horror game OSTs are his go-to's during spooky season

Favorite audiobook: Between two Fires

Favorite game OST: Layers of Fear

Agares

Since Belphie took Niflheim from him, Agares realised he really loves his vengeful spirit movies

'They took from her so she started taking from them'

or how the quote was in his favorite movie

Favorite movie: The Woman in Black (2012)

Vassago

With his love for speeches and such, Vassago finds himself ofhen enjoying the religious horrors

Bonus points if there actually are some speech scenes

Favorite movie: Midnight Mass (2021)

Lucifer

If there's a movie containing the Antichrist, Luci is interested

He kinda also finds it amusing to see humans fumble with their demon names and stories

Favorite movie: The Omen (1976)

Morax

It might be a bit childish, but Morax likes movies themed around holidays

Bonus points if there is an adorable character

Favorite movie: Trick 'r Treat (2007)

Buer

Buer loves a good mindfuck movie with an unexpected twist

Other psychological horrors are good too, but you know...

There's nothing better than a lore drop that makes you wanna rewatch the movie from beginning and look for the subtle hints

Favorite movie: Orphan (2009)

Marbas

The last member of our gore aficionados

The only struggle for Marbas is to not criticize some anatomy errors of the sfx team

Favorite movie: Terrifier (2016)

Gamigin

It's rare for this babey dragon to watch horrors, but if he's with someone, he will

Once he's watched one already, he's less scared and will watch it again alone

Any movie where he can relate to a character is an instant hyperfixation until another movie comes around

Favorite movie: The Boy (2016)

[brittle-doughie]

Feathered Envy (Dessert Paradise)

Hopefully, this gets me back up and running with writing again, lol. So Dessert Paradise 2, eh?

Spoiler: Leak at the end of the post.

“Could you please tell me about your travels? I’m just so, so curious!! Where did you go, who did you meet, did you see Y/N Cookie along the way?”

You chuckled at Blue Slushy Cookie’s enthusiasm for her questions and the answers that she wishes to hear. Red Panna Cotta Cookie didn’t share your sentiment, he sighed at seeing the giddy guardian.

“She just had to ask…”

“I have only left and returned to restore the balance of all things. You are the first Dessert Guardian to ask me about my journey. First…that is a word I have not said in a while. I’ve only had those conversations with Y/N Cookie before in recent times.”

“See? The Sugar Swan likes my question! And you do talk about them with Y/N, Sugar Swan?” I really want to know what you two say to each other!”

“Well, the Sugar Swan doesn’t necessarily fly around Earthbread all the time, she likes to make a pit stop every now and then to rest her wings. And well, that just so happens to be my home, hehe.”

“The Sugar Swan is kind to all beings, but the Sugar Swan is sounding particularly kind to you!

“Y/N Cookie is a good cookie, it’s no surprise to me that the Sugar Swan has taken a liking to them! Do tell us, I’ve been curious on where the Sugar Swan was headed from the desert!”

“I’m going to listen to the Sugar Swan’s and Y/N’s every word! It’s gonna be the longest and most enjoyable story in the world!”

“We want to hear too!”

“It seems everyone is here. The first place that I visited was”

The Sugar Swan went on to tell her travels across the land, one location of note was Y/N Cookie’s house. You occasionally chimed in on her visit there, she had simply stopped to have a little talk with you.

This was about her journey however, so you went ahead and left out the parts where you brushed Sugar Swan’s feathers or the little date you two went on.

You prided yourself in your resolve, but you were just no match for the Sugar Swan and her beauty.

However, there was one cookie that wasn’t present for the story. He was searching for someone first.

“Where did Black Sugar Duck go…it would be nice to hear Y/N’s and Sugar Swan’s story together…”

Whipped Cream Cookie kept looking around until he swore he heard a voice nearby, the voice tinged with envy and jealousy.

“Sugar Swan…So beautiful…Quack….Y/N only looking at her….Quack….”

“Y/N? Black Sugar Duck, is that you? Where are you?”

Whipped Cream Cookie headed in the direction of the voice as it becomes more clear to him. The voice stops for a moment, having Whipped Cream halt in his steps until the voice returned, the hurt in their voice more apparent.

“The Sugar Swan…is so beautiful…But why am I like this…why doesn’t Y/N look at me more…”

“Do they think…I’m ugly….it’s not fair….i want them to look at me always….why am I like this….”

Whipped Cream couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Black Sugar Duck was wrong, Y/N Cookie does like them the way they are, they never thought Black Sugar Duck was ugly!

“Oh, I shouldn’t say that. So what if the Sugar Swan is beautiful….”

“I will become the most beautiful thing in the world! So beautiful that Y/N will never think of the Sugar Swan! Their eyes always be on me! Meant for me!”

“Black Sugar Duck, are you okay?!”

Black Sugar Duck went quiet…before stepping out into view, except…they didn’t resemble the duck Whipped Cream knew, he gasped at the cookie that now stood before him.

Black Swan Cookie….

“Hello, Whipped Cream Cookie…”

[ladymoody]

SATURDAY NIGHT

lorenzo berkshire x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw +18, childhood friends concept, teasing in public, explicit and suggestive language, dirty talk, v rubbing, blowjob, p in v penetration (unprotected), creampie, cum in general.

word count: 3,7k

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist ; playlist ; characters list ; my website

the clock struck 8pm. I won’t lie saying I wasn’t nervous, because I was, I was very nervous.

my parents had recently become in touch with enzo’s parents again after 5 years of no communication, so now I was getting ready in my room to hang out with them.

enzo and I met when we were kids. he was slightly older than me but we were both in elementary school. our parents immediately became friends so we started hanging out quite often.

enzo had always been very sweet with me but also a pain in the ass. since we were kids, we often argued and we almost even hit each other once. though, I cared about him and I guess he cared about me too. through time enzo and I grew up and became distant — we stopped playing together and we began to hang out once every two months at best.

once we started high school, we lost touch and so did our parents.

I often thought about him. I quite missed his presence as he had filled a good part of my childhood memories. the only thing I had left of him was a necklace he got me the last time we hung out — it had a little swan as a charm and I was completely in love with it. I found myself touching it every now and then, in an attempt to feel enzo’s presence with me again.

“y/n! are you ready, honey?” my mom called out from outside — she was already in the car.

“I’m coming!” I said out of the window, rolling my eyes in annoyance.

I glanced at myself in the mirror one more time to check if I looked good. I didn’t know why, but I felt the need to look good. then I grabbed my purse and headed out fidgeting my house keys.

once outside, I closed the door behind me, I locked it, and then I spotted my parent’s car. I saw my father looking at me up and down through the window, his gaze not much approving of my outfit — I was wearing a fancy black dress, elegant and delicate. it was quite long, but not too long, and had a wide neckline that showed my cleavage and my boobs which perfectly sat there.

I approached their car and got in. “hi.”

my father sighed, almost sounding like he grunted. my mom, on the other hand, turned around and smiled at me. “are you excited?”

“a bit, yeah.”

“enzo will have turned into a handsome man by now, don’t you think?” she teased.

“mom.” I warned.

“just saying.”

my dad started the car and I put my headphones on, ready to get lost in my fantasy world as I watched the real one out of my window.

I didn’t want to admit it, but I did feel something odd in my stomach… like butterflies? impossible. enzo and I had only been friends and nothing else. besides he wasn’t even my type — for what I could remember from the last time we met. I sighed and accepted the fact the hangout would have been quite awkward.

(skip time)

my dad pulled over and we all got out of the car. the light of the streetlights surrounding me caught my attention, making me look up and see the dark sky of the night. I loved that feeling.

“cover up.” my dad walked past me looking down at my cleavage. I knew my dress wasn’t so appropriate, but I didn’t have many dresses in my closet.

I grabbed my purse and closed the car door before following my parents into the bar where my and enzo’s parents agreed on meeting.

the bar from the outside looked really good — there were a few glass tables and small dark red armchairs probably made of velvet. there were some people already, drinking and chatting, and enjoying each other’s company. the dim lights were placed on the tables, followed by some candles as well, creating a cozy and elegant atmosphere for the whole bar.

my parents walked in first, making me snap back to reality. I followed them inside, realizing the big moment had come. my eyes lazily roamed over the room scanning it to spot enzo and his parents, but they weren’t there yet. we decided to get back out and sit at one of the tables outside that I had previously spotted. as we settled down, my mom spoke.

“are you nervous?”

in the meantime, I calmed down. I mean, it was just a reunion, right?

“I’m fine, actually.” I replied nonchalantly, both because it was a bit true, and because I still needed to convince myself of it.

(skip time)

I looked at my watch on my left wrist, which showed it was already 9:45pm. the meeting should’ve been at 9:30, but I let out a huff.

before I could complain to my parents, who were busy on their phones, my attention shifted to the three figures approaching us from afar — enzo and his parents.

his mom and dad still looked the same, slightly older, obviously. and enzo… wait, that was enzo? he looked way taller than the last time, his hair was still brown but he had changed haircut as it seemed more like a sort of mullet with a few strands falling down on his forehead, he was grinning and looking in our direction as he got closer, making me appreciate his outfit as well — his black t-shirt amazingly hugged his torso, highlighting his abs and chest, long black pants fell down his legs matching his t-shirt, and the shoes as well, but not his belt which was brown and silvery.

oh my goodness.

I would’ve said it wasn’t him, but the way he was smirking with his eyes made me recognize him without a doubt. that was my childhood friend lorenzo berkshire.

“my god, hi.” my mother stood up hugging enzo’s mom. my father stood up too, saying hi to his dad and shaking his hand. enzo stared at me as I stared at him back. he nodded as if he wanted to say hi to me as well, and I smiled in return.

“you grew up so much!” my mom caressed enzo’s cheek, making him slightly blush. enzo glanced at the ground, trying his best to seem polite in dodging my parents’ touching. after that, enzo’s parents’ attention turned to me, admiring how I had grown up as well. (I will let up on this for your sake).

we all sat down around the table, the seats felt so comfortable. my and enzo’s parents started talking, happy to finally meet each other again, as enzo looked at me — I felt his eyes wandering on my figure so much that it seemed like his gaze was burning my skin. after a couple of seconds, I looked up, seeing his eyes, which shifted quickly from my cleavage to meet mine. I smiled and he smiled back, rubbing the back of his head. as he did so, I could finally have a better look at his silver bracelet that made his wrist look delicate and sexy.

“hey.” he broke the silence, he was sitting right next to me.

“hi.” I said back, eyeing him up a bit.

“how’s your life going?” he asked as he propped his head on his hand and turned his attention to me.

“good, good… yours?”

“same.” he eyed me back up, scanning my figure in my tight dress. his tongue licked his upper lip subtly.

our conversation went going for half an hour and it was totally awkward. not because enzo and I had nothing to talk about, but because I kept feeling his gaze on me all the time — every single movement I did, even the slightest, he looked. to finally break the moment was enzo’s mother.

“you grew up so much… I still remember you playing with my enzo at the playground.” she said with a hint of nostalgia in her voice. I smiled at her words. she had always been so sweet.

in the meantime we had already ordered our drinks — enzo had ordered some martini and I had decided to get the same. the bartender brought the beverages to us a few minutes later and we started sipping them as I kept sharing words with enzo’s parents.

“do you have a boyfriend now?” enzo asked me. his voice had lowered a bit not to let our parents hear us too much as they began to talk to each other once again, shifting their attention away from us two.

“no. do you have a girlfriend?”

“no.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I couldn’t understand why, but I felt relieved by the news of him still being single. I felt… possessive over him? as we kept chatting I couldn’t help letting my eyes fall on his hands several times as he gestured while speaking, even his hands grew up with him — they were veiny now, bigger than the last time we saw each other, and each finger had at least one ring.

“you sure you’re single? no guy drooling over you?” he said out of the blue, his eyebrows furrowed, interrupting the speech he was giving a few seconds before.

“yeah, I’m sure. what’s wrong?” I chuckled.

“I hardly believe a pretty thing like you hasn’t got a nice boyfriend.”

“well, guess what...” I sarcastically spoke and we both laughed.

but then he suddenly stopped, becoming all serious as his eyes stayed on me. I looked at him with a confused expression and I calmed down, finishing to laugh as well.

“I’m glad to hear that. you’re still my friend, aren’t you?” he spoke lowly, marking the word ‘my’ with his voice while his hand wandered on my bare thigh.

I nodded, not understanding what was happening. his touch gave me shivers.

he backed up, now fully focusing on my parents who started asking him questions, yet his hand stayed on my thigh — his thumb caressed my skin every now and then as his other fingers squeezed it.

I didn’t know what to think of it but I definitely enjoyed his touch and I didn’t want him to stop whatever he had in mind.

(skip time)

as the night went on, we all found each other more comfortable than at the beginning. but for each passing minute, enzo’s hand slid upper and upper. suddenly, when I was chatting with his father, his hand touched the hem of my dress, tugging at it, and slightly sneaking under the fabric to brush against my panties.

I tried to hold back a gasp, but I couldn’t do anything with the light blush that spread across my cheeks. I tried to push his hand away, but the harder I tried, the further he went until he completely felt my panties under his fingers.

enzo abruptly pulled his hand away, stood up, and he spoke to his and my parents.

“I’m going to smoke.” he picked up his lighter with his right hand while his left one still wandered in his pocket to find the pack of cigarettes.

“your father and I told you to quit, lorenzo.” his mother intervened.

“I will, I promise.” he grinned as he walked away to find a place to enjoy his cigarette.

“would you fancy keeping him company?” his mother changed her tone, sounding sweeter as she spoke to me.

“sure.” I nodded excitedly, hinting a smile as I stood up to follow him. 

I made a little run to reach him, and he slightly turned back but once he spotted me with the corner of his eye, he drew his attention back in front of him.

“your parents let you smoke?”

“I ain’t a kid anymore, aren’t I?” he replied with a cocky smirk. “but they don’t like when I do it.”

I nodded as silence fell between us again and we headed behind a wall, I leaned my back against it and enzo stood in front of me.

“you still have the necklace I got you when we were kids?” he noticed, gazing at my cleavage.

“yeah.”

“it looks good on your boobs.”

“excuse me?”

“I said it looks good with your hoops. your earrings.” he said, but I swore I had heard something else.

“you think they match?”

“yeah.” I could tell he was not staring at my necklace, but he was looking a little lower. though, I decided not to push it further and we kept chatting for a bit until he finished his cigarette.

“did I tell you I’ve got myself a car?” he said, lifting his eyebrows.

“no, you didn’t.. have you really?”

“yup. wanna see it?”

“ ‘course.”

he tilted his head in the direction of his car and looked at me before we started walking. “I drove my parents here.” he boasted a bit.

“damn, you’ve really grown into a gentleman.” I complimented him, being a bit sarcastic. but he was indeed a gentleman, a sexy gentleman if I might say.

we walked a few more meters before approaching his gorgeous dark red car.

“wow…”

“the insides are even better, come on.” he said as he picked up his keys and threw them up in the air, before catching them with a smooth movement and making his way to open his gem.

“it won’t bite you.” he said as he got into the driver’s seat. I smiled and got in as well.

I admired the insides and as he said, they were indeed beautiful and looked quite luxurious.

“did you pay a lot of money for this gem?”

“uhm… let’s just say that I worked hard for it.” he smirked, leaning against the seat.

“wanna spice this up a bit?” he suddenly suggested as he moved his head to face me. his eyes fell on my cleavage for what seemed like the millionth time that night, before shifting back on mine.

“spice this up?” I echoed slightly confused, tilting my head towards one side. though I knew what he meant by that, I just enjoyed playing dumb.

“yeah, with some music.”

“uhm, sure, why not.” I smirked and he turned the radio on.

(I recommend playing this while reading. check my playlist)

“I like this song.” I spoke.

“yeah?” he spoke back, staring at my lips. I smirked to myself as I noticed how he was not concentrating on what I had just said at all.

“mh-hum.” I nodded as I shifted completely on my seat, facing him with my body as well. I gazed at his lips too.

“would you like to know an interesting fact about this car?”

“yeah.”

“well, it’s soundproof.”

and there I did 2+2. I knew what he had in mind and he was planning on it from the real beginning.

“soundproof, mh?” I smirked. “and how is it useful to you?”

his smirk got wider as he leaned in and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“you’ve grown into a really gorgeous woman, you know that?” he looked at me with a darker gaze, his voice slightly above a whisper.

“I saw you swinging your hips and showing off your little ass as we walked. I immediately understood the innocent little girl I once knew was completely gone.”

my eyes widened for less than a second, before turning back seductive as I listened to him.

“and that little girl, who’s now a menacing woman, enjoined my previous playing on her thigh, didn’t she?” he continued,  his smirk never leaving his face.

“you were crazy for doing that in front of our parents.”

“you didn’t complain.”

“I tried to push your hand away.”

“you didn’t try hard enough.”

“how do you know that?”

“because I know damn well you liked my fingers on your skin, squeezing it and slowly going upwards. I could feel that you were into it… your panties were soaked, doll.”

I sighed. continuing to pretend would’ve been useless. I almost jumped on him, my hands finding his jaw as I held his face close enough to capture his lips in a fierce kiss. he happily wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me onto his lap as he kissed me back. our lips moved so passionately that I moaned every other second.

“fuck, baby… that was what I wanted…” he panted between kisses.

“you taste so good…” I moaned.

“let’s keep kissing then…” he groaned back as we heavily made out. his hand slipped under my dress, finding my drenched panties once again. he rubbed my pussy against the fabric, making me squirm on him, and let out desperate yet muffled moans against his lips.

“fuck… you are completely soaked.” he panted after his hand slid into my underwear — his middle finger rubbed my folds at a slow and sexual pace.

“ughh— mhh..” I clang onto him, my nails dug into his shoulders.

enzo pulled his hand away, leaving me needy of his touch, before starting to kiss me again. I kissed him back as my hand glided from his lower chest to his belt, and then I tugged at it, making him chuckle.

“someone’s impatient?” he teased, leaving some lazy kisses on my jaw.

I hummed in response, backing up enough to give room to my hands and undo his belt. enzo bit his bottom lip.

he lifted his hips up to let me pull his pants down, but without warning, I took his boxers off as well. he let out a low gasp, followed by a groan as he saw his hard cock popping out and standing right there for me. I smirked and immediately crawled back to my seat, before bending over and kissing his tip.

enzo threw his head back and shut his eyes, while my hand stroked his erection up and down and my mouth sucked on his leaking tip.

“ohh just like that…” he grabbed my hair, pulling it almost painfully, and forced me to go all my way down. I slightly gagged but quickly got myself together as I sucked on his dick completely, my lips touching his balls.

I could feel my throat giving me signals that I needed to pull out, but I couldn’t, I was making enzo feel too good.

“ughh! mhh— baby!” he jerked his hips upwards, trying to meet my movements.

I kept going for some minutes until I heard him groan and moan underneath me, so I understood he was getting close. I fastened my pace, trying to satisfy his needs, and in a matter of seconds, he spurted his seed down my throat.

“swallow… go on… swallow…” he encouraged me, panting heavily as he pulled my head back and watched me swallow his cum. I looked at him, not breaking the eye contact as I tasted him on my tongue, meanwhile, he watched me with an arrogant, yet affectionate gaze as his seed dripped down the corners of my mouth.

“backseat. now.” he smirked and pecked my lips, tasting himself on them. I happily moved into the back of the car, laying down on the seats as I watched him do the same thing and lay on top of me.

“you’re so beautiful… you’ve grown so well… fuck…” he groaned kissing my neck like a starved man — but suddenly he pulled away and his hands rushed on him to pull down his pants and boxers fully.

I bit my lip at the sight and in the meantime, I helped him taking his shirt off. he smirked, enjoying how I was as eager as him, and once his clothes were out of the way, he helped me undress as well.

“open up…” he arrogantly spread my legs, making me wrap them around his waist as he lined up against my core. “mhh…” I let out, my nails already digging into his back as I pulled him close to me.

“so wet… I bet you’re so tight too…” he said as he rubbed the tip of his erection back and forth against my folds.

“why don’t you go ahead and see yourself?” I teased him, smirking as I stole him kisses.

“I’m gonna fuck you hard.” he said, his teeth clenched.

suddenly he thrust in. I let out a moan mixed with a gasp as I felt my walls adjust to his size. He hissed, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he slowly started to grind his hips against mine.

“fuck, baby… ohh god…” he groaned in my ear — his thrusts becoming more and more urgent.

I knew our parents were wondering where we were or what we were doing, but enzo’s dick was all I could focus on at that moment. I felt it throbbing inside of me, eager to hit every good spot and make me come undone underneath him.

“ugh— keep going!” I encouraged him as I dug my nails into his back, scratching his skin and making enzo suck in air through his teeth multiple times.

my moans only fueled his hunger, his willingness to come inside of me, and I couldn’t help but give them to him all the time as he pistoned fast and hard. we didn’t worry about using a condom, we didn’t think about it and we didn’t even discuss it — we were too lost in the moment to mention that. I knew I wasn’t on birth control, but my paranoia could’ve waited. enzo was more important.

“ohh, baby! I’m close… please…” his eyebrows furrowed in a blissful expression, letting me know he was indeed getting close.

as his thrusts became more uneven, I began to realize I was getting close too. he was going rough, maybe too rough for me to handle him, and I could feel my body burning due to his harshness, but then I felt it. I felt my orgasm coming.

“enzo!” I cried out, arching my back and throwing my head against the seat. my juices coated his dick, which spurted his hot seed a few seconds later.

enzo grunted in my ear, altering incoherent murmured praises to desperate whimpers. “ohh— baby… god…” he moaned.

I chuckled, my hands caressing his back in a soothing manner.

“you okay?” he asked me, leaving a sweet kiss on my jaw.

I nodded, giving him a reassuring smile and he smiled back.

���we should probably get back to our parents…”

“we should.” he smirked. “but they can wait a little more…”

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hello,

I have a writing prompt for Michael Kaiser (Blue Lock): Kaiser gets into a pr relationship with an actress and they eventually bond and fall in love.

I think he would have a hard time because of his feelings of worthlessness, but this guy has so much potential, I swear, I love him so much.

If you want to go for a "dark side of Hollywood" type of concept, imagine: a young girl who was raised under the pressure of becoming "the perfect star" and surrounded by the chaos of the industry (Idk, the movie Black Swan comes to mind, or the typical representation of Marilyn's life, something along the lines). I think he could bond with someone who is in a similar mind space as him, but who externalizes it differently, remaining kind and such. He definitely needs someone who is empathetic and can see through his insecurities, and I really like the concept of two characters who are hurt helping each other heal.

If you don't want that much drama, scratch the idea of a hurt oc. Think about someone with an "entrepreneur" mindset: someone ambitious, confident, and level headed, who (again) is empathetic and would call him out and help him grow (I'm thinking about sae, but emotionally competent lol).

You don't really have to go for any of this though, it's just meant to get you inspired to write something for my boy Kaiser. I hope it's not too much. Also, there's no rush at all!!

Thank you in advance. I hope you have a good day 🩷

── THE INSTRUMENT

Synopsis: Michael Kaiser is like a rose, and you are the songbird he cannot bear to lose.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Kaiser x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.8k

Content Warnings: fake dating trope, implied/referenced abuse, call me tabito karasu the way i assassinate kaiser’s character in this, open ending, relationship dynamics many would consider…interesting…

A/N: hiiii anon ty for requesting!! i hope that i wrote kaiser in a somewhat satisfactory way 😫 this is my first time writing for him so idk if i got him right 😓 also i have NO idea why but for some reason i decided to write this in the present tense which i literally have never done?? so if it sounds off that’s why 💔 i’m so sorry i really don’t know what possessed me SKDJFSHKL

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

It’s hot and like a bruise, your first phone call with Michael Kaiser. He’s that brand of aggravating and just shy of painful to speak with; morbidly, you wish for the conversation to manifest as some kind of actual injury, perhaps on your upper arm, so you can poke at it until it is tender and blooming. But of course, that sort of thing isn’t possible, so you amuse yourself by tapping your fingers against the counter and considering what you might eat for dinner.

“Did you hear me?” he snaps when you do not respond to his proposition immediately. He speaks with an accent, clipped and short, lending severity to his words even when he’s saying nothing of note. “Miss L/N. It’s in both of our best interests to cooperate.”

He’s not wrong about this. It’s the only reason you’ve stayed on the call for as long as you have — it’s in your best interest. It’s the same for him, too, and the thought almost makes you laugh, because who would’ve expected your interests and his to ever align?

“Of course I heard you,” you say, twisting open your bottle of water, taking a sip and idly wondering if he can hear an accent when you speak, too. It’s difficult for you to notice your own, but maybe to him, you sound as odd as he does to you. “You should learn patience, Mr. Kaiser. Such a heavy request you’re making of me, and yet you demand my answer immediately?”

He huffs. ��It’s not something you need to dwell on.”

“It might be,” you say, though it’s not at all. Your mind was made up the moment he asked; everything after that has been nothing more than a ploy to irritate him. You’re good at that, at irritating people. Michael Kaiser is not an exception.

“Miss L/N,” he says again, something like a darker version of pleading creeping into his tone. “Your answer. Now.”

“Well, you already knew before you asked, didn’t you? Naturally, I’ll do it,” you say. “It’s a mutually beneficial partnership. Though I expect you to really try your best, Mr. Kaiser, or else it’ll all be for naught.”

“I could say the same to you,” he says.

“Between the two of us, who is the actress?” you say, chuckling when he is silent. “I am sure that I will be convincing. It’s you who I worry for. Hiding your true feelings has never been one of your strengths, has it? Or you wouldn’t be speaking to me at all.”

“Shut up,” he says after a moment has passed. “I doubt your acting skills are anything to brag about.”

“I know you’ve watched my movies,” you say, and when he doesn’t refute this, you beam. “Have you really?”

“Only because someone I know suggested I should,” he says. “If I want to love you, then I have to understand you. That’s what he told me.”

“And what did you think?” you say.

“I thought that I don’t plan to love you at all, and then I told him as much,” he says, the force of his eye roll transmitting even over the phone. You’re not sure if he’s acting deliberately obtuse or if he really thinks you care about this inane conversation he’s describing, but either way you sigh, because his answer is so telling of his personality.

“I was talking about my movies,” you say.

“I don’t prefer the genre,” he says, and then he’s hanging up with a promise to call you later, if he is so inclined. He doesn’t tell you not to call him, but you feel like he implies it, so you vow to set your phone aside and pay him no mind for the rest of your evening.

I’m dating Michael Kaiser, you type in the body of your email to your manager, who you are certain will be so delighted by this news that he will combust spontaneously upon hearing it. You want to type it again, this unbelievable turn of events, so you do. I’m dating Michael Kaiser. Then you delete the repetition, reverting it once again into a formal email, instead of a giddy celebration over an event which should not prompt giddiness or anything resembling it.

It’s a relationship meant to salvage his ruined reputation and boost your career in one fell swoop, and so it’s a relationship that can only work if it’s formed between you two in particular. He, who is a foul-mouthed soccer prodigy, known better for his crass treatment of others than any actual skills he may possess, and you, a rising star who will do anything to be famous and are already of a serviceable status to be seen with him.

Despite your burst of excitement, the prospect of dating Michael Kaiser isn’t actually a thrilling one. The rumors of his horrid demeanor aren’t rumors, and you know this well, albeit through secondhand accounts. Cruelty is the way that he operates, his so-to-speak basal mode, and because it is so intrinsic to his being, you do not fancy that he will deviate from that malicious rule, even for you.

But you are accustomed to a false existence. Donning a facade and masquerading as a person who you are not is the only thing you are good at, are good for, and this time is no different than every other. You will put on the mask of a woman who is loved by Michael Kaiser, who has tamed that mad emperor and turned him into her sweet pet, and you will once again fool the world into believing you.  

He’s doing an interview today. You’re only aware because he texts you right before and tells you to turn on the TV to a channel you’d never choose if you had a say in the matter. But you’re intrigued and he refuses to explain further, so you do as he commands and find yourself watching as he reclines back in a leather armchair and smirks at the host, who’s clearly nervous.

She’s pretty, her hands shaking but her expression serious. You’ve never seen her before, which means she’s new. Of course, that’s not a surprise; only someone very inexperienced or very stupid would invite Michael Kaiser to their show, and she does not seem to be particularly stupid, so her affliction is the first. 

“Um, Mr. Kaiser, it’s a pleasure to have you with us,” she says, like she cannot quite believe that he is actually there, or like she is afraid of what he might take offense at, or some combination of the two.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he says, all roguish and self-assured, which is such a contrast to his typically surly demeanor that you have to commend the girl for keeping her composure.

They speak at length about his soccer career, throwing around words you do not understand and do not care to. It’s so boring you almost power down the television and tell him you think as much, but then the girl clears her throat, her face turning a comical shade of red as her fists clench the paper she’s been reading off of.

“This last question is from our viewers, but it’s personal, so if you don’t want to answer, then it’s not a problem,” she says, squirming in her chair, probably hoping he does not humiliate her. It will be bad for her career if he does, even if by now everyone knows what kind of person he is.

“Go on, then. I feel like we’ve built a rapport here, so I don’t mind it as much if it’s from you,” he says. It’s a perfectly packaged sentiment. His PR team must have tortured him into this new persona. You try to imagine it — it’s definitely a humorous thought, picturing the Bastard München representative slamming Michael Kaiser’s face into a bowl of water for every snarky comment he makes. Unrealistic, though. They would never risk compromising his performance like that.

“There’s rumors that you’re seeing Y/N L/N, the actress. A source who claims to be close to you both mentioned it online, and people can’t stop talking about the possibility. Neither you nor Miss L/N have addressed it, though, and our viewers were hoping you might…?” She cringes back, already preparing for one of his tirades, but he only smiles genially and winks at the camera. You remind yourself to tell him later that he’s laying it on too thick, even if you are enjoying this new character that he’s playing up for the sake of it.

“Y/N L/N? I’m shocked that you think I’m handsome enough to date someone like her,” he says. Your phone buzzes — it’s your manager, crowing about how impressed he is with your ‘boyfriend’ and his presence of mind. 

“So it’s a no?” the interviewer says, almost hopefully. He’s mysterious when he shrugs, mysterious and more than a little coy, as if she’s flattering him and he’s too shy to accept the praise.

“If Miss L/N ever deems me to be worthy of her, then it’s a yes in a heartbeat,” he says. It’s an excellent setup for his redemption, and the girl plays into it so beautifully that you tell your manager to send her flowers or some chocolate at the earliest possible opportunity.

“I think that you’ve shown yourself to be an excellent candidate today,” she says.

“Have I? I’ve really been trying to prove myself,” he says. Dreamy sighs ripple through the live studio audience. Someone whistles. It’s all very romantic and fairy-tale-esque, although he is far from being any kind of prince.

“You’re doing great,” the girl assures him. “I’m sure that, if Miss L/N is watching, she’ll have no choice but to be smitten.”

“If she’s watching? Oh, the thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. You shouldn’t have doubted him and his audacity; he’s fallen into the role as if he were born to play it. “How embarrassing. I’ve just confessed to her on live television without even knowing if she’s interested…”

He’s actually blushing. You are doubly awed — he’s a natural-born talent. It’s a shame that he’s devoted to soccer; he could make it out like a bandit in the acting industry.

“No, no, don’t be embarrassed. How could she ever reject someone like you?” she assures him. How, indeed! At the moment, you are so pleased that you could kiss him. He’s better than any co-star you’ve ever had to work with, in that he is making your job exponentially easier instead of exponentially more difficult.

“If she really is watching, then I can only pray she heard you say that part,” he says, waving in greeting, presumably at you. “Hello, Miss L/N. I really admire you, so if you find me at all agreeable, then I would quite like it if you would say yes to the date I’m going to ask you on.”

He’s made the world swoon and your social media mentions triple. People are begging you to say yes, to give him a chance, to see how he has changed. They want to live through you, and you will let them.

When he calls you, you tell him you were thrilled by his performance. This causes him to shoot back that he finds you insufferable and condescending, to which you say that it’s what makes you and him such a perfect pair. Then you recite an address, and he asks you what you’re going on about. You answer that it is the place where you will have your first date, and then you hang up before he can respond, just so that you can deny him the chance to do it to you first. 

Cameras flash in your faces as you enter the restaurant your manager has booked a reservation at. Michael Kaiser’s arm is wrapped around your waist, and it’s nauseatingly domestic, the kind of scene that would be the cover for one of those coming-of-age movies your agent loves booking for you. You wait for the frantic sound of camera shutters to slow, and then you tug on his sleeve.

“What is it?” he says. It’s quiet enough that no one else can hear, which is why it’s devoid of any warmth, but you are unruffled.

“Your tie,” you say. “It’s not crooked, but we will pretend that it is, and I’ll fix it so that there is something sweet to accompany the tabloid articles that will come out tomorrow.”

Your hands reach for his neck, and he does something you do not comprehend — flinching back, he shakes his head. When he realizes he’s done this, he grits his teeth, like the anger can make up for the temporary weakness. You do not press the issue, merely furrowing your brow and gazing up at him, doing your best to ensure that your eyes remain soft, so that the exchange is not misinterpreted by the parasites around you.

“No,” he says. “Do something else, but leave my tie alone.”

“Alright,” you say. It’s not sensible for you to argue, and anyways it doesn’t matter much what you are doing, as long as you are doing something. Humming to yourself, you adjust the lapels of his jacket. The cameras go off again. You pretend like you do not notice, like the world consists of only you two, and then you interlace your fingers with his, allowing him to drag you into the restaurant behind him.

It’s your turn to be interviewed. You’re wearing a dress, your legs crossed at the ankles — it’s demure and practical and prevents anyone from leering at you, so it’s been a habit of yours for quite a while. The interviewer is female, though, which calms you a bit. She’s older, around your mother’s age, and the wrinkles on her forehead remind you that you should call your parents and arrange for them to meet your doting boyfriend.

“Miss L/N, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am to finally meet you!” the woman says. You think her name may be Anne, but she hasn’t introduced herself to you yet, so you’re not certain.

“You are too kind. If anything, it’s an honor for me to be here,” you say. The audience really likes that, when you are humble and shy and so darling. It’s palatable and easy for them to digest, or that’s what your manager tells you. 

“Tell us about your upcoming projects,” she says after giving you the appropriate amount of praise for your charming personality.

“I’m currently shooting a new romantic comedy, but I’m afraid it’s all very hush-hush, so I can’t say too much about it. I think you all will really enjoy it, though, and I’m looking forward to the day that we can discuss it at length,” you say. 

The conversation goes on like that for a bit, but you know she’s going through the motions because she has to, not because she wants to. There’s only one question she cares to ask, but if she just talks to you about your boyfriend and not your own accomplishments, then she’ll be blasted online as an anti-feminist. You hear quite frequently that this is akin to suicide in the world of marketing, so you can’t blame her.

That doesn’t stop you from having some fun. When she’s exhausted every possible avenue of questioning you about your future plans and past successes, you make as if you’re going to stand up and leave. Panic leaps across her face, and you snicker.

“We’ve spoken at such length about my acting career. You can’t possibly have any more questions about it, hm? You probably know more than my manager does!” Your attitude is balanced out by the joke. The audience laughs. It’s a fine line that you walk, but if you do not have the chance to act sharper every now and again, you believe you will die — internally if not externally — so you take such risks when you can justify them to yourself.

“You’re dating Michael Kaiser now, aren’t you?” she says. It’s a rancid curiosity she hides with a motherly type of concern. You brush off your legs, recross them, and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I am,” you say. You don’t have to play the games that he did; you both are established now. Official. A bona-fide couple. Anyways, it’s more appealing if you are outright with it.

“How has that been? You’ve really made a difference in that young man’s life, it seems,” she says.

The best way to lie is to tell the truth. “Yes, I suppose I have, but he has made an equal difference in mine. He is as good for me as I am for him; truly, I never understood what it meant when my parents called each other their ‘better halves’ until we met.”

In an hour, there will be thousands of posts online about this. If Y/N and Michael break up, then I don’t believe in love anymore! Maybe soulmates are real! Couple goals! These are the kinds of captions you are anticipating. The two of you will send screenshots to one another and laugh about how gullible the world is, and then you will strategically plan which comments to like and posts to favorite so that your message goes through. That’s the extent of your relationship with him, really, at least when the two of you are alone. The detachedness makes things much easier than they otherwise would be.

“There’s a popular theory going around that the two of you have had a secret wedding already. Is it true? Am I speaking to Mrs. Kaiser at the moment?” she says, eyes glittering like a vulture’s. She’s ready to pounce on any hesitation, any brief indecision that you might show, but you have spent more time in the spotlight than in your own parents’ home, so you don’t even waver.

“Marriage! I think we’re a bit too early in our relationship to be considering such things, and a bit too early in our lives to be rushing into major decisions like that,” you say. “If and when the time comes, you’ll be the first to know, but it won’t be for a while.”

It won’t be at all, actually. This relationship is not going to last for more than another month. Once the buzz surrounding you two dies, you and he will quietly split. It’ll be as if you never met in the first place.

Your phone rings as you’re leaving the studio. The caller ID says that it is Michael Kaiser, and the thought that he was watching your interview in the same way you watched his makes you feel odd.

“Hello?” you say.

“I’m not gonna marry you. Never-fucking-ever. If you’re expecting a ring, then put it out of your mind.”

“I wasn’t,” you say. “How else would you have liked me to answer that question?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Neither of you hang up on the other — you don’t think you can summon the wherewithal to, which is out of character for him but typical for you — though you both also don’t speak any further. He stays on the line while you drive home, breathing softly like he is sleeping, but you are sure that he is not. The point of it is lost on you, but then you drive into a tunnel and the call ends on its own, so it’s moot anyways. 

Your parents are excited to meet Michael Kaiser. They’ve read up on him extensively, watched all his interviews and even his game highlights. Your mother calls you the night before just so she can gush to you about how handsome he is, how you’ve really done well for yourself this time around. Her approval is nice to have, though superfluous, like a luxury soap or perfume. 

Your father is the one who suggests you all go golfing. You don’t know how to play, and neither does your mother, but you recognize it’s his attempt at connecting with who he thinks is your boyfriend, so you accept. You’re not sure if Michael Kaiser knows how to play golf, or really anything besides soccer, but he is game enough to come that you suppose he must.

It’s warm out, the sun beating down on your father’s brow as he lines up the ball with his club. Michael Kaiser stands on his left, and you think he’s somehow beautiful in this lighting. Not beautiful how your many attractive coworkers are, but in a manner which is distinctly him and therefore utterly irreproducible. His body is lean and graceful, his hair shaggy and gold, though he’s dyed the tips blue in what you’re sure is a statement. The shade matches his eyes, and also the inked roses on his neck. You have long ago come to the conclusion that the flowers are also a part of that same statement, but you have yet to discover what that statement might be. 

“He’s an improvement from that last boyfriend of yours,” your mother says, leaning back so that she can pour the last few drops of soda from her empty can into her throat. You and her are sitting together in the golf cart, seeking refuge in the shade of its plastic roof, sharing the drinks that your father had bought for himself and forgotten about the instant he stepped onto the golf course.

“He is,” you say. That’s not an exaggeration, nor is it something incredible. Your last boyfriend was an old classmate of yours who loved your celebrity more than he loved you. Michael Kaiser doesn’t love you, either, but he is honest about it, and you do not love him back, so there is no resentment between you and him.

“I like the way he looks at you,” your mother says. There’s a hiss as she opens a new can of soda. It’s a vice, but whenever you remind her of it, she dismisses you. She wants to have fun while she’s on this earth, apparently. Maybe drinking five cans of soda in one sitting means her life will be shorter, but life without soda isn’t worth living anyways, or something like that. The reasoning is stupid, but you know she is loyal to it, so you have to accept it. “It’s refreshing. So gentle. You’ll be talking to someone else, and he’ll just be staring at you like he can’t quite believe you’re his.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” you say. 

Your mother is about to say something else, but she is interrupted by a loud whoop. Michael Kaiser has hit a hole-in-one, and before you can tell him to stop embarrassing himself, your father is cheering, throwing his arms around him and calling him son.

“Your father likes him, too,” your mother said. 

“Oh, he needs to stop that! I can’t believe he’s making things so awkward,” you say, getting up to reprimand him before realizing that there is an entirely foreign sheen to Michael Kaiser’s eyes as he rests his chin on your father’s shoulder. He is not quite smiling, but it is a close approximation of the expression, and when your father ruffles his hair and says that it may have been beginner’s luck but he’s proud regardless, the curve of his lips becomes deeper.

You don’t understand, but you don’t need to. You may have facilitated it, but the moment belongs to him, and your presence is as unwanted as it is unnecessary.

You sit back down and take a sip of your mother’s soda. She grins knowingly and says that you look like you are in love, too. You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth, so you hum noncommittally and say that you might be.

You are growing fond of Michael Kaiser. It isn’t a slow realization — actually, it hits you very suddenly one day. He hands you a bouquet of flowers before opening the passenger door of his car for you. You ask him why he’s brought you peonies instead of roses, and he says it’s because he despises roses. It’s such an absurd answer and he says it with such a straight face that you have to cough in order to disguise your choked laughter. 

“Those must be some other kind of flower, then,” you say, pointing at but not touching his tattoos, at the delicate petals which fold over his pulse, azure and bright and silky. 

“No, those are roses,” he says, his knuckles growing white on the steering wheel. Normally, you wouldn’t ask further, but today you want to prod at his bruise of an existence, so you turn the music down and hug the peonies to your chest.

“But you despise roses,” you say.

“It’s a good reminder,” he says. “No flower lies quite as well as a rose does.”

That is when you are certain that you are partial to him. It is an unavoidable fact and also a treacherous one, but true notwithstanding. 

You put the peonies in a vase of water when you get home that night and hope they never die, although you know that they will be gone within the week. It’s how time works. The peonies will die and you two will break up and you’ll have nothing but a bare kitchen counter and thoughts of his intricacies to remember him by. 

There are no paparazzi around on the night when he wraps your hands around his throat. You are alone with him, sequestered away in the living room of his mansion, a bowl of popcorn shoved between the two of you while a movie plays in the background. This seclusion defeats the original purpose of the relationship entirely, but you sense that that original purpose is no longer fully applicable, so you do not refuse when he calls you and demands you come.

There’s a blanket tossed over your legs, the brilliant colors of his soccer club’s emblem faded from repeated washes. It’s warm, and if you were not busily eating most of the popcorn, you’d pull it up around your shoulders. As for Michael Kaiser, he’s facing the screen, his hair tied back in a knot, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and reflecting the visage of the lead actress as she laughs. You observe him as you snack. You’ve seen this movie before and didn’t really like it, so you’re not missing much. He’s more interesting by far.

“I know that woman,” you say, so that he has to acknowledge you.

“Hm,” he says.

“She’s a jerk,” you say. 

“Sounds like your kind of company,” he says. You scoff, because he’s not wrong. He keeps watching the movie, and you keep watching him, until a thought occurs to you.

“Can I call you Michael? Even when it’s just us two,” you ask. He purses his lips. The actress screams. Her character has just died, but the scene is poorly shot and even more poorly acted, so it’s not as heart-wrenching as it should be. You would’ve done better, but your agent doesn’t want you taking any gory roles, and your manager agrees. In his professional opinion, it’ll ruin the doll-like persona you’ve spent so long cultivating. He’s probably right. It’s hard to adore a doll once you’ve watched it die so gruesomely.

“You can do whatever you want,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, swallowing another mouthful of popcorn, the salt lingering on your tongue long after the popcorn itself is gone. “Michael.”

“Yes?” he says.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just wanted to say your name.”

“Okay,” he says. “Y/N?”

He’s never called you that in private. Of course, when you’re out and about, he must refer to you with such familiarity, but in private you’ve never been anything but Miss L/N. It’s a change but a good one. You don’t want to ever be Miss L/N again. Not to him.

“Yes?” you say.

“I’m trying to watch this movie,” he says. “It has high ratings, so be quiet and allow me to finish.”

“It’s shitty,” you say, yawning and leaning back against the mountain of pillows you’ve created for yourself. “Overly gratuitous with its use of fake blood.”

“Right, because that’s a cardinal sin,” he says dryly.

“Sorry, but it’s hard to enjoy films when you know how they’re made,” you say. He picks up the remote and pauses the movie. You blink, because that’s about the last thing you expected from him. Then he turns the TV off entirely and you realize you’ll probably never be able to predict what he does next, so you should stop trying already.

“I know how movies are made,” he says.

“Did you have a secret acting career you never told me about?” you say. It’s a joke, but you also wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. He’s taken to performing like a fish takes to water, and every day you tell him he should quit soccer and devote his life to cinema because of this uncanny skill.

“Not me, but my mother was an actress, and my father was a director,” he says. 

“Was?” you say.

“Maybe they still are,” he says. “I don’t know. We’re not on speaking terms.”

“Why not?” you say. He takes your hands in between his, and you can make out immediately that his instinct is to hurt you, to press his fingertips into your wrists so hard that they leave marks. It’s to his credit that he fights back the urge, fights it back and arranges your palms against his carotid arteries. His jaw clenches and his pupils dilate as he waits for you to realize; when you do, you rip your hands away for fear of wounding him further.

“Don’t pity me,” he instructs you, unpausing the movie like nothing happened. “And don’t ever bring it up again.” 

Now that you have his permission to refer to him only by his name, you develop a strange fascination with saying it. He’s amused by your new fixation, answering you in a lilting tone every time you call for him.

According to him, you are like a small nightingale, always warbling, always happy, fluttering around beside him and changing his mood for the better. Well, if you are like a nightingale, then he is like a dog, and you tell him as much when you are sitting across from him at a coffee shop.

“A dog?” he repeats, his face pinching. He’s just taken a swig of the black coffee he always orders, but you know his disgusted expression isn’t a symptom of the beverage’s bitterness. “Take that back.”

“Not in a bad way,” you say. Your own drink is sweet, so you sip on it slowly to prevent a stomach ache. “I’m not calling you pathetic. I just mean that you are amiable and lively. It’s a compliment.”

“It’s not who I really am,” he says. “Have I deceived even you? Amiable? Lively? Remember why this entire scam began in the first place — because I am neither of those things.”

“Right,” you say. “A peacock, then. Terribly vain and entirely alluring.”

He relaxes and raises his cup to his mouth again. He’ll be up late tonight, he always is when he has coffee, but it never stops him from drinking it. “That’s better.”

The reminder that whatever you have with him is not real stings more than it should. You throw away your drink almost untouched, which does cause him to raise an eyebrow, but thankfully he refrains from commenting. It’s a relief, because you don’t even know how to explain it to yourself, let alone him.

He walks you to your front porch and waits with crossed arms as you fish for the key in your purse, shoving it in the lock once you have it in your grasp. His farewell when you open the door is stilted and abnormal, so you stop him with a hand on his arm before he can go.

“Michael,” you say. You’ve never said his name like this before. It comes from a place raw and deep within you, a place that you are certain is purple and black like a wound. You say it like you love him, and you think it must be because you do.

“Yes?” he says. It’s the way he always responds to you, his voice like a song, a small smile on his ordinarily strict face — though today, he is not smiling. Instead, he is frowning, like he has come to an understanding that he would have rather not reached.

“Never mind,” you say. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he says. He drives away, his car disappearing around the corner, leaving you standing alone in the still-open doorway and wondering how you will survive the day when he disappears permanently. 

You’re not sure what it is about him that makes pretending difficult, but suddenly, it’s a struggle for you to maintain your aloof front. You find it disconcerting, that he has taken this aspect of your identity and rendered it entirely null and void; it’s even more disconcerting that he has done it unwittingly and unsympathetically. If you loved him any less, you would hate him, because he has stolen who you are and left you blind and fumbling, but you fell for him, and the way you landed broke something fundamental, so that it is impossible for you to get back up. 

“I think that I love you,” you say. You are on his couch again, and there is a movie playing again, which is all too similar to a past scenario that you think about when you are lonely. Tonight, it’s some soccer documentary that you find so tedious you are driven to irrationality. 

He drops the glass of water in his hands; you reach out and catch it before it can spill, setting it on the table in front of you. 

“What?” he says. You shrug.

“I love you,” you say again, and you’re flippant about it because you’re not telling him in the hopes he loves you, too. In fact, you know that he does not, so you are using him as a confessional; after all, the minimum he owes you is sharing the burden of this sin.

“There’s no one around,” he says. “You don’t have to lie. It won’t gain us anything.”

“It hasn’t gained us anything in a long while,” you say. It’s true — your relationship isn’t trending anymore, and most of your dates are in locations where you will not be recognized. 

He stands up. The documentary continues as he paces, and a referee blows a whistle while he tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls. You stay on the couch, your eyes following his erratic movements, your hands folded in your lap.

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I don’t what?” you say.

“You don’t love me,” he says. He wants to sound callous, you are sure of it, but the effect is lost on you. He sounds more lost than anything.

“But I do,” you respond. “Who are you to tell me I don’t?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Stop it. This instant.”

You laugh incredulously. “Do you think it’s that easy? I wouldn’t feel like this in the first place if it was.”

“Why?” he says. He’s still pacing. It’s like watching a tiger in a zoo. You want to study him, but he demands your attention in a different way. “Y/N. Why me? Why at all?”

“The reasons don’t matter, do they? I can tell you, but they won’t change anything,” you say, shrugging. “If you find yourself in the kitchen, bring water back for me. I’m thirsty.”

“Drink mine,” he says, pointing at the cup you had narrowly saved from disaster. “And quit your avoidance. Tell it to me plainly. Why?”

“Because you are you,” you say once you have drained half of his glass and your tongue is not quite as papery. “It’s a series of things; there’s not just one concrete reason. You hate roses and only drink black coffee. My mother thinks you’re handsome and my father is convinced you’re a golfing genius. You are a dog but also a peacock and then again an emperor. Don’t ask ridiculous questions and expect me to answer them when I cannot.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he says. “I’ll hurt you, Y/N, and I don’t — I don’t want to. You’re the only one who I don’t want to hurt, so just give up. It’s for the better if you do.”

“You won’t,” you say. “I don’t think you can.���

“Of course I can,” he says. “It’s the one thing I’m capable of. The only way I know how to love someone is by hurting them. I’ll do the same to you if you let me, and if you’re telling the truth, then you will let me.”

“Because I love you?” you say. “You think I’ll let you hurt me because I love you? For shame, Michael. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Please,” he says. It’s a word he’s never said, not to you and not in his life. Its weight hangs before you, pulsating in the air like it’s tangible. “If I love you, I’ll destroy you. And then you’ll leave, and it’ll destroy me.”

It’s a selfless desire that he’s disguising as a selfish one. You’re good at pretending, but you’re not good at telling when others are. That much is obvious, because if you had any talent at the latter then you would’ve seen that he’s loved you for as long as you have loved him, maybe longer. He loves you and so he’s urging you to flee, to destroy him before he can do it to you first.

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, huh?” you say, exhaling and finishing off the rest of his water. “Listen to me.”

“No,” he says. His obstinance is endearing, but you throw a pillow at him instead of cooing like you want to. He catches it and tosses it back. It lands beside you with a thump. You pat it for emphasis.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you.”

He plugs his ears with his fingers. “Nope.”

“I love you, I love you — hey, I know you can hear me!” you say.

“La la la,” he shouts over your voice, sticking his tongue out petulantly. “I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you!”

“You’re cruel,” you say. “I won’t deny it. I know who you really are, Michael Kaiser. You possess cruelty in spades, but it’s in the way that a rose does. You have grown malice like thorns so that no one may come near your heart, and you think these thorns will tear me apart when I extend my hand past them. What you aren’t accounting for is that I have done so already. I have reached your heart and still I am intact. Now, what is there to cause me harm — a mere flower? But a flower can’t cause anyone harm, least of all a person such as myself. You can’t, or more importantly you won’t. I believe that you won’t.”

He stares at you. The soccer team in the documentary still playing behind him scores, and the crowd roars in approval. You stare back at him and wait.

“I hate roses,” he finally says. “I hate them a lot. They’re the worst kind of flower.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say. “I quite fancy them.”

“They prick your fingers,” he says.

“Not if you are gentle,” you say. “Not if you understand them.”

He buries his face in his hands. “Go home, Y/N.”

You do as you are told, flagging a taxi and shivering while you wait for it. You wish for things to be different, but the amount of unfulfilled wishes you’ve made outnumber the stars in the sky, so you add this one to the list and vow to move on.

You have no desire to leave your bed the next morning, but you are also hungry, and your hunger wins out over your despair. You muster up the energy to roll out of your sheets and trudge downstairs, but you are miserable as you do so. You are utterly miserable, and the fact that you are only worsens the feeling, trapping you in an endless kind of loop.

When you enter your kitchen, you are surprised to see a pot of flowers sitting innocently on your counter. You didn’t put them there, so you should feel afraid, but they’re roses, and they’re the same arresting shade as the sky, so you don’t. You only grin, slowly and then all at once as you begin to giggle helplessly.

There isn’t a card or an explanation provided, but you don’t need either. You already know who they are from.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Sympathy for the Devil ~ Part 9

A Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic, based on @discoscoob 's concept & bot! Warnings: Donaka Mark is a bad man with a soft spot for you. dark romance, possessive behavior, nonconsensual voyeurism, red flag red flag girl!🔺, psychological games, power imbalance, eventual dubcon/nsfw. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER!!!

one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight.

Nine.  九

You wake up the next day certain you will be fired. But when the axe does not fall, you relax slightly, going about your tasks. It occurs to you that maybe you should leave–but you don’t really want to, and only part of that has to do with your fascination with Donaka himself. The coming weeks seem almost normal, and you begin to think that Mr. Mark decided to be a gentleman about it all, and pretend it never happened.

What a fool you are. 

Your first inkling of your idiocy comes when you are called into Mr. Mark’s office, after dinner, when usually you are hanging up your apron and calling it quits for the day. 

You approach his massive carved ebony desk with folded hands, feeling all for like a naughty school girl. Donaka Mark sits behind it, every bit the lord and master of the house. He has discarded his suit jacket, the top buttons of his black dress shirt undone, so handsome it hurts. His eyes are sharp as obsidian knives upon you, and a cold chill runs down your spine as you come to stand beside him, as he directs. 

That is when he produces the colorfully-covered journal you usually keep secreted in your underwear drawer, the little book dwarfed in his hands. Your heart does a swan dive–you hadn’t even realized it was missing. 

He does not seem amused. 

Maybe you can’t blame him. In that book, amidst your more pedestrian musings and accounts of your day, you have detailed every torrid little fantasy your rotten brain ever concocted about this man. Scorching alternate endings to all your encounters in which you were too smart, or too much of a coward to actually see through. Not to mention, the completely fictional bonus scenes too. It’s like an X rated love letter that rambles on for pages and pages and dear lord, it’s in his hands.

He throws the book down on his desk with a clap that makes you jump out of your skin. With narrowed eyes he looks up at you, his voice low and dangerous. "Care to explain this?"

Your mouth makes a perfect ‘o’ of surprise, your blood turning to ice in your veins. A flood of unbearable embarrassment washes through you, and you begin to shake like a leaf. Never in your life have you ever been so mortified, or, so angry, that he has that obviously private book in his hand. 

"How dare you read that?"

Rage flares in Donaka's dark eyes, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he grinds his teeth. 

"How dare I read this filth, written about me, in my house? I have every right."

You are quaking, tears in your eyes. The things you wrote about him in that diary...it’s not all filth. Some of it…is foolishly sweet. And he read it all.  Your chest feels like it's pressed in a vice. You feel like you want to throw up...or just die, there on the rug of his office, rather than speak to him further about this. A timely earthquake would be most appreciated; a fissure in the floor to jump into, quite ideal. 

Donaka takes in your reaction to his intrusion of your privacy with secret pleasure; he knows he's got you right where he wants you, completely at his mercy, humiliated and vulnerable.

He leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on your face, drinking in your misery. "I read every single word," he delights in telling you.

You look away, utterly unable to meet his eyes. "Congratulations, Sir," you rasp past the lump of sand in your throat.

Donaka can't help the cold smirk that appears on his face as he watches you look away, unable to meet his eyes. The way you address him as "sir" makes a shiver of satisfaction run down his spine.

“I've got to say, I'm impressed. I never would have guessed your imagination was so...vivid. You seem like such a nice girl.”

A shuddering breath escapes you. You’ve resisted him all this time, taking solace instead in writing in your journal. It was better that way. Safer. But this man is not the type to be satisfied with just words on a page. That's why...he runs a billion dollar corporation, and you...sweep floors.

Donaka watches your defeated gesture, savoring it like a fine dessert. 

“Just what did you intend to do with all this?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” you defend immediately. Dear god, you think. Please don’t let this man think I was planning a ‘Tell All’. 

“This is a lot of energy gone into nothing?” 

He doesn’t have to tell you. “It’s just…my journal. To clear my head.”

“Your journal. Of things that never actually happened?” It sounds pretty stupid when he puts it that way–you feel every pound of pressure he puts in that statement, and you think you really just might faint right there beside his desk. “Do you actually get satisfaction out of that?” He sounds genuinely curious.

You close your eyes, so you don’t have to look at his blazing dark stare boring into you as you nod.

“Just give it back, and you never have to see me again.”

He laughs at you, a cruel little chuckle that pierces you to the core. “No, this little treasure is never leaving this house. And you’re not going anywhere.” 

You can do nothing but shake your head, trembling in your very bones. 

“You’re brave in many ways, y/n,” he tells you, fingering the cover of your damning treatise on The Art of Being Creepy About Your Boss. “But in others? Such a coward.” 

It’s the understatement of the century, and you can’t stand it anymore. You turn on your heel to leave–and a grip like iron encircles your wrist, so tight the bones creak. You get your first real taste of how strong this man is, when he jerks you down into his lap like you are a ragdoll made of straw. A yip of a scream escapes you, as he manhandles you like he owns you.

You feel so small, enveloped by his massive frame, his long arms wrapped around you.

"Let's have story time, shall we?" he says with a wicked chuckle, cracking the journal to a random page, and he begins to read the explicit scene you wrote starring the two of you, against the bookshelves, in the library. You can feel his deep, baritone voice vibrating against your skin as he recites, his arm around your waist holding you tight, preventing you from escaping.

“The strength in his hands makes me weak, those veritable paws gripping my thighs and lifting me, the desperate fury of his kiss pressing me back into the shelves so hard there will be linear bruises imprinted upon my skin. Perhaps I will look upon the souvenir tomorrow with equal parts pride and horror, still unsure if I am a victim, or if I welcomed the beast’s ravishment with open arms. Both feel true. The lush wetness between my legs suggests the latter, and as he explores my center with those long, blunt fingers I embrace the prospect of my ruin, bewitched by his skillful touch… Sweetheart, I’m flattered!”

You are dying in your mortification, your face on fire, your every nerve ending aware of this man. You physically cannot stand it, going feral in his arms, squirming in his lap like a fish on a hook, desperate to get away from this hell of your own making. It’s like pushing on a steel wall; he does not give a millimeter up to you. 

"Forget travel writing, I think your calling is the x-rated romance novel," he congratulates you cruelly when you finally go still with exhaustion. And maybe it’s true–you can feel the bulge of his erection pressing into your behind, and fuck if despite your desperation, you start to ache between your thighs, your unhelpful lady parts casting their usual vote for what is undoubtedly a form of suicide.  

He leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Look how you’re trembling. You’ve tried to deny it all along, but you want me."

"I want you to let me go." You push at his muscle-corded arm around you again, fruitlessly. You haven’t resorted to nails or teeth yet–somehow, you suspect you would not like the result of such an escalation. 

Donaka's grip on you just tightens even more, squeezing the breath from you. “You know…something about reading this makes me think that’s not what you really want.” 

Suddenly he stands, dropping you on his desk hard, tossing the little book away so that he can use two hands to pin you down. You might have screamed, had it not knocked the breath out of you. "I liked your ideas about this desk," he growls, taking your mouth in a punishing kiss, pressing you down into the wooden surface with his full bodyweight, his slender hips wedged between your legs. He kisses you like he means to devour you whole, starting with your mouth. 

This. This is what you expected all along. 

"Please, Donaka–" you plead when you are allowed to draw a breath. But his fingers in your hair control your head, pulling your lips to his again. His kiss is fueled by a fierce, primal hunger, his tongue delving deep into your mouth, seeking and claiming every inch of you as his own. His free hand moves over your body, exploring and caressing every curve and contour, squeezing the soft meat of your bare thigh, sliding under your panties to cup your ass.

"I'm not angry that you wrote the words," he snarls against your cheek. "I'm angry that you dared to deny me, lying to my face while you wanted me all along." His eyes lock onto yours, his gaze intense. "Your charade ends tonight."

“But I–”

You whimper as he tugs at your hair, forcing you to meet his eyes again. "No more excuses, you little coward," he snarls. "Did you think you were going to tame me with a potato chip?”

"I wasn't playing with you," you protest, on the edge of tears. "I never meant to hurt you!" 

“Hurt me?” His tone is incredulous, but in that moment it dawns on you that that is indeed the root of his fury. He’d offered you sweetness, at least his version of it, such a rare and unheard of thing for him, damn near showing vulnerability–and you’d denied him. So now…you were getting the stick, and despite the flood of arousal between your legs, you weren’t really sure you liked it all that much. There were no straight lines with this man. Everything was a jagged edge, or a shade of grey. 

"You didn’t hurt me, you infuriated me,” he insists, his lips on your neck. “You knew what I wanted, what I needed, and yet you still dared deny me." He returns to your mouth, his lips hovering just above yours. "You wanted the thrill of bedding the bad man, but none of the blame. That’s fine, bunny. I’ll be your villain.”

At hearing that you renew your struggle, trying to worm out of his grasp.

Donaka's grip on you tightens even more as you writhe, his weight crushing the breath from you, his hips pinning you like a butterfly on a board. There truly is no escaping him like this.  “Give it up," he admonishes, his voice a low, dark rumble. "You wanted me to make you. I read all about it, and I’ll give it to you, sweetheart. I'm not letting you go. Fight me, I like it. Or submit, I like that too. Either way, you're mine tonight."

You’ve known all along that he is a dangerous enigma, and that was why you tried to exorcise your desire for him in words on a page, and not play with fire, not taunt the beast and offer him your tender flesh because you knew you would get bitten. 

But deep down...God, you’d wanted it anyway. You’d wanted to know, just once, what it would be like to bare your throat to a man like Donaka Mark, wondering if he might find you enticing enough, worthy enough, to kiss rather than kill simply because he could. 

“I hate you,” you hiss through your tears, but all you win is his dark laughter. 

“You wish that you hated me, baby. I read all about that too.” He kisses you again, almost tenderly this time, though his hold on you is still bruising. He kisses your cheeks, savoring the wet tracks of your tears. “Don't cry. I’m going to make your wicked little fantasies come true.” 

He kisses you, a deep, punishing lock of lips, and his hand disappears beneath your skirt. When he touches your soaking wet center he smiles against your mouth. You know it is not a nice smile, but still you moan as his thumb circles your clit confidently, as though he knows exactly how to handle you–as though you already belong to him. When he withdraws you watch with horror as he licks his thumb clean, his eyes all for you. 

“Tastes like little liar,” he sighs with narrowed eyes. “But we’re going to fix that.” 

You scream, when he savagely tears open the front of your dress, the black buttons flying to every corner of the room. He ducks to kiss your freshly bared skin, impatiently pulling down the cup of your bra, presenting your mounded flesh for his delectation. When his lips close on your nipple, his tongue flicking, you feel it simultaneously in your throbbing clit. An involuntary moan escapes you, and you know this is the beginning of the end.

“That’s my good girl,” he encourages between ravishing your sensitive flesh, his hips locked against yours. “Tell me all about it.”

“I do hate you.” 

He laughs, a short bark of mirth before kissing you again. You feel him reach down to work his buckle and buttons and zipper, taking himself out with one hand, the other still holding you down. He’s so impatient he simply pushes your panties to the side, his thick tip sinking past your entrance with embarrassingly little resistance, you’re so wet. He growls as he bullies himself inside, lost in the sensation of you, drunk on the heady high of triumph at last.

When you open your mouth to protest he makes the final thrust that fills you completely, tearing a sound from your throat instead that sounds suspiciously like enjoyment. Your head rocks back against the desk as your body adjusts to this delicious invasion.

This is bad. Very bad. But it feels so very good. 

He pauses for a moment to savor it, looking down at you with a smirk, and maybe you invent it out of desperation–but a smoldering warmth in his eyes.

You are so fucked.

“I just knew you’d have the sweetest little pussy.”

He kisses you, moaning in your mouth as he thrusts, losing himself as he wrecks you with his unfairly endowed cock. When his tip hits your cervix you flinch, your body still trying to get away, even while the rest of you has accepted the inevitable. “Too much?”

“Yes,” you hiss, still writhing beneath him.

“Be good then,” he warns you, his voice rough in your ear. “Or I’ll have to punish you.” 

He ducks to your breast again, his tongue wreaking havoc as his thumb slips between you, moving in time with his manhood stretching you to perfection, hitting just the right spot like he was made for you…

“Fuck,” you pant, out of frustration and need and worst of all…the knowledge of absolute defeat. 

You feel him smile against your skin, surrendering to pleasure while he works inside you once more. “Someone’s finally catching on…” 

You let out a growl…but you’re not fighting him anymore, your back arched as you strain for the release that is building in your hips, that maddening promise of euphoria coiled in your loins, the gratification you’ve craved from this man since day one. The tightening of your walls around him wins you another ragged groan, his forehead pressed to your breastbone as he concentrates on making you cum first. A part of you wishes he’d just get off and leave you alone–but he’s not going to do that. There’s no way in hell, you’re in his claws and so you might as well wring every little bit of enjoyment out of it that you can, before you meet your inevitable demise…

“Come on baby,” he coaxes. “Give me what’s mine. From now on, this is where your pleasure comes from, and I intend to keep your schedule full.” 

“This is not–becoming a thing,” you insist, short of breath, because it feels like he’s in your lungs.

He laughs at you, a wicked chuckle that raises your every hair follicle. “No? Do I have to keep you on the edge until you beg me for it, pretty girl? We could do this for days.”

Is it possible, to cum out of spite? You think it might be, as you wrap your legs around his narrow hips in a bid to control the timing of his thrusts. He lets you, caught up in the moment you start participating rather than fighting. You clench upon his perfect cock buried inside you, desperate to indulge yourself before he can torture you by withholding it. 

Your orgasm takes mercy on you, rising to the occasion valiantly. The rapture of it destroys you like a chain explosion, filling your loins before ripping up your spine, hitting so hard you arch and lift him from desk for a few, beautiful moments of ruin. He moans with you, fucking you hard as your needy, turncoat of a cunt milks him, sending him over the edge to spill inside you. He fills you with hot spurts of his essence, his powerful body locked against yours as though to make sure you get every drop. 

For a few long moments he collapses on you, his breathing heavy in the bend of your neck, his lips gentle behind your ear.

“Was that so terrible?” he asks you smugly, sitting up on his elbows to sweep the wisps of your sweat-plastered hair from your forehead. You close your eyes, lulled by the unexpected tenderness in his touch.

“I still hate you,” you sigh unconvincingly.

“Mmm hmm. I can tell. Are you on birth control?”

“Shouldn’t you have asked that beforehand?”

“Don’t be smart, just answer the question.”

You growl, winning that smirk that quickens your heart. He just thinks you’re cute, goddamn him.

“No, I’m not going bear your demon spawn,” you grumble with an eye roll.

“Hmm.” He smirks down at you, his eyes sweeping your face, then lower, and for a terrifying moment you can’t tell if he’s pleased by your preparedness, or contemplating the thought of filling you with his child. The latter scares you more than anything else he’s done so far tonight.

Spitefully you muse, “I kinda wish I had a venereal disease to give you though.” 

Now he narrows his eyes. “Very funny.”

“You’ll find out, I guess...”

He puts his hand over your mouth; it's so big it envelopes the whole lower half of your face.

“Let’s have silence now.” You glare–and you lick his hand, though you don’t make a sound. He looks at it with a frown, then wipes it on your cheek.

“Come on.” He withdraws, righting himself, then you, papers fluttering to the ground as you make your dismount from the desk. Whatever he was working on is surely ruined by sweat…and other bodily fluids. He doesn’t seem to care, for the smug way he smiles at you. 

You might have fallen, if not for his strong arm steadying your shaking limbs. He gives you a moment to find your legs, and as you rest against the solid warmth of his chest, enveloped by the spice of his cologne, you are consumed by the warring urges to kiss him and to hit him. This man. This man could prove to be the death of you through confusion alone. 

He tilts your face up to his, surprisingly gentle now. It’s hard to believe this is the same man from five minutes ago, when he presses his lips to yours. 

You try to button your dress, but it's a lost cause. Maybe it doesn’t matter, because he is pulling you away, towards the door. In the hallway you try to break off in the direction of your room, but he snorts at you, guiding you in the opposite direction with a hand on the back of your neck. 

“I’m not done with you yet, bunny…”

“Donaka…” You only narrowly resist the urge to sob. “You won. Just let me go…” All you want to do is be alone to lick your wounds, and reflect on what the fuck just happened to you. Your thoughts are a complete jumble; you are a walking well-fucked vessel filled with shame and confusion and you hate to admit–total gratification.  It all went by so fast and maybe deep down you wanted it but he just took you and you– 

As though he knows you are trying to pick all this apart and doesn’t intend to give you the chance, Donaka jerks you to him, pulling you into a punishing kiss that melts your bones all over again. You make a small, kittenish sound that betrays your begrudging enjoyment. You swear you feel his smug satisfaction emanating from his pores.

“Don’t you get it yet?” he asks you darkly, a dangerous sparkle in his midnight black eyes. “You’re mine now.”

[kanmom51]

I’ve read theories that Jimin and JK split up at some point in 2018 as well as mid 2019, late 2019/2020, basing this off certain moments in Run BTS, JM travelling without JK in the summer 2019, the rumours, the behind the scenes of ON and Black Swan and the Grammys in 2020.

I know they have tense moments and to me that makes them real, all couples fight. But do you think there is any truth to just how bad it got that they broke up?

Thanks

Hey love.

I will start by saying this is my opinion I am voicing here. Based on full original content I have watched. Full episodes or clips.

I think that these assumptions or conclusions people came to based on a couple of few seconds moments we see in clips are problematic to say the least.

Let's start with that word - split up or break up. That is a very heavy term. I don't know what your relationship experience is (I just mention this because I don't know if you are single, have had a long term loving relationship, are in one or otherwise), but a long term healthy relationship usually does not include multiple break ups. A break up has a finality to it. Parting ways. Calling quits. Dissolving the relationship or ending it. And taking a step like that again and again and again, well that would take a toll on the relationship itself over time.

Also, breaking up, a love as strong as what we think these two have, it would show. Much more than what people think they see as evidence for such a breakup.

And when I say show, I mean more like what we saw back in September 2016 in what people love to call the Manila fight. The level of distance, clear anger and displeasure with the other, unhappiness that you can see in their expressions when they are not on stage or attempting to be professional, and this not being on one day, one clip, one event alone, but spread over a period of time.

And may I add that this happened pretty much in the relatively early days of their relationship, not 3 or 4 or 5 years in. The longer the relationship, the stronger the relationship, the deeper the relationship, the harder and more painful the break up.

And you see, this is the thing.

Healthy long term relationships aren't like a soap opera. Their real lives are not The bold and the beautiful, getting together 'love of their lives' style, then breaking up, marrying someone else, only to get back together and so forth time after time. Real life isn't like that. A relationship, a healthy one, cannot survive that constant turn on turn off. And it's even harder to turn on turn off in the speed that people are attributing to them. Love is not a switch you can turn on and off. And 2 people that supposedly love each other and basically can't keep their hands off each other moments before or moments after that supposed few second moment that makes people think they are not together anymore, is not realistic to say the very least.

And as far as I can see, their relationship is not a tumultuous one. Quite the opposite (especially once they got over that push and pull in 2015-16).

Now, with saying all that, couples, they argue, they fight, they wake up one morning in a bad mood, they allow external factors to influence their mood and at times their interactions with their loved one. Life happens. And these are a real life couple, even if they are 2 members of BTS, the biggest band in the world.

Not every argument or fight ends in the finality of a break up. Not every time you are mad at your partner or even pissed to the bone at them, do you split up.

As individuals we can have bad days. And that can affect our behaviour even towards those we love. Human interactions is what it is.

So, could we catch them unhappy with each other on camera from time to time?

Of course we can.

Can we see them being passive aggressive with each other? Mad at the other? Just unhappy or mad period (not necessarily at the other but in a bad mood that effects their interactions with anyone and everyone around them)?

Of course we can.

None of that is automatically proves a break up. None of it.

A couple of examples of instances we KNOW that one of them was pissed at the other.

Summer package 2018, the dream catcher necklace drama.

Basically JM pissed at JK not wanting to wear it as a necklace and guess who had that necklace on a second later...

And what about the NJ live 2019? JK pissed that JM and Jin turned off the live just as he got to Jin's room, starting his own live to show us that JM came to ask for forgiveness after being scolded by JK.

Neither relationship ending differences (although that could also depend on the relationship I guess), but examples of 'arguments' or differences they had that we know of because they either happened on camera or they told us of them themselves.

Another time we see them clearly upset at each other is the Gayo song festival Dec 2016. Clearly something going on, but we don't know what.

And here too, only days after the event, all was well between them, JK making his babe laugh while imitating Rainism's dance moves.

Point being, once again - yes they argue, get mad at each other (and 2016 was peak push and pull between the two, laying the grounds for their relationship), but from there to calling quits... nope.

And there would be many other moments we are unaware of. Cause that's just how relationships are. Loving each other doesn't mean agreeing on every single thing. It would many times mean compatibility (for a long term relationship to last), but compatibility doesn't mean being a mould of each other.

Now specifically to the examples you mention:

2018 Jikook were stronger than ever. This is after their Tokyo trip, which they just would not shut up about. You can see them in interviews, in award shows, in other footage from that time (including BV 3 in Malta). I really do not understand where these rumours of a break up at that time are coming from.

Saying that, I am aware that there are those that think that part of the struggles the members were going through in 2018 that almost let to them disbanding also included JM and JK splitting up. I beg to differ. At least from the content we have from 2018 (I don't claim to have inside info going back to 2018 and the status of their relationship). I actually believe that having each other during that time made it easier for them to deal with the hardships (kind of like how JK being by JM's side helped him deal with everything he was going through in 2020, and JM being there, as much as he could under the circumstances, for JK who was struggling early 2023). Throughout the content (official and unofficial) from 2018, start to end, we see how close and utterly in love they are with each other.

See beginning to mid 2018 Jikook interactions in my 2018 timeline.

And things were no different in the second half of the year.

All this happened in 2018:

Could they have had ups and downs?

Of course they could have. All long term relationships have those, even the best of them. But again, split up or broken up? Nope, not in my opinion.

Then we have the 2019 break up claims.

I think that if JK and JM were not together in 2019 during the time the band were on a break that JM wouldn't have made the effort and flown all the way back to see him for his birthday, nor would JK tattoo that J over the M right after that.

I think that JM going on those trips was them allowing each other that time to spend with their friends doing the things they want to do on their time off. That's what you call a healthy relationship btw. Allowing each other to grow as an individual, spend time with your friends, travel cause that's what you love to do, something that we learnt back in 2018 Malta that isn't something that JK really loved to do back in the day - could have changed, as people grow and change, but at the time didn't really interest him (perhaps especially seeing it wouldn't be the two of them alone).

We know from Hobi and JK that it's not like the two (JK and JM) weren't seeing each other or getting together over the break. It's only that JM went travelling and JK didn't.

And btw, these three were basically the only ones that did see each other over the break. If indeed the two broke up, would they be spending that time that they can together and not apart? Choosing to get together when they aren't obliged to do so being part of the band and having to work with each other?

And again, looking at 2019, before and after the break, the two seem stronger than ever. 2019 muster before, for example.

Damn that pic limit, I could go on with these forever.

And right after we had BV4,

And their final Seoul concerts October 2019.

Next you also mentioned the behind scenes of the Black swan MV shoot as an example used to claim that JM and JM were not together at the time.

Another good example to show you how this conclusion making is so ridiculous. They are literally taking one little moment from that MV shoot and creating a whole breakup narrative, all while from the same MV shoot we have the two full on having a flirt fest in front of our salads. Including that whole JM calling I love you to JK and him turning around all giddy-bashful.

SAME MV SHOOT.

Then you mention Grammy's 2020. First I've heard of them being broken up during that period. But let's look at what we have either from same night or the days before and after.

James Corden carpool karaoke January 2020. JM's excitement with JK's vocals and JK's incapable of keeping his eyes off JM.

Grammy's night

That moment there.

And for those that claim it isn't JM JK is looking at, well who's wittle nose is that turned towards JK?

Nope. No broken up couple detected.

I Heart Radio

Someone holding on real tight to his man.

When exactly did they have time to break up, with all the shit that entails with a break up and then get back together like nothing happened, all lovey dovey and hot for each other?

I will tell you when I find these rumours of breakup happen.

They happen when there isn't much group content and the two of them don't volunteer much, such as telling us about them spending time together or interacting on social media with each other (surprise surprise when two people are together that they don't interact on sm, even more so their public accounts). And god forbid they are seen with others out and about instead with each other. That for sure means they are not together anymore. Eye roll. Eye roll. Eye roll.

Bottom line, you're probably saying "about bloody time"...

In my opinion all this talk about multiple break ups (and btw, same people claiming a break up in early 2022 and then 2023) is a whole load of bs. Arguments, no doubt. Bad day, 100%. We all have those. But breaking up or even, if you wish to soften it a little by calling it "taking a break" - nope. I personally do not believe this to be the case.

[irasamu]

. . . (🍷) ֶָ֢ 𔓘 IN THIS MOMENT, WE BELONG TO EACH OTHER ; a fyodor dostoyevsky drabble. ❞

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . oh myyy, fyodor being soft is a forbidden fruit tbf.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . tw ; husband!fyodor, soft!fyodor, fem!reader, wife!reader, ex-ballerina!reader, angst (little), fluff, a bit suggestive.

fyodor knows he isn't a good man by any means. perhaps some time in the future his actions and goals will be understood but in the current timeline, he is a terrorist and the antagonist who the heroes will defeat to save the world.

perhaps he is the antagonist and antagonists never have a happy ending.

but why does he have happiness which he doesn't deserve and even if he has it then why does his brain not let him enjoy it to the fullest? why is the fear of you being taken away from him plague his mind whenever he looks at you?

he knows it's inevitable but for now, fyodor decided to push the fear to the back of his mind and stare at you, in awe perhaps, you don't know as reading the expression and emotions of your husband is something you've not completely mastered yet.

you stopped moving as you stared down at his sitting form, to see your husband who never really leaves his home office sitting on the floor as he watches you try to remember the moves from your most famous ballet (the black swan) -- you were fortunate enough to perform in -- for fyodor is a sight you never thought would come true but alas it did.

"you are not paying attention to me fedya." you point out as you stop right infront of the man who stares up at you with a small, soft smile on his face and eyes which are a bit too uncharacteristic for him. for everyone who had ever crossed paths with fyodor will tell his eyes are sharp and seductive but not soft and filled to the brim with fondness like they are now.

"i am, love." his voice sounded amused as he spoke and titled his head up at you. you place your hands on your hips as you furrow your eyebrows. it's embarrassing enough that you can't strech or aren't as flexible as when you were still a ballerina but the cheery on top is the way fyodor stared at you, not even the sound of a praise leaving his lips.

"you think you are funny fedya?" you huff as you try to turn around to walk away, half in embarrassment and half to tease him but before you could walk away, fyodor grabbed the tip of your index finger to stop you. he pulled on it to make you turn around and as you did, his hand went to grasp your wrist and pulled you down on him who sat cross legged on the floor of your bedroom.

you plopped down right on his thigh, fyodor hissed as the impact perhaps crushed his cock a bit but he soon recovered and hid his face on your shoulder. "so pretty. like a angel send from the heavens to grace me and the other scums." he whispered.

for how powerful of a man he may be, every man is weak when he fell in love.

"it wasn't that good. i definitely got a bit crusty --"

"love you made me speechless. i sat here for ten minutes, unable to speak and unable to form any words because how can i possibly describe the emotions i feel on seeing my beautiful wife dancing for me." fyodor spoke up with a certain soft glint in his eyes that makes your lips strech unconsciously as you smile. the words you were craving for are finally here to satisfy your hunger and stop the pit of insecurities from eating you alive.

you smile as you lean back to rest your head on his shoulder and fyodor hummed, raising his head as he pulled down on the sleeve of your blouse to reveal your bare skin to him, he parted his lips and you gasped out softly upon feeling his teeth sink into your skin. he lifted his head up after a few moments to look at the mark his teeth left and how the skin around turned redish pink.

fyodor raised his hand to rub his thumb over the mark he left on you and whispered quietly, his tone smug, "you looked like an angel while performing love . . . however," fyodor's hand trailed down towards your waist and he slowly lifted your blouse up, "it looks as if you need . . . some stretching. oh dear, have i left my wife frustrated for too long?"

fyodor smiled against the skin of your nape as he pecked your nape repeatedly while his hand slipped inside your shorts and you only hummed, spreading your legs for your husband and welcoming his heated touch with your own wetness.

fyodor grabbed your nape and tilted your head back to softly press his lips against yours. both of you kissed with a desperation as even if no one spoke, you both knew of the unchanging truth that he will soon leave once again for these dangerous 'business trips' he goes on for a painfully long time. and even if you never tried to pry him about it, you knew these were no ordinary business trips or else the smell of blood and death wouldn't have lingered onto him.

[walpu]

walp walp hear me out

remember that trailblazer scene with firefly and how she just just gets stabby stabbed by the creature (memory zone meme i think)

and + Aventurine having access to the 'real' dreamscape, combine that with bodyguard! reader who will go through hell and back to make sure Aventurine will. Live.

reader follows aven during the entirety of the Penacony quest, including when Black Swan teleports the both of them to the real memory zone. (also, does anyone else feel like bodyguard! reader and Trailblazer would be besties... no, just me?)

now, keep in mind, Aven and reader have a... complicated bond. IPC workers here and there say their dating, the Trailblazer has straightup asked if they would just get a room (you get their vibe, you can go along with the secret assassin! bodyguard! reader req i sent in)

a little bit more insight on their dynamic (again, going with the assassin reader thing, its already known between the two atp, so this can be set after that period), Aven wants to love reader, wants to hold them close, and wants their affection, but dammit, he just cant bring himself to. Not when he's sure he'll just hurt everyone that comes close to him (his sister, cough cough)

and reader has the same mindset, they love Aven, as a boss, as that annoying but endearing friend, and perhaps as more. But they have blood, the lives of people that they've unlawfully taken, not to mention, they are 100% sure Aven would never love a person who killed just for monetary income.

now, here's where the real show starts. There's also another assassin (seriously, Duke Inferno should save his manpower) following reader and Aven. Safe to say, only one is making it out alive. How the assassin followed the two of them? No fucking clue, but somehow it does.

After i assume beating the living shit out of hordes of memory zone monsters, the assassin appears, and just when Aventurine's unsuspecting?? Boom, goes in for the kill.

Yeah, too bad. Aven's not dying. But reader is! Yeah, in a act of (cliche) protection, reader allowed themselves to be the one to suffer from the attack. (Bonus if they get decapitated, or just stabbed like how Trailblazer was by Cocolia). Aven will never forget the way that he just- watched reader's body fall, the light just gone from their eyes.

Anyways, he doesn't even get to hold their body. You just- poof into bubbles like Firefly did. The last thing he has left of his beloved bodyguard? Just a simple red earring, matching the one he wore. Nothing left.

Okay, im also going to cope here that the whole shitshow with Aven and Acheron did not happen, he returns to the room that reader had, and he just... stands there. He takes in the way that half of the room was messy, half of it was untouched. So much like them, unpredictable and just had a touch of the weirdness he loved so damn much.

(Bonus if you want a happy scenario, reader's alive and well, afterall, dying in the dreamscape doesn't kill anyone. Reader is probably smiling very awkwardly while they stare at a teary eyed Aventurine, then they make out /hj)

yay another rant, i had this idea for days, the decapitation part may or may not have been plaguing me (should i be concerned), anyways, thanks for listening to my word vomit, stay safe and stay healthy <33

feel like falling on my knees and begging to forgive me for taking so long this spring doesn't let me breath istg. I've got this request before 2.1 and only got to it now that's why Aven is ghosting me.

bodyguard!reader "dying" in the dreamscape to protect Aventurine

sort of a sequel to this but can be read as a separate work as well, the main thing you need to know is that reader was originally an assassin sent by Duke Inferno but they've changed their mind and stayed by Aven's side

notes - gn!reader, angst, unestablished relationship, no beta

You both knew the trip to Penacony would be difficult. You, in particular, knew that something big and very sinister is coming, judging by the way Aventurine danced around the subject, not giving you full information.

You may not know all the details of Aventurine's plan but you know him well enough to realize that he's planning on doing something extremely reckless and dangerous.

So you do your best to protect him. To shiels him from any possible danger, to keep him within your reach.

Of course Aventirune notices. How can he not notice when he already keeps his eye on you most of the time anyway. And just as you're trying to look out for him, he wants to looks out for you.

This mission already could be considered suicidal and he doesn't want you to be caught in this. Better to keep you in the dark, away from it.

Yet he can't help but selfishly enjoy your attention, your tenderness. You go out of your ways to make sure he's fine and he feels so undeserving of it. How can you be so kind when he's keeping so much from you?

You've seen him at his worst and you've stayed. You've proven so many times that you care for him not because it's just your job, not because of his money or status but because it's him.

He still struggles to believe in it sometimes. When he feels doubtful , he rubs his cheek against your shoulder in a playful cat-like manner and watches your reaction. Amusement you're trying to hide. Adoration you can't hide.

How can he doubt you? You're the one who should be doubting him.

He wants to melt into you, to be even closer than the two of you already are, but how can he love you without putting you in danger? Without draining your luck, without cursing you?

Sometimes he sees the same struggles in your eyes. When you carefully trace his face with the tips of your gloved fingers, your gaze sometimes lowers and you pull your hand away, as if you're ashamed.

But of what, of what? The blood on your hands? He has it too!

He wants to tell you this, to hold you tight, to never ever let go. The wish is so primal that everyone else can see. The memokeeper giving him a knowing smile as soon as she sees you two together, the masked fool taunting him about the only one willing to listen to him being his loyal dog ("though, judging by the way you look at them, little peacock, you're the one on the leash here~" she says. It feels like even a lower blow than the comments about his past. At least he expected those, but being taunted about his obvious feelings for is new), mx. Stellaron asking you two to get a room with a deadpun expression.

The worst one is the doctor though. Asking Aventurine to focus on the mission, then, in a softer tone, suggesting to tell you more about the plan. "It's foolish to keep it from your most trusted person, gambler. In the end, it may hurt them even more than your obsessive concerns".

If Ratio of all people gives you relationship advice you're doing soooo bad.

Yet Aventurine can't bring himself to listen to his words. He wants you safe and well, and he's sure (he's not sure) he's doing the right thing.

And yet he's wrong. He can't shield you, he can't. One of the richest people in the IPC, one of the Ten Stonehearts, the blessed one, yet he can't protect the one he loves no matter how much he tries. He's cursed, doomed, isn't he?

Damned Duke Inferno. He's dead, annihilated, and yet, somehow, one of his wretched dogs, his sneaky little assassin, finds you two in the depths of the memory zone. Such dedication to the cause!

There are two gunshots. Inferno's little rat and you strike at the same time. Them, aiming at Aventurine, and you, aiming at them. Only one bullet reaches it's target though.

It all happens so fast. You react immediately, covering Aventurine with your body. You move instinctively at the same second you shoot.

When their bullet hits you, you don't even feel it. Maybe because it's still a dreamland? The pain just won't come even though your back feels like it's on fire. You don't understand it yet but your body already starts disappearing.

All you can focus on is Aventurine's wide shocked eyes. His beautiful, beautiful eyes.

You smile weakly at him. That's all he can see before you're gone. He doesn't even have time to reach out to you, to hold you. As if he ever had the privilege of holding his loved ones in their final moments.

You just poof into the blue bubbles.

He rushes into the real world, in your room, praying to any deity that may here for you to be alive and well. It was a dream, not a real world. You can't die in a dream, not really. You weren't even killed by the memory zone meme, surely you're fine!

Yet you're not. You're not here, not anywhere in the hotel. You're truly gone.

He feels everything and nothing at the same time.

Of course, of course, of course he wasn't able to protect you!

How lucky he is, he has avoided death once again! His beloved died to protect him but he has survived! He's so blessed, truly, so blessed!

He finds himself on his knees, on the verge of hysterical laughter. The only thing you left behind is a small red earring he has gifted. And he clatches it so tightly his hand bleeds. Perhaps the pain is the only thing keeping him sane at this moment.

It feels like a cruel joke. It doesn't feel real, it shouldn't be real.

Wait... That's it! It isn't real. It's impossible to die in a dream! It was his theory all along, after all. It must be true. You just can't be dead, you can't, not you too.

His plan hasn't changed, he tells Ratio when he comes to check on Aventurine. He just needs to reach the real Penacony. To reach it and to find you there. You're strong and brave and so wonderful. You're out there somewhere, he just needs to help you to get back to the real world.

He holds into that idea like a madman. It doesn't matter how dangerous it is. It never did, to be honest. But now it's like he can't focus on anything else.

He hasn't feel so despaired in years. He just needs to find you, everything else is meaningless.

So when it's time for the final act, he gets on stage, fears not and doesn't look back.

He still holds his hand behind his back though. Clutching your earrings for dear life.