#and i don't expect anyone to still be into it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

warmthofchaery · 2 days ago

Text

A Portent Dance

Pt. 1 of "What Do You Call A Group Of Succubae?" (18+ SMUT)

Male Reader x TWICE Sana (& eventually more...)

2,380 words

"Preserve the status quo."

"Exactly. The world runs a certain way these days."

The voice of two women. The first voice speaks again.

"Not that, of course, change is frowned upon. Innovation and evolution is inevitable."

"It's just we don't want the sundering and subsequent burning of it all down in quite so short a time."

"I'm glad we agree, Ryujin."

Waking up sweaty was nothing new to you. Yet that fact never removed the discomfort of the way your pajamas (or more likely yesterday's clothes you couldn't care to remove last night) clung to your body. Also familiar to you were those dreams. For as long as you remember mysterious, yet undeniably sultry voices (you weren't complaining) often spoke in half puzzles, archaic words, and altogether nonsensical sentence structure. It had been this way your whole life.

Your parents joked that the classical music and historical lectures they played into your mother's stomach before you were born had actually played off, teasingly mentioning that they expected you to make lots of money to support them when they got older. Your older sister, Ryujin- "yes the idol" you commonly had to clarify- never really gave more of a raised eyebrow and slight sneer of disinterest upon your talk of your dreams as you grew up together.

It was even common for what you had just experienced last night: the very name of someone you knew appearing in these dreams. Always women, and as your horizons expanded when you got your first phone, not just the name of your sister, but of the idols who's names you memorized and song parts you attempted to recreate during the long night drives down empty highway lanes. Dreams have odd ways of processing the information our waking minds gather, your mother had reasoned.

What was NOT common was the clarity by which you understood those voices last night. Sure, you had no idea what they were referring to, but at least they made grammatical sense. 'Sundering of the world eh? I have been fairly anxious recently, it makes sense I'd be projecting into my sleep' you thought, freshening up for the day.

But it really had seemed so... vivid.

Not to mention Ryujin's name had creeped up for the first time in a while. Perhaps you should give her a call. You used to Facetime once a week, before her group debuted, then it faded into once per month, then... well. It's been a minute.

***

Hanlim. A gateway arts school for many into the performing arts. You were lured there by your sister and then-best-friend, Ryujin, only realizing your hesitancy to actually perform when she graduated ahead of you. You aren't sure quite where you'll go, but to be honest being a part of behind-the-scenes workings always did have an intrigue that lured you.

But it was your turn to graduate. In a year from now, almost exactly, but still.

It was the same as always, a simple breakfast and scalding shower (it never was hot enough), and digging through your floordrobe for clean puzzles pieces that gathered into your school's uniform.

Bidding your parents well, you triple checked your chest pocket for the small pink ticket you had saved up for.

Allegedly the performances were free for all students, but when it came to headliners like these, well, the amphitheater could only hold so many. And you managed to grab a great deal off a friend to make it into the capacity.

'So goddamn jealous...' You checked your buzzing phone to see a text from your friend. 'I haven't seen Momo or Dahyun with my own eyes in YEARS'.

Grinning, you shoot a response.

'It was the girls or your theater program flight to London. You made your choice.'

' :( '

'Also, you have a double-bias? Come on bro, get a spine.'

'I think anyone could easily understand my dilemma. Not everyone has your type loyalty. '

' It's God. It'd be sacrilege to even THINK of another woman.'

' Maybe you shout that when you're in the crowd. '

' I might. When I am in the crowd. With this amazing ticket. That you gave up. :D '

' ... '

' Enjoy London ;) '

Luckily, you had only one in-person class today, and your professor turned out to be a huge ONCE, so safe to say after some group studying, you did plenty of pregaming with some of your peers you learned also had scored tickets.

You'd been to a decent amount of concerts before, and so it blew you away how quick the line was. The park around the walls of the amphitheater that the college had rented for the occasion were full of students, some playing various games, but most on large blankets or tarps with friend groups.

There really wasn't enough of an opportunity to take too much note of your surroundings as you quickly discovered, because one look away at the setting sun over Seoul, and suddenly you had lost all sight on the people you had come here with.

Not to worry, being surrounded by strangers would give you the freedom to shout and fully express your excitement for the show.

And you did just that as the country's favorite girl group came running out in outfits that complimented the school's colors: yellow, white and black. It almost reminded you of the 'Cry For Me' MV they had released.

"Big fan of Jihyo, hm~" You weren't sure whether it was a question or not. Turning to the side you found the source of the playful voice. A shortish girl, wavy platinum blonde hair falling out from a white hoodie that somehow managed to look boogie. You only got a brief look at her thin nose and her mask-covered face before some t-shirt cannon went off somewhere.

As you finished clapping for your bias's entrance, you looked again and replied, "Maybe it's a thing for leaders. And she really is-"

The girl, who you now noticed wore a lacy short skirt beneath the hoodie, and sheer red leggings beneath. It was a look that worked, somehow. You hadn't even realized how your attention had entirely forgotten the stage in place of this young woman. You processed it all in blink as she continued, "-like a goddess, in a way. It would be sacrilege not to recognize her."

Even without being able to see her mouth I could tell her smile was deadly as her cheeks rose beyond the brim of the face mask and she giggled, turning back to the stage.

You, however, were unlike a single other person in the venue, grasped not by the built-up stage in the middle of the amphitheater and the world-renowned musicians upon it, but rather just someone in the crowd.

(That... that giggle I swear I've heard it before-)

"Hello everyone!!!" There was the familiar commanding voice (if by nothing else, certainly by volume) that graced your ears. Finally, like a heavy weight you just managed to peel your eyes away from the girl in front of you and towards Park Jihyo, who had her hands cupped around her mouth as she spoke simple English into her mic. "How are you doing tonight?!!!" It was a mostly Korean crowd, but it was a simple phrase enough and her pronunciation added a pinch of cuteness that the crowd, and probably the campers outside the venue, respond with uproarious cheers.

Finding that your jaw had been dropped for who knows how long, you swallowed and spoke, "Sacrilegious. Exactly. Someone gets it."

"Before we do start I have to make a brief announcement, we thought it'd better to hear this from us directly, but unfortunately, Sana isn't feeling well and can't join us tonight."

The audience filled with murmurs of sadness and get well cheers. Some TWICE members made the "TT" face and pouted.

"She's probably watching from home, so let's celebrate her along with all of you and your studies as we have a fun night tonight! Sound good?"

"See? Such a simple and direct approach tends to work with most people quite well." It was the blonde next to you again. Oh. The girl gave an exaggerated little *cough, cough* with puppy eyes. Minatozaki Sana then winked at you and grabbed your hand, raising it to cheer with the surrounding crowd.

"Annyeonghaseyo, TWICE-ibnida~~" Matching the introduction of her group on stage, she breathily whispered in your ear, propped on her tippy toes before falling back and cutely cackling like she had won some prize.

You swallowed, thoughtless for a moment before staring around into the quite crowded crowd. For a crowd full of ONCE, there wasn't anyone, anyone apart from you who could now easily recognize the ephemeral beauty in front of you.

The speakers burst into song.

"I-I-I'm- jesus holy fuck I can't talk."

Sana smiled again, elbowing you. "Baby you don't need to. Yet."

"But- ... how??"

"Shhhh...." And for a moment she was tall, taller than you. You were forced to turn your head up to meet her gaze as the shadows created from the absence of the scintillating strobe lights darkened.

It might've seemed threatening. Maybe to most. But all it reminded you of was the long shadows cast by a stove furnace fireplace. Comfort given by the heat of a slowly dying fire. Oh, but she was speaking again: "... just dance with me."

And she was back, looking up to you, glossy eyes with raised eyebrows, signaling innocence. The song playing didn't matter, not even for the fact that TWICE's discography was so insanely consistent that any song would be a recognizable banger, but rather... her biceps slid up your arms, her hands and their fingers threading themselves together behind your back.

You smiled. It was the easiest thing you had ever done.

Swaying turned into shouting lyrics and jumping turned into swirling and bowing. The crowd gave way as the two of you stalked each other through the crowd, Sana and you truly incomprehensible to them. You gave it no thought.

It was more of a hunt than a dance, one or the other pushing the other away, feigning disinterest with a poorly hidden smirk, before the other made for them, forcefully clashing your bodies together. Your dancing experience up to this point culminated in one elective dance class in your second year, but it didn't matter. The moves weren't calculated. They were primal. Instinct.

Your mind had to catch up to your body, finally doing so as the first block of the concert ended, the members retreating backstage for a quick break. Sana had her back pressed to you, your arms snug around her. The imaginary spotlight that had followed you two faded as she slowly turned her head up to look at you, a cute smile formed. The facemask was gone long ago. As was her sweatshirt, now tied around her waist, leaving her in a sleeveless thin pink buttoned shirt.

It wasn't a hunger. Closer to an itch but not quite. It felt... like a small pocket in the back of your throat had an emptiness. You felt lighter yet stronger, you felt an ancient kind of adrenaline.

And so, your gaze fell from her eyes to her lips, to her jaw, to her neck.

You grasped it in one hand, and her eyes widened as you lifted her head higher, inhaling the smell of her hair.

She let you for a moment before, with both arms, gently pressing down on the arm around her waist.

"Let me invite you in. It's much easier that way I promise." Sana stepped a few feet away, bouncing giddily, before turning around with a sultry expression. It almost gave you whiplash from the way she could switch her levels of "innocence". It was a wombo-combo that she was more than aware and willing to take advantage of.

The spotlight from nowhere returned to her, this time a deep maroon. The crowd didn't care, couldn't seem to be able to perceive what was happening at all. And why would they.

You were staring at a seductress, while the rest of them saw on the stage only a God. Sana Minatozaki took three steps towards you, each time her legs pointedly crossing over the other as her hips practically flaunted themselves. Each time her fingers plucked down the seam between the separation in her buttoned top, revealing a hauntingly thin line of skin from her neck to her waist, shifting the barest quarter-inch in the wind. "You still have a choice, pretty boy. If you're willing to take my offer, you only need open the doors. If not, you'll find that you were quite lucky I got to you first."

A deep breath.

"Is this a trick?"

"From me? No." The succubus- for now you knew, somehow, that she was- shook her head. "Like I said, I find direct approaches to yield the best results. The others though? They'd rather be safe than sorry with something so precious. They've had more time to hone the craft of trickery."

Your mind blinked back to the way Sana had suddenly grew a great height before you and made you feel small.

"And you haven't? Is that why I'm able to see through your... Glamour so easily?" The word had just came to your head, though you knew it was right.

Sana raised an eyebrow.

"Not the only reason." She grabbed your hand with her own.

"You're cold."

"Warm me up?" The high inflection of her voice was adorable.

You rolled my eyes, smiling. Sana grasped her own hands behind her back, very "subtly" pushing her chest out with pride. The line of skin widened, revealing the crease of where her sternum ended and her breasts began.

You rested your hands on her lower waist, sliding them upwards under her shirt, feeling and caressing her prominent hip bones.

She gasped at your initial touch, purring a 'mmmm' as your hands climb steadily higher beneath her barely open shirt.

Just as the to of your hands found connection with something taught and supple, you glanced into Sana's eyes once more.

Her eyes twitched slightly, begging. Her lips rolled repeatedly over themselves, famished.

In a single motion, you pulled your hands away from her body, her unbuttoned shirt pulled apart.

And suddenly you were somewhere else. (A/N: Blue balls cliffhanger? Yes. I promise this will definitely be the only chapter in this series without ACTUAL smut, though I hope you got heated up reading. Gauging interest with this, Part 2 will likely be out shortly. Partially inspired by @sparklingblu's "Eroverse" series: mainly I was just waiting for the next part and said 'screw it, I'll do it myself'. Go check them out!

First post. How'd I do?) <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

#aespa smut #itzy smut #lesserafim smut #newjeans smut #female idol smut #twice smut #kpop gg smut #girl group smut #male reader #sana #minatozaki sana #sana minatozaki x reader #ggs #ive smut

209 notes · View notes

miniaturesuitgladiator · 2 days ago

Text

Batfam x Neglected Mortal

Kombat reader

Notes: this is part eleven of Lucid Dreams.

Please read author's note at the end!

Warnings ⚠️: mentions of killing, blood ,and death. And reader does fight in this chapter. Not proofread!

The room is silent the atmosphere tense but also warm....

And looking into your father's eyes you seem warmth kindness....and dare you say love?

But before you can truly think your response through your heart speaks for you.

"You will always be my father...."

Your words hold truth. Because nomatter how far you have traveled when asked you who was your father you'd always say hanzo hassashi.

You are his daughter.

And though you've always been haunted by that. You don't feel remorse being his daughter in this moment. Because for once in a very long time you feel...wanted?

Sure jason had loved you but it always felt like you needed him more then he needed you. But seeing the desperation in your father's eyes you truly feel needed.

And it feels nice. A warmth spreads across your chest as your father begins speaking.

"Thank you ,my girl," He says.

Thank you.. He says Thank you. He's a king. He's never thanked anyone for anything. And yet he humbled himself before you and thanked you for allowing him to be your father.

Now that was something you didn't expect because in his words "A Hasashi is nothing if not prideful." He used to tell you. But as he speaks his words have no pride in them ,no ill intention, just love.

"I won't let you down... not again." He says and it's surprising how the roles have switched. It used to be you telling him that.

It used to be you begging him for forgiveness but now it's him.

The air no longer is tense it's filled with peace and acceptance. It's calming and it soothes your nerves.

The smell of his candles goes by your nose the hint of aok trees and vanilla. And it feels like you can breath agian. And you let go of a breath you didn't know you were holding.

But much to your father's dismay this moment cannot last forever.

A gaurd knocks on the door and your father huffs and tells him to come in.

"Are guest are here my king." The guard says as he bows.

Your father nods and stands up. Offering you his hand. You take it and stand up quickly pulling your hand away.

You wanted him to know he was still being tested. The you weren't trusting him fully. And he obviously got the hint with how fast you pulled your hand away from his.

He leads you out the room and you follow. Walking down the big stone walls he begins speaking.

"Many people want to see you...to see how you've grown."

You knew this would happen gossip spreads quickly here. Even faster then in gotham.

Despite there not being phone everyone knew just about everyone.

And right now you were the person everyone wanted to see.

"Their not just people...their allies who will help in the war." He says his voice still carrying softness. But you got what he was saying. He wanted you to impress them.

He needed you to impress them. This was a test. But you weren't proving yourself to your father like your test before.

No, now you were being tested by the people who are going to be fighting beside you. They need to see what you bring to the table. They need to see you.

Walking through the halls and into the main palace room where all the guest are already in. There's thousands and the big palace walls have no trouble fitting them in.

All eyes are immediately drawn to you. Thousands of eyes are all looking, observing ,and testing you.

You swallow and the pit in your stomach returns. Someone could've warned you but your sure they wanted to see how you reacted under pressure. And right now that's exactly what you feel.

Pressure.

A small figure makes it way to your side. And you don't have to look at them to know it's kion. His head is held up and you follow his actions.

You have to stand strong, show them who are.

Kion noticing your distress speaks up. His voice is quiet so just you can hear him.

"You look lovely sister." He says and his voice is firm he truly means what he says.

"Thank you." You say quietly not wanting to be the center of attention.

Everyone's eyes follow your form as you walk slightly behind your father. Because no one can walk before him. He is king after all.

Though everyone is watching and judging how you look how you sound even how you breath no one is looking to see if you okay.

Well except for Kion. Kioms eyes never leave you. And keeps a firm position beside you. Glaring at anyone who even thinks of talking to you.

Of course people want to talk to you. They want to know you. You, Kion ,and your father walk through the crowd of people and onto the podium that your father usually made commands on.

Behind you was his throne. Actually there was three thrones. One for the king. Another for his spouse which would unfortunately be empty now. And one bigger then the next but smaller then the kings. It stood on the right hand side of kings throne. It was yours. The heirs. Always on the kings right hand side.

Though yes the kings wife was important the more important thing was the heir

The one who would carry on the legacies the name. The power.

On your right side was a smaller but nice throne it was specifically for kion. He would be your right hand in your back up.

But by the way he stood by you and looked ready to kill anyone who even dare look at you wrong told you that you wouldn't need a back up.

You were perfectly safe.

Your father.stands in the middle of the podium. And all eyes leave. You and turn to him as he begins speaking.

"Today we welcome back my daughter. The princess." He states boldly. His voice is loud and proud and everyone erupts to claps and cheers.

"Will she be your heir?" A noble man asks and you see Kion roll his eyes at the man's stupidity.

"She is my first born." Your father states calmly but you can tell he's irrated to even be asked that.

"But who's to say she's fit to be queen? We haven't seen her in almost a decade." A loud and very annoying voice says. And though yes you have been gone over a decade you'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"Isn't that lord Khalid?" You quietly ask kion.

Kion nods his focus still on the man. But you can tell kion doesn't like the man either.

"I thought father and him hated eachother...father did take the mans eye out...right?" You ask quietly again.

And agian Kion nods. "They've made peace long ago sister...but their not as close as the once were..." kion whispers back. And this time you nod.

Your father looks at Khalid angrily and Khalid smiles. You knew how close Khalid and your father once were..but your father had accidentally cut his eye out...

You wonder if the one eyed man still hates your father or not. But you aren't looking at Khalid anymore...no your looking for his son.

The lord Khalid has seven sons to be exact but your only looking for one. He was a boy last time you seen him. And he was your dearest friend. Closest friend...

You'd spare together all the time when you were younger but he'd never hurt you even if you had hurt him.

He was kind something that this world didn't like. And you wonder if he still has that same bleeding heart.

You remember the last time you saw him. It was at his mother's funeral. Despite your father's fight you had came to his mother's funeral.

You knew how much he loved his mother. He had gotten his kindness from her.

You remember how he hadn't shed a tear at her funeral. Refusing to look weak infront of others. But you know he only did that cause his father just like yours before didn't tolerate weakness.

But when everyone had left her grave.

And it was just you two by her grave. The rain pouring down on both of you. The harsh rain drenched your clothes and hair he had begun crying.

You had never seen someone cry before. Because here it wasn't tolerated. You yourself had cried before in silence. But you never had to comfort someone.

So you did what you thought was best. You hugged him. It was awkward to you but you knew it meant something to him. He was crying on your shoulder and for while you wonder if it was his tears soaking your close or the rain.

He never let go of the hug and you never pulled away. Eventually the hug did get comfortable but sadness was unbearable.

He kept whisper things to you. Pleading with you. 'Please wake her up.' 'Tell her to wake up.' 'why won't she wake up?' He'd whisper in a heartbroken tone.

He'd repeat those words over and over and you truly did wish you could wake up his mother but you couldn't. So you held him tighter.

After that day you didn't see him. You had left shortly after. And you wish you had a better last memory of your friend but you don't. So you look around past Khalid to see if you can spot your old friend.

But you don't. There's far to many people crowed in this place. You sigh and continue watching your father talk to the stupid lord.

"You dare question my judgment?" Your father says strongly stepping forward challenging Khalid.

Khalid smirks and you know he's getting the reaction he wants.

"I do not doubt you king. I doubt your daughter. But please let her show us what she is capable of?" Khalid says smiling like he's already won. And for you a moment you feel suffocated in your big kimono.

A challenge. You hated challenges. You lost very few in your time but still you hated them.

"My daughter has nothing to prove to anyone." Your father says firmly dismissing the idea. But Khalid continues to push.

"Very well then king let it be known that the heir is nothing but a pretty face with no strength." Khalid says and you can hear the quiet gasp in the crowd your father and brother are both very angry.

How dare he insult you like that?

With a sharp scoff and narrow eyes your father agrees. "Very well then pick your challenger." He says and he doesn't spare you a glance.

Does he trust you that much to win? Or does he not care about your opinion?

Kion steps forward putting a hand on your arm and slightly pushing you behind him.

"I'll fight on my sister's behalf." Kion says his voice firm and you can tell your father is silently telling him to stand down. But kion doesn't stand down.

"That's not the agreement boy." Khalid says mockingly.

"To hell with the agreement!" Kion says glaring at the man and at your father.

"Do you just let your son speak for you king? Maybe his mother's absence has left him without manners." Khalid says and kions eyes widen.

And your eyes narrow. How dare he disrespect your brother?

This time you step forward pushing Kion behind you and shielding him from the stupidest men you've ever seen.

"Pick your challenger and I'll cut out his eye ,just like my father did to you."

Now your words are like daggers to the crowd no one expected that kind of response but your father smirks beside you.

"Very well then I'll be honored for the princesses to fight one of my sons. I'll give her the greatest fighter. Azrael." He says and no one even tries to hold back their gasps not even you.

Your sure everyone is gasping because Azrael is such a good fighter...but your gasping because you don't want to fight your old friend...

You see Azrael for the first time as he steps up beside his father. And gods you don't remember him being this beautiful.

He's taller then you now and you can tell he's strong. Jet black hair like his fathers but his hair is shoulder length but just short enough not to cover his eyes.

His eyes are the same brown as his mother's...

Scars litter his beautiful skin adding texture.

And memories of the battles he's won. Big muscle adorn his body and a beautiful face jawline.....

'Get a hold of yourself.' You say mentally. Shaking your head and trying to focus you see that Azrael is looking at you taking you in now.

Probably looking for weaknesses. Or maybe he still thought of you as a friend?

No, you highly doubt that. Your sure that after his mother's death his father had turned him cold. But one could always hope right...?

Once a friend now an alliance. Or enemy?

Your not sure but you know this fight will determine that.

"Your daughter has your mouth my king. Let's hope she has your skills as well." Khalid says and you only glare at him and your father scoffs.

"Prepare the arena." Your father says to the guards.

Why did you have such a big mouth? You think to yourself. No, you had to step up. You couldn't just let him talk to your brother like that...

You feel the arms of your maids who stand behind you pull you off the podium and away from everyone to prepare you for the fight.

"You shouldn't have spoken up princess." Loyce says her voice cold but you can tell she's worried. She was always the one who bandaged you up after fight..and she hated it every time.

"I had to stand my ground loyce. Plus this will be a way to prove myself. " You say dismissively.

"Azrael has beaten many warriors in his time...Raiden included." Loyce says as she continues to dress you into more suitable clothes for a fight.

Raiden? No one has ever beaten Raiden before....

You stay quiet trying to not worry.

Once dressed your maids rush to the arena. A place you know very well. Your father and Kion are waiting for you right infront of the door that leads to the entrance of the big arena.

Your father steps up putting a hand on your shoulder. "You've got this. If I see he'll hurt you I'll call the fight. No pressure." Your father says softly. He truly did trust you huh? No pressure he says but you know how much pressure there truly is.

Even your maids are shocked by his words. He's never excepted defeat especially from his children.

Your father walks off leaving you with Kion.

"You should've let me fight him." Kion says his voice loud and angry. He didn't want you fighting and that was clear.

"I'll be fine brother." You state as you reach over to hug him. He sighs and nods hugging you back.

"Go for throat. Show no mercy." He whispers in your ear before pulling away and following where your father had went.

Pushing the big wooden doors you step into the arena. The crowd already busting with excitement for the fight.

Everyone wanted to see you in action.

"Give them a show." Loyce says just as you pass the doors.

Walking into the middle of the big arena. You see Azrael on the opposite side.

Your father sits on his big chair in the crowd of the arena and Kions stands beside him.

On the other side of the arena is Khalid and his other six sons all screaming and cheering for Azrael.

"Chose your weapons." The announcer says loudly.

All the crows watches you as you go to the big table that carries almost every kind of weapon there is.

You think for a moment not knowing which to pick.

Katakanas are the fastest. A sword the most noble and common.

But your choice was already clear....chains.

Chains with shape edges on the daggers at the ends...just like your father's.

The crowd erupts into cheer and smiles as you pick your weapon.

Looking at hit father he shoots you a proud nod.

Azrael had chosen a sword. Noble.

Your bow to your father as Azrael bows to him.

And the fight begins.

Locking eyes with the boy who you once called a friend you try and read him. But you can't.

And that's when you know. Your fucked.

But he isn't necessarily looking at you with hate either...he looks....nervous?

His hands tighten around the sword he's holding and swallows hard..... he doesn't know what to do...he steps forward but he doesn't want to hurt you...

'So maybe...maybe I'll just tire her out...yeah! I'll tire her out and her father will call the fight off.' He thinks to himself.

And by you looking at the boy he doesn't look like the man who could defeat someone as great as Raiden.

'Why the hell isn't she attacking first? I'll guess I have to make the first move...' He thinks to himself as he steps forward.

He's quick to attack his sword drawing closer to your arm. 'Why go for my arm?' You think to yourself. All fighters usually go for the head it's more lethal..

You dodge his attack with ease. Throwing the chain dagger at him and he dismissively hits your dagger away with his sword.

'Okay so I'm a little rusty.' You think sighing as you pull your chain back in.

He goes low trying to sweep your feet. But your quick to jump back avoiding his leg and throwing a kick of your own only for him to catch your leg.

'Well shit.' You think to yourself.

His first thought is simple. 'Break it' that's usually what he would've done to anyone else...but your not anyone else.

You use your other leg to jump and kick his chest and he let's go of your leg.

The crowd cheers out your names waiting to see the outcome of the fight.

After about half an hour of fighting. And both of you with scraps well more like Azrael with cuts and scraps. You speak up.

"Stop holding back." You hiss just loud enough for him to hear.

He's dodging your attacks and your getting very impatient.

"As you wish princess." Azrael says and hearing his voice is magical.... his voice has long lost the baby tone it used to have.

It's deeper and more firm....it suits him perfectly.

With a quick move he successfully pushes you to the ground cutting your arm in the process. It wasn't even a deep cut.

But he felt horrible.

In his seconds of shock you quickly turn the tables pinning him beneath you instead. It took him by surprise not every seeing someone with such skills.

The crowd once agian full of excitement and yelling as you put your dagger to his neck.

'Cut his throat.' They all say. Everyone's at the edge of their seat waiting to see what you'll do.

But your waiting for Khalid to call the fight.

You need Khalid to call the fight... you can't lose this fight but you also won't kill Azrael to win.

Looking up to see Khalid he watches. You with wide eyes almost daring you to cut his throat.

You can't stand his arrogance. So you do exactly what you told him you'd do.

You hold the dagger over Azrael eye it's a threat and the last one you'll give before you do it.

You look up once more but Khalid is as prideful as ever. You hesitate you don't want to do it...but a quiet voice whispers in your ear.

"Do it." Azrael says as he close his eye allowing you to make your cut. To hurt him.

And you don't know who's more stupid you or Azrael.

But without a second thought you do it.

He hisses in pain as you end the cut right above his cheek.

Blood covers your hand and the crowd cheers. And you hold the dagger to his throat agian. But this time Khalid actually listen to your threat.

'The lord Khalid has yielded!' The announcer screams.

Pull the dagger away from his throat and standing up realization finally hits.

You...... you were going to kill him.

Your breathings heavy and your vision seems to be getting blurry.

Your eyes are on your hands and hoe their cover with blood....Azrael would've never hurt you like this...

You can't even look at Azrael or anyone to focused on the blood on your hands. Last time there was this much blood on your hands you had killed the joker....

Memories of everything you had done from you finding jason in jokers warehouse almost dead to killing the joker...to now what you just did....

Your vision is still blurry and your breathing had gotten worse and your eyes are still focused and your blood stained hands that you don't even hear the announcer say.

"Princess Hasashi wins! Flawless victory!"

Deep heavy foot steps can be heard throughout the temple which cause Kung Lao to walk to the sound of the steps.

No one has been in the temple recently due to the upcoming war between scorpion and sub-zero.

So Kung Lao walks hesitatently but confidently towards the steps.

But his greeted to the sight of his old friend....

"Well if it isn't the greatest warrior to ever live." Kung Loa says his voice still holding that familiar warmth that it used to hold years ago.

And your grandfather smiles seeing his old companion.

"I thought you he'd left us all behind." Kung Lao says still smiling.

"I could never leave me home...." Your grandfather states. But he leaves pit the part 'without my granddaughter.'

"I'm assuming you need something?"

"Indeed I do..." Your grandfather says nodding while the other batfamily members take in the beautiful of the temple their ancient walls holding stories and tells.

They party had lasted almost all night but you had went to your room straight after the fight. Your father seeing you in your worried state had sent you there.

Loyce and the other two maids had cleaned your new scar and given you a bath and finally you didn't feel all the pressure...but you did feel alot of guilt.

"You fought well princess." Loyce whispers in your ear her voice gentle and kind which is honestly shocking.

"That was a one-sided fight. Azrael wasn't even trying." You say as you sigh and loyce continues doing your hair.

"Well you taught him not to ever underestimate you agian." Loyce says.

'No I taught him I was ruthless' Is what you wanted to say but you didn't.

Because you know that you had to be ruthless here.... you couldn't afford to show weakness.

Laying in your bed in silence the only noise was from the small noises you could hear from the party.

It wasn't peaceful silence. No, the silence was almost mocking. You didn't dare and try to fall asleep because you just knew yoir have nightmares.

You hated them. The nightmares the were almost scarier then the real thing. Always so much more intense. Always so real.

Breaking you out of your thoughts is footsteps walking down the hall and towards your room.

Your ears strain on instinct trying to see who it is. And it doesn't take you long before you know.

"Sister?" Kion whispers from behind the door incase your still sleeping.

"Come in" You say. Not sitting up or bothering to look at him. He opens the door and without hesitation sits beside you on your bed.

Your on your back looking up at him and he doesn't look as scary now. He doesn't look like a prince.

His hair is no longer tied into his signature bun making his feature softer and he actually looks like a kid.....

You don't even have to say ask him why he's here because you know. He's worried.

"Can I touch?" Kion whispers almost like if he spoke to loud it would hurt you. He points to your arm the one that Azrael had cut. It's slightly bandaged but it doesn't even hurt anymore so you nod.

His fingers gently run over the bandage careful not to hurt you.

"Does it hurt?" He questions worry sketched on his face.

"No....it doesn't hurt." You say your voice quiet. To quiet for Kions liking.

"Sister.....are scared of the war?" He questions as if he's there to comfort you but you know that he's really the one who needs comfort.

"Fear is a natural emotion, brother.....it's alright to be afraid." You say your voice no longer quiet but soft.

Kion lays down beside you resting his head on your chest. He's seeking comfort...he's seeking your comfort.

And you hold him right back. Holding Kion was diffrent from Holding Jason.

Usually it had felt like you held jason for your own comfort. But you held Kion to comfort him.

You speak up breaking the silence.

"Death doesn't scare me anymore ,brother." You say your voice no louder then a whisper but the words you say sting Kion right in the heart.

"Neither do I fear my own Death sister....but I fear yours." He says his voice almost breaking. And your heart stings at his words.

He was scared...of you dying?

Usually the younger sibling would want the older one to die so that they could inherit the throne. But you suppose Kion is no regular brother.

You don't know what to say but you don't have time to say anything before kions speaks up.

"Don't leave me sister....please." His voice is so pleading almost exactly how Jason's was the night you left.

"I never will brother...not even death can take me from you.." You say your voice so kind and it brings Kion relief instantly.

"Thank you ,sister."

But his relief is short lived before he feels regret.

"I'm sorry sister...." He says his voice cracking agian but he doesn't move his head away from your chest to look at you.

You look down at him puzzled what was he apologizing for?

"Why are you sorry?" You question confused.

"I shouldn't have brought you here...this place doesn't deserve you..." He says his voice quiet and filled with tiredness and you know that he's just seconds from passing out.

And with him in your arms you don't worry about the nightmares anymore....

To you this mightve been a bit normal considering how you used to hold jason....but to kion this was...everything.

He felt safe and warm in your arms. He felt protected......

You still hear his last whisper before he falls into complete bliss.

"And neither do I...."

Authors note: Hey guys sorry if this feels a bit rushed I've also been working on a couple of other series! So thanks for your patiences!

💗Thanks for reading! 💗

Taglist: @dhanyasri , @kore-of-the-underworld , @i-adorehannah , @plsfckmedxddy , @phoenixgurl030 @bunbunboysworld @bat1212 @skepvids @sirenetheblogger @Nervousalpacalady @118gremlin @darktrashpoetry @bitternsweet @kksmush @awawage @coffeemin @feral-childs-word @cens0r3d @sweetprincesscomputer @exactlynumberonekryptonite @rosy-myhouse34 @hebaoffside @sheep-from-rad @time-shardz @vanessa-boo @jellyedkazoo @chinxinsomnia @sillysealsies @nervousalpacalady @gwyneveire @simpingpandas @crazycaoticsimp @nickey-diano @welpthisisboring @jsprien213 @pekusofixus @ryuushou @staarflowerr @kye-chen-r @yotokx @lilyalone @yandere-transformers-rock

#yandere batfam #batfamily x reader #yandere batfamily #batsis reader #batfamily x batsis reader #mk x dc #mortal combat reader #yandere batfam x reader #neglected reader

226 notes · View notes

batmanisagatewaydrug · 2 days ago

Note

I fully will never understand the problem some people have with touching (or rather, not touching) black people's hair, like I might've done that as a kid (honestly don't remember), but then I also did stuff like trying to run into traffic and bringing worms into the house, because two-year-old me didn't know any better!

If you're old enough to have learned about things like 'we don't touch what isn't ours' then you're old enough to apply that to other people's bodies as well as their possessions and I have no sympathy for you if you get slapped for violating someone's boundaries like that!

(also genuinely what is the appeal? Is it just that it...looks different to white people's hair? I actually don't understand /gen)

if the history of the world has taught us one thing it's that white people have a difficult time keeping our hands off of things that don't belong to us

in terms of a serious answer while it varies from person to person I've noticed that this is especially likely to manifest in white women who find themselves in social or professional spaces with Black people, especially Black women, after not previously having had much contact with anyone Black. among white women I think there's this kind of vague awareness that Black hair is different than ours in terms of how it's cared for, maintained, and styled (which, you know, fair enough! that's true!) that manifests as. just fucking grabbing for it like a child at a petting zoo and acting like that's a compliment when they would never in a million years pull that shit on another white woman. whether we acknowledge it or not, it very much comes from a mindset where white hair is the default and people who have afro-textured hair and protective hairstyles should just expect to be treated like oddities.

additionally I think a lot of my fellow white women use their like half-formed understanding that many Black women art sporting "fake" hair - wigs, extensions, sewn-in braids, etc - and come to the conclusion that it's totally fine to get grabby, as if that's not still?? getting all up in someone's face touching them without their permission?

I also want to note that this is a form of anti-Blackness that's definitely not exclusive to white people; I once had a Vietnamese coworker who was an absolute fiend for trying to pet our Black coworkers no matter how many times they told her to cut it out.

176 notes · View notes

gangstalkerbarbie · 3 days ago

Text

You're not a god, technically. A god is one of them big ones, the extraterrestrials, see?

You, like everything else in the world, were born here; your beginning is not before time and outside the world. Not a god. You're a daimon. It's a common misconception.

Still, in the space of that misconception there's honest work.

You're not sure the council upstairs (if it's even a council anymore) pays much attention to most of mortalkind, really, otherwise there wouldn't have to be witches to do work scholars are jealous of, but doesn't someone have to?

Sometimes the ones that do enough of it become angels. Sometimes the ones that do something better than anyone else become... well, just what is Silence, actually? Is that still what he goes by? When he was Death All-Devouring he had a few more teeth, you think.

Anyway: when official channels fatfinger a prayer, you have to know, and it's just sort of the case, ethically speaking, that you're to do something about it. Even if only to keep up the illusion that the world-machine works. That's kind of a duty incumbent on all of you immortals, these days. Just until the big boss ... well, the big boss cannot be said to ever be doing or thinking or going to do or think anything, so you're not sure where that was going.

And that's why you're here at this wedding — because a hundred, two hundred years ago they realised the big kahuna might not be listening, deep down, somewhere, and so now you are the wight of the marriage bed. Some say the angel. They're not sure. You're not sure either; you have perhaps a dot more free will than angels tend to, but you find yourself doing a lot of angelic kinda work.

Is the Immanence here, like She's supposed to be? Doctrinally (you are a daimon, you don't really care about doctrine outside the mechanics of your own existence) She doesn't fuck with mixed marriages, but She also conveniently is present every time two men talk about lofty matters, yes, even if they're talking objectively heinous anti-sense about women and children and beasts. So, you know. It's kind of touch and go here. Is mixed marriage more bad than womanhatred? Very important scholars debate the issue even now. Six thousand years of debate have yielded the answer 'yeah idk probably'. You cannot perceive the Immanence. You wouldn't know.

You do, however, know the future, and in the next thousand years, thankfully, they will perfect the shaping arts and learn to make men into women, and maybe they'll all be women then, what the hell. It's an optimistic thought. The other immortals kind of snicker at you and tell you to go look forward at what they do with chymics, self-made new forms of life, in that future, and what they themselves go mad with pain and grief and loneliness and do, for which reason you kind of don't want to.

You might go and listen in on some of those last debates instead, except, again: wedding.

To your profound disappointment, this wedding expects to make you co-in-laws, sort of, with a small unfriendly god, one of the daimons that really believes in it, waves their essence around. This is... about to get really annoying.

You actually don't even dislike Sowulo. Everything you know about them boils down to the fact that they've been experimenting with themself after their mortal followers degendered them — that's the trouble with the overreliant ones, the essence moulds to the understanding of the souls they shepherd and then you end up in no end of annoying circumstances. This would be why personally you've never investigated what gender you're supposed to be. Less for your people to contradict that way. Maybe you predate gender, how's that for a thought exercise? (You don't; you were born in the middle of the Age of Chitin; they don't have to know you're something smaller and duller wearing an old god's pelt.)

And, well, it's just... they're a little weird? OK. They're a lottle weird. You are pretty sure they are, like, super mega ultra weird. The situation is like this: their people, their little guys, they used to be these peaceful cattle nomads. Then the Aeon of Sails and the Great Industrialisation, and the dire circumstances that led them into the ghettos, and so on — and somewhere in that transition, the travelling spirit of the warmth of the sun that was their constant companion came into conflict with the new State doctrine that the stars are unfeeling miasmas of incandescent plasma. (Is that doctrine? That's how you understand most things. You're not sure of the semantics.)

So now: degendered, deprived of influence, a cold light, not a warm one. Invoked, at best, at afterbirth burials, confirmations, weddings, cremations, premarital haircuttings, housewarmings, slaughters, and for the end of winter when it dies under their hand. They're annoying and dangerous and haggard and raw-voiced as a hungry buzzard because they are starving, because they have lost themself, because they don't remember what they used to be and they don't know what they want to be now.

Sometimes a ship launches from the harbour of this city, and you are there because you have one of your people to look after, and they look out at you from shore, forlorn, jealous, abandoned, so hungry. So hungry. Mourning something they half remember, something they are convinced you have. That's why they incite their sophonts to kill yours, maybe. You wouldn't know. You've never asked. You're busy doing your job, keeping those sophonts safe.

They envy you your vitality. They wish they knew what they were. They think you know what you are, and they want you to get off your inconceivably tall high horse.

You're not on a high horse. You just are, and you try to make sure your sophonts can just be, too. But Sowulo doesn't know that.

Sowulo knows that their people are small and broken and scattered, and that each wedding with any other people weakens them — weakens the people and weakens their god.

Sowulo hates you.

And, like, you don't really play favourites, all mortals are the same to you deep down, but you understand that there is a Teensy Weensy little problem, perhaps, with the favourite son of their most warlike clan's Great Chanter running away from home to elope with a witch-midwife from beyond the Pale. Not because she's yours, but that doesn't make it better. Her own huntedness and fear and old pain doesn't do anything for the situation either. Sowulo doesn't understand yet that suffering is a universal condition of settled life.

Your marriage priest, a jolly little roundish woman in veils against the interference of spirits with her work, pounds her cowhide drum and begins her chant. Sowulo's shakes his solar rattle, completely unaware that his god is seething in the rafters of the fane. Are you going to have to save his life, then, before the sun is up? This is going to be a very long, unnecessarily laborious, and probably also very interesting night.

You are a god whose most devout follower is marrying your rival God’s follower. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem except you both are asked to bless the union, and for that both of you must attend.

#writeblr #writing prompts #heehee

2K notes · View notes

ankababy · 3 days ago

Text

A Home

Part 2

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

After winning another game, you found two boys. Unconscious, bleeding, and kind of pretty too. Anyways, you were an angel, so you took them in, and now, they’re waking up in your fancy apartment.

(Wrote this thinking of not roasted Niragi but it doesn’t really matter, so it can be both before and after the beach, no actual romance just Niragi making moves to have fun, english NOT my first language)

The first thing Niragi registered when he regained consciousness was the feeling of something soft. Too soft. His brain, still foggy from unconsciousness, automatically assumed one of two things:

1. He was dead.

2. He was dreaming about being rich.

But when he blinked and his vision cleared, revealing a glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling and a suspiciously clean marble floor, he realized something much more unsettling.

He wasn't fucking dead.

This was worse.

He groaned, shifting, and that's when he felt it—pain. A dull, aching pain everywhere. His body had been through some shit, and moving made him immediately regret waking up.

That's when he heard it.

A voice.

Calm. Unfazed. Judgmental.

"So you survived. Unfortunate."

Niragi's head snapped to the side. And of course. Of course. The first thing he had to see after surviving whatever fuck had happened was the one fucking guy he hated more than anyone else.

Chishiya.

That smug bastard was sitting up on the couch opposite him, looking as bored as ever, one arm draped over the backrest like he was on vacation. His expression was unreadable, but Niragi knew that if he had died, this dude would've been the first to loot his body.

"Wow." Niragi croaked, voice hoarse. "You're still alive? That's what's unfortunate.”

Chishiya didn't even flinch. He just tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning Niragi like he was trying to calculate how much blood loss it would take to kill him. "Tragic, isn't it?"

"Deeply."

Before Niragi could force himself up and punch him, something shifted in the room. A presence. A sweet one.

"Good morning! You're finally awake!"

Both of them turned their heads.

There, standing in front of them, was you.

And holy shit.

You looked like you didn't belong in this world. At all. Too clean. Too soft. Too... nice. Like some angelic creature that had somehow survived this thing with sheer kindness and, possibly, black magic.

Chishiya stared at you with interest, already analyzing. Niragi, on the other hand, openly squinted.

"What the fuck?"

You smiled warmly. "Oh, I found you two unconscious and bleeding out, so I took you in and patched you up!"

Silence.

"You did what?" Niragi snapped. "Why the fuck would you do that?!"

Your expression didn't change. "Because you were dying."

"And?" Niragi looked deeply offended. "That's how things work. People die. It's the natural order of—"

Chishiya cut in. "What he's trying to say is that you wasted your time."

You blinked. "You think saving you was a waste of time?"

Chishiya gave a small, indifferent nod. "Correct."

Niragi scoffed, trying to push himself up, only to immediately regret it as pain shot through his body. "Ow, fuck—"

"You really shouldn't be moving that much yet." you said, stepping forward instinctively, only for Niragi to flinch like you were about to stab him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Niragi barked, pointing a shaky finger at you. "Back up, Care Bear. I don't trust this."

Chishiya exhaled, unimpressed. "Obviously. If you trusted this, you'd be dumber than you already are."

"Shut the fuck up, bitch."

You clasped your hands together, watching them. "So... you two know each other?”

Both of them immediately turned to you and spoke at the same time.

"No." (Niragi.)

"Unfortunately." (Chishiya.)

You giggled. Giggled. Niragi stared at you like you were an alien, while Chishiya simply observed.

"Well, I'm Y/N." you introduced yourself, smiling brightly. "And you're currently in my home! Don't worry, I don't expect you to do anything in return. Just rest up until you're better."

Niragi, still processing, slow-blinked. "Okay. Yeah. Cool. But—why the fuck do you have such a fancy-ass apartment?"

You beamed. "Oh, I just found it! No one was left, so I took it!"

"...That's kind of fucked up."

You tilted your head innocently. "Would you rather I left it empty?"

Niragi opened his mouth. Closed it. Stared at you. "Okay, you're too calm. This is weird. You're weird."

Chishiya hummed. "Agreed. People like you don't exist anymore."

You simply shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. You two looked like you needed help, so I helped."

Silence.

Then Niragi scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, okay, but I'm still not thanking you."

Chishiya leaned back, smirking slightly. "Obviously. You have no manners."

Niragi shot him a glare. "Neither do you, dickhead."

"Incorrect. I have excellent manners. I just choose not to use them."

You giggled again, and it was honestly disturbing. Niragi wasn't used to this—actual warmth. It made his skin crawl. He eyed you like you might secretly be a serial killer.

Chishiya, meanwhile, just looked at you thoughtfully. "So. What happens now?"

You smiled. "Well, now you both get to heal up in peace! And maybe eat something."

Niragi's eye twitched. "This is a trap."

Chishiya nodded slightly. "I second that. This is suspicious."

You pouted. "You think I saved your lives just to poison you?"

"Yes." both of them said at the same time.

You laughed. "You two are funny."

"No." Chishiya corrected. "He's just loud."

Niragi turned to him, jaw dropping. "Oh my god, do you ever shut up?"

Chishiya tilted his head. "No."

You just smiled sweetly. "Well, at least you have each other!"

Both of them physically recoiled at that.

"Fuck no." (Niragi.)

"Don't say that again." (Chishiya.)

You giggled. Again. It was terrifying.

"So," you chirped, tilting your head slightly. "What are your names?"

Niragi and Chishiya both went silent.

Chishiya, to be fair, had already been silent—watching, listening, assessing—but Niragi? He was actively avoiding answering. You could see it in his face, the way his lips pursed slightly, the tiny furrow in his brow. He didn't like giving out information. Neither of them did.

But you? You were patient.

Chishiya, as expected, was the first to break the silence. "Chishiya."

You nodded, smiling warmly. "Chishiya." you repeated. "That's a nice name."

Chishiya hummed noncommittally, watching you. It was strange—his expression was almost completely blank, but you could feel his thoughts running at high speed, analyzing, picking apart everything you said.

That was fine. You were used to it.

Then you turned to Niragi expectantly.

He narrowed his eyes. "Why do you wanna know?"

You blinked. "Because I saved your life?"

"Tch." He looked away, muttering, "It's Niragi."

You smiled, pretending you didn't hear the hostility in his tone. "Nice to meet you, Niragi."

Niragi made a face, shifting uncomfortably. "You're really too nice.”

Chishiya let out a quiet chuckle, like Niragi being irritated was mildly entertaining. "Not used to kindness?"

Niragi shot him a glare. "No, actually. I'm allergic."

"Ah." Chishiya nodded in mock understanding. "That explains the rash on your personality."

Your eyes flicked between them, amused. "Do you two always talk to each other like this?"

"Yes." (Chishiya.)

"No, usually it's worse." (Niragi.)

You giggled. Niragi visibly shuddered. "Stop doing that."

"What?"

"That creepy little giggle. You sound like a horror movie.

"That's just how I laugh!"

"Yeah, well, laugh worse."

Chishiya leaned back, crossing his arms. "You're deflecting."

"No shit, Sherlock."

You smiled, unbothered. "So... how long have you two known each other?”

Chishiya barely reacted. Niragi, on the other hand, let out an exaggerated groan. "Too fucking long."

"Not long enough," Chishiya muttered. "considering you're still alive."

You just watched them bicker, your head tilted slightly in curiosity.

Chishiya was fascinating.

The way he spoke, the way he moved—there was control in everything he did. He gave just enough to keep the conversation going but not enough to actually reveal anything. You recognized it immediately.

You had worked with people like him before.

People who knew they were smart. Who didn't trust easily. Who lived in their heads more than in the real world. Who stayed five steps ahead, always.

You also knew that someone like him? He wasn't just naturally like this.

Something had made him this way.

You turned to Niragi next. And, oh.

It didn't take a trained professional to see that Niragi had shit going on.

But you were a trained professional.

And holy shit.

He was wound so tight. Every move was a defense mechanism—every word, every glance, every breath dripping with aggression. His hostility wasn't random; it was habitual. Built over years of... something.

You didn't need to know the details to know that he had been hurt before. Badly. Which was exactly why he was acting like this now.

Still, you didn't press. Not yet.

Instead, you just said, "You two seem... different."

Niragi scoffed. "No shit."

Chishiya's gaze flicked to you. "What gave it away?"

You shrugged playfully. "Just a hunch."

Niragi let out a dramatic sigh, leaning back into the couch. "So, what, you used to be a detective or something?"

You smiled sweetly. "A therapist, actually."

Silence.

"No." Niragi immediately sat up, despite the pain. "I'm out."

Chishiya's lips quirked in mild interest. "That makes sense."

You blinked at Niragi, concerned. "You shouldn't be moving so much yet—"

"No. No. I refuse to be psychoanalyzed."

"I wasn't going to psychoanalyze you." you said, smiling. "I mean, unless you want me to?"

Niragi looked at you like you had just suggested murder. "Absolutely fucking not."

Chishiya, meanwhile, was still staring at you. Thinking. You could practically see the gears turning in his head.

A therapist.

That was new.

That meant you weren't just naive. You weren't just blindly nice.

You understood people.

Which meant you understood him.

And that? That was more dangerous than any gun.

You just smiled. "Well, don't worry. You're safe here. I won't make you talk about anything you don't want to."

Niragi narrowed his eyes. Suspicious. "For real?"

"For real."

"...Fine." He relaxed slightly, though he still looked deeply untrusting.

Chishiya, on the other hand, was watching you even more intently now.

"You're not what I expected." he admitted.

You tilted your head. "What did you expect?"

"Someone either stupid or desperate."

You laughed softly. "Well, I'm neither."

Chishiya's lips quirked again. "Clearly."

Niragi groaned. "Oh my god, don't start liking her."

Chishiya barely reacted. "I don't like anyone."

"That's what I'm saying!" Niragi waved a hand at you. "She's too nice. It's suspicious."

You just smiled. "I guess you'll have to deal with it."

Niragi muttered something under his breath, slumping back down. Chishiya simply watched you a little longer before finally closing his eyes, as if filing everything away for later.

You knew this was just the beginning.

But you weren't worried.

You had time.

Niragi was staring at the ceiling. Chishiya, ever the picture of nonchalance, had his eyes half-closed, looking as if he was two seconds away from slipping into a coma—not because he was exhausted, but because reality itself bored him.

"Are you two hungry?" you asked sweetly.

Nothing.

No reaction.

Not even a blink.

Chishiya didn't look at you, didn't acknowledge the question, didn't do anything besides continue breathing. Niragi, on the other hand, did react—just in the most Niragi way possible.

He scoffed. Loudly. Dramatically. As if you had just asked him whether he wanted to start a gratitude journal.

"You think we trust you enough to eat something you made?" he sneered.

You blinked. "Yes."

Niragi opened his mouth. Closed it. Squinted at you. "You say that like it's obvious."

"It is obvious." You stood up, stretching slightly. "You need to eat to recover. So, I'm making you food."

Still, no reaction. Neither of them moved. Neither of them agreed or refused.

Fine. That was fine. You weren't expecting a "thank you" or a grand speech of appreciation. You could tell exactly what they were doing—creating distance, keeping their guard up, making sure they didn't owe you anything.

You understood. Really, you did.

But that wasn't going to stop you. So, without another word, you walked toward the connected kitchen.

Immediately, Niragi's voice followed you. "Wait, you're actually cooking?"

"Yes."

"What the fuck?"

You didn't respond, already moving to the stove. The pot on the burner was already filled—leftover soup you had started earlier, still warm. You reached for a spoon, stirring gently, the scent filling the air instantly.

Chishiya didn't move or react, but Niragi? His head tilted the tiniest bit, like he was trying not to be obvious about sniffing the air.

You had to suppress a giggle.

They weren't going to ask for food. Oh, no. That would be too easy. They were too stubborn for that. Which was why you weren't going to wait for permission.

You kept stirring, the rich aroma of the soup spreading. It had been a while since you'd made something decent—soup was simple, easy, comforting. You weren't sure what these two had been eating before you found them half-dead, but judging by how they looked under all the blood and bruises, it wasn't much.

From the couch, Niragi groaned loudly, flopping dramatically onto his side. "This is so fucking weird."

"What is?" you asked, not turning around.

"This." He waved a hand vaguely in the air. "You. Cooking. This whole 'let's take care of the random half-dead guys I found' bullshit."

You hummed. "Would you rather I had left you there?"

"Yes!"

A beat of silence.

Then Chishiya: "No, he wouldn't have."

Niragi snapped his head toward him. "Shut the fuck up."

Chishiya didn't even look at him. "You're still here, aren't you?”

"I can leave anytime I want." Niragi shot back.

Chishiya finally turned his head slightly, expression unreadable. "Then why haven't you?"

Niragi froze.

You hid a smile, still focused on the soup. That was interesting.

Chishiya wasn't just observant—he was ruthless about it. He had no problem pointing things out that other people would avoid saying out loud.

You liked that.

Meanwhile, Niragi—having zero rebuttal—just let out another frustrated groan and dropped back against the couch. "God, I hate you."

"Likewise."

They both hated each other. And yet... neither of them had moved.

You smiled to yourself.

You gave the soup another gentle stir before ladling it into bowls. The warmth of it curled through your fingers, and as you turned around, you caught them.

Both of them.

Niragi and Chishiya.

Trying so hard to look uninterested.

They didn't move. Didn't react. But their eyes flickered—just barely—to the steaming bowls in your hands.

You knew they were hungry. Obviously. Their bodies were recovering, their wounds were fresh, and it had probably been days since they'd eaten properly.

But they weren't going to say anything. Because admitting that they needed something? Admitting that they relied on someone else?

That was too much.

You smiled sweetly. And completely ignored their bullshit. You walked up to the small coffee table in front of them, placing the bowls down with a gentle clink.

"Eat." you said simply.

Silence.

Chishiya stared at the soup, then at you, his expression blank but his mind obviously racing.

Niragi? He just glared.

"I never said I wanted it." he muttered.

You just smiled. "I know."

More silence.

The soup smelled amazing. You could tell, because Niragi kept sniffing the air without realizing he was doing it. Then he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You think I'm just gonna eat it because you put it in front of me?"

"Yes."

His eye twitched. "You're so fucking weird."

"I've been called worse."

Then, with a dramatic, suffering sigh, Niragi grabbed the bowl.

Victory.

Chishiya? He didn't reach for his immediately. Instead, he just... watched.

Watched you.

Watched Niragi.

Watched everything.

And then, after a long, slow moment, he finally—casually, effortlessly—picked up the bowl and took a small sip. He didn't react. But you noticed the way his fingers curled slightly more securely around the ceramic.

He liked it.

He just wasn't going to say it.

That was fine.

You weren't expecting thanks. You weren't expecting gratitude.

All you wanted was for them to eat.

And now? They were.

You smiled to yourself and returned to the kitchen, humming softly as you cleaned up. Behind you, on the couch, Niragi grumbled under his breath, still half-muttering insults at Chishiya between bites.

Chishiya didn't respond. He was too busy finishing his soup.

By the time you were done cleaning up the kitchen, the two of them had nearly finished their soup.

Which, really, was hilarious considering how Niragi had dramatically refused the idea of eating anything made by you just minutes ago. And yet, there he was, scowling at the spoon in his hand

Chishiya, on the other hand, had barely made a sound as he ate. No complaints, no praise, just silent, efficient consumption like he was running off of pure logic.

Food = survival. No need to make a fuss about it.

You approached them again with your usual warm smile, hands clasped together.

"So," you chirped. "since you're both fed and alive, this place has plenty of bedrooms. You don't have to keep sitting on the couch all night."

Chishiya barely reacted.

Niragi, however, snorted. "Oh, do we not?"

"You don't." you confirmed sweetly. "I can show you some, or you can just go find one yourself if you're that fed up with me."

Chishiya's lips twitched at that. Just the faintest smirk. He liked the way you phrased that—the fact that you knew exactly how they were acting and didn't even take offense to it.

Niragi just clicked his tongue, leaning back on the couch. "Tch. Like hell I trust any of the bedrooms in this creepy rich-ass place."

You tilted your head, amused. "You trust the couch more?"

"I trust myself more.”

"You're literally injured."

"I'd rather sleep in a ditch than get comfortable here."

You shrugged. "Okay, the door is open too."

Niragi stared at you. "Are you actually kicking me out?"

"No." you giggled, "I'm just giving you options! You seem like the kind of guy who doesn't like being told what to do."

Niragi made a face. "Oh, fuck off."

Chishiya finally stretched his legs slightly, glancingat you. "How many rooms?"

"Enough."

Chishiya's eyes flicked up to the ceiling, as if calculating the space. His mind was always working—always analyzing. You could practically see the gears turning.

"Five." he guessed.

You beamed. "Close. Six."

"Hm."

Chishiya's gaze flicked toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

A house this big? With this many rooms? Still fully intact?

It wasn't just luck. There was a reason you had secured a place like this. Chishiya was too smart to ignore that.

Niragi groaned. "Whatever. I call the biggest room."

You smiled, hands on your hips. "You'll have to find it first."

Niragi's eyes narrowed. "...Is that a challenge?"

Chishiya sighed, rubbing his temple. "You don't even have the energy to stand."

"Shut up." Niragi grumbled, but didn't actually get up.

You laughed softly. "The rooms are all clean, and they even have actual beds. Fresh blankets, too."

Niragi rolled his eyes. "Oh, you're really selling this, huh?"

You smiled, unbothered. "I'm just being nice."

"Too nice." Niragi crossed his arms. "What's your deal?"

Your smile softened slightly, but you didn't answer right away.

Instead, you tilted your head and asked, "Do you think people only do things when they want something in return?"

Niragi hesitated. Which, really, said everything.

You just smiled. "You should go rest. Both of you. Your bodies need it."

Chishiya exhaled through his nose, standing up first. "I'll find one myself."

You nodded. "Go ahead."

He didn't move immediately. He just stood there for a moment, looking at you—not suspiciously, not threateningly, just... observing. Then, finally, he turned and disappeared down the hall.

Niragi groaned again, shifting to lay down on the couch. "I'll move later." he muttered.

You just smiled. "Okay."

And with that, you walked away, leaving them to their own devices. Because at the end of the day? You weren't forcing them to do anything.

You were just offering something they weren't used to.

A choice.

A home.

You knew exactly which rooms they had chosen.

It was easy.

You'd left all the doors open on purpose. So when two of them inevitably ended up closed—well. That told you everything you needed to know.

One belonged to Niragi.

One belonged to Chishiya.

And since you weren't in the mood for an argument right now, you decided to check on Chishiya first.

So, with a soft knock, you pushed the door open.

Chishiya was there, as expected, sitting on the edge of the bed. His posture was relaxed, but not lazy. A picture of calm, but never vulnerable.

His eyes flicked to you immediately when you entered. Always alert. Always watching.

You smiled. "Hey."

He didn't say anything—just gave you a slow, expectant look, like he was already calculating the reason for your visit.

You stepped further in, crossing your arms lightly. "I wanted to let you know that the shower works."

Chishiya raised a brow. He didn't look surprised, per se—just mildly intrigued, like he hadn't expected you to bring it up.

You continued, ever sweet, ever patient. "I set up a system with rainwater, and I got a boiler working with solar energy. You can take a hot shower if you want."

A pause.

Then, finally, he spoke. "You built that yourself?"

You grinned. "Impressed?"

Chishiya's lips curled just slightly. "Not quite."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Right. Because nothing impresses you."

His smirk widened a fraction. He wasn't denying it.

You sighed dramatically, shifting your weight onto one foot. "Anyway, just be careful. The system's pretty stable, but I still don't trust it completely. So don't do anything stupid and end up flooding the place."

Chishiya tilted his head, as if amused by the idea. "I'll try to contain myself."

"Please do." you said, voice sickly sweet. Then, without missing a beat, you added, "Oh, and—"

You smiled. Soft. Kind.

Too kind.

Fake kind.

"—don't even try anything. My door's closed."

Chishiya blinked.

Because you weren't just sweet.

You weren't just kind.

You were smart.

You knew exactly the kind of person he was.

And you planned accordingly.

Chishiya exhaled through his nose, the closest thing to a chuckle you'd heard from him yet. He leaned back slightly, resting his arms against the bed, studying you.

"You think I'd try something?" he mused, tone light, teasing.

"I think you're smarter than that." you replied easily.

A beat.

Then Chishiya's lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. "Interesting."

You simply gave him one last sweet, angelic smile before turning toward the door. "Goodnight, Chishiya."

And with that, you left.

The door clicked shut behind you, and as you walked down the hall, you knew—knew without even needing to see—that Chishiya was still smiling to himself.

You were a smart girl.

And he liked that.

When you arrived there, you took a deep breath before knocking on the other door that was closed.

You knocked twice. A beat of silence, then—

A loud, dramatic groan from the other side.

"What now?"

You rolled your eyes and pushed the door open.

And there he was—Niragi, in all his irritating glory, sprawled across the bed. One arm behind his head, shirt half-ridden up, legs spread out just enough to be annoying.

He squinted at you lazily. "Oh, it's you."

"Of course it's me."

He groaned again, rolling onto his side in the most dramatic way possible. "What do you want? I'm tryna sleep here."

You crossed your arms. "I came to tell you the shower works."

That got his attention.

Niragi blinked. "Wait. What?"

"I have rainwater stored, and I managed to get a boiler running with solar energy." You tilted your head. "You can take a shower. A hot one."

Niragi stared at you like you had just told him the sky was made of gold. Then, suddenly, he sat up—grinning, wild and sharp, like a fucking hyena.

"Oh, shit." he snickered, running a hand through his now let out hair. "You mean I don't have to smell like blood anymore?"

You sighed. "I mean, it's up to you."

He stretched his arms, cracking his neck. "Damn, maybe you really are an angel. Here I thought you just liked keeping dirty, injured men in your house for fun."

You gave him an unimpressed look. "Yes, Niragi. That's exactly what I do in my free time."

He grinned. "If you wanted me in your bed, babe, you could've just said so."

You sighed again, rubbing your temple. "That is not what I said."

He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. "I mean, I get it. Who wouldn't wanna sleep next to me? I'm warm, I smell good—"

"You literally just said you smell like blood."

Niragi ignored that. "—and I'd keep you safe all night."

You raised a brow. "You can't even stand up properly."

He grinned wider. "That just means I'd have to let you do all the work."

You leaned against the doorframe, tilting your head slightly, eyes glittering with something playful. "That's so cute. You think you'd survive me?"

His grin froze.

Just for a second.

Then, he laughed. Loud. Unfiltered. Amused as hell. He licked his teeth, watching you with way too much interest. "You like playing hard to get, huh?"

You shrugged. "You like losing?"

That hit.

That hit hard.

Because for the first time, Niragi actually shut up. Just for a second. Just enough for you to know that you had won.

"...Fuck." he muttered, almost to himself. "You're fun."

"I know." you said sweetly. "Now go take a shower before I change my mind."

You turned to leave—but of course, Niragi couldn't let you go without one last word.

"Hey, babe?"

You paused in the doorway, looking back.

He smirked. "Your door open, or closed?"

You grinned.

"Locked."

And with that, you walked away—leaving Niragi sitting there, grinning like an idiot.

You knew something was wrong the second you stepped into the hallway the next morning.

The air felt off.

It wasn’t a sound—because they weren’t making any. It wasn’t even an instinct, though you had plenty of that.

It was just that deep, unshakable feeling you got when you walked into a room and realized you were one second away from witnessing homicide.

And that’s exactly what was happening.

You turned the corner into the kitchen and—yep. There they were.

Chishiya and Niragi.

Standing there, dead silent, staring each other down like two wolves deciding whether they wanted to rip each other’s throats out before breakfast.

Niragi moved first.

Not towards you. Towards Chishiya.

One sharp, sudden step—his whole body tensed like he was about to fucking lunge, like he was about to do something stupid.

And Chishiya? Didn’t move an inch. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. Just stood there, perfectly still, perfectly calm, eyes half-lidded like he was already five steps ahead of this entire situation.

Which, knowing Chishiya? He was.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

You cleared your throat. Loudly.

Both of them turned to look at you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are we committing murder before or after breakfast?”

Niragi snorted. “That depends. You making anything good?”

You sighed, stepping into the kitchen like you weren’t walking into a fucking crime scene. “Depends.” you said, moving past them to grab some supplies. “Are you two gonna be civil, or am I cooking while dodging bullets?”

“Can’t make promises.” Niragi muttered, side-eyeing Chishiya.

Chishiya, for his part, said nothing. Just shifted slightly, tilting his head, gaze dissecting.

Watching Niragi. Watching you.

You exhaled through your nose. Of course.

They weren’t going to make this easy. That was fine. You didn’t expect them to.

Instead of scolding them, instead of trying to force anything, you did what you did best.

You read the room.

Because here’s the thing—people like Niragi? They didn’t start fights for no reason. Not really. He didn’t wake up thinking, hm, who should I try to kill today?

No—he woke up looking for control.

And Chishiya? Chishiya didn’t wake up looking for a fight. But he sure as hell wasn’t backing down from one, either.

So this wasn’t just aggression.

This was posturing. This was two men who hated each other testing the limits of the space they now shared.

Which meant there was only one thing you needed to do. You needed to give them something else to focus on.

So you got to work. And most importantly? You talked.

Not to them, really. Just enough to keep them engaged without forcing them to cooperate.

“So,” you hummed, cracking an egg into the pan. “how’d you two even end up in that mess I found you in?”

Silence.

Niragi scoffed. “That mess?” He snorted. “Try a fucking bloodbath.”

You hummed. “Right, yeah, I noticed that part.”

Chishiya finally spoke. “Tch. Not surprising.”

Niragi rolled his eyes. “Oh, here we go—”

“I’m just saying,” Chishiya mused. “it’s not like you’re particularly good at self-preservation.”

“Fuck off, rat.”

You sighed. “Okay, so still not cooperative.”

Niragi gave you a shit-eating grin. “Aww, babe, don’t take it personally.”

You shot him a look. “I don’t. I just think it’s hilarious that you two can’t even answer a simple question without fighting.”

Chishiya sighed, rubbing his temple. “We’re not fighting.”

Niragi grinned. “Yeah, baby, this is just how we talk.”

“Oh, so this is bonding, then?” you deadpanned.

Niragi shrugged. “Something like that.”

You just shook your head, flipping the eggs.

It didn’t matter. They were calming down. They were still distant, still purposefully difficult, but that was fine.

You weren’t trying to fix them.

You were just making breakfast.

And in a world that had taken so much from them, that was probably the best thing you could do.

You let the conversation die out for a bit, focusing on not burning the eggs while the two grown, violent men in your kitchen continued their silent pissing contest.

They weren’t trying to kill each other anymore, but you could feel the tension, the way Niragi kept throwing sideways glances at Chishiya, and the way Chishiya pointedly ignored him like he wasn’t even worth the energy.

God, you were babysitting.

And yet.

You liked them.

Not in a wow, what great, emotionally well-adjusted people kind of way.

More like a wow, these are the worst fucking people I’ve ever met and yet I kind of want to keep them alive kind of way.

Which was dangerous. So dangerous.

But you never did have much self-preservation.

So you tried again.

You flipped the eggs onto a plate, moving to grab some bread, and—casually, like you weren’t expecting much—asked: “So. You still didn’t answer my question.”

Chishiya hummed, eyes lidded, uninterested.

Niragi, on the other hand, sighed so loudly it was like you had just asked him to recite the entire history of the universe.

“What fucking question?” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “How you two ended up bleeding out in an alley.”

Silence.

Not the murderous kind of silence, at least.

Just hesitation.

Which meant you had them.

You pressed. Gently.

“I mean, was it a fight? Did you get jumped? Were you two just being dumbasses?”

Niragi scoffed. “The last one.”

Chishiya sighed. “Obviously.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

You fought back a grin. “Okay, so what happened?”

Niragi clicked his tongue, leaning against the counter. “Tch. Got caught up in some shit.”

You hummed. “What kind of shit?”

Niragi grinned, sharp, mean. “The fun kind.”

Chishiya sighed. “The kind that almost got him killed.”

“The fun kind.” Niragi repeated.

You blinked. “You have a very different definition of fun than I do.”

He laughed. “What, you don’t like a little bloodshed?”

“I don’t like dying.” you said simply.

Chishiya gave you a slow, approving look. “Smart girl.”

Niragi rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Guess we just ran into the wrong people at the wrong time. Shit happens.”

You tilted your head, thoughtful. “Shit does happen.” You turned, handing them plates of food. “How many days do you have?”

This was a test.

A subtle one.

If they lied, you’d know. If they refused to answer, you’d know.

Because you were a therapist.

You knew people

And right now, you knew that Niragi was stalling. Clicking his tongue, leaning back, making a big show of thinking about it.

“Hmmm.” he hummed, exaggerated. “Why do you wanna know, angel? Wanna trade?”

You smiled, too sweet. “No, but I would like to know if you’re about to drop dead in my house.”

Niragi laughed. Loud, sharp, amused as hell.

Chishiya, on the other hand, watched you. Studied you. Then, finally, he spoke “Seven.”

Your eyes flicked to him.

And there it was.

Honesty. Cold, simple, factual honesty.

Chishiya had seven days.

You looked at Niragi expectantly.

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Ugh, fine. Five.”

You clicked your tongue. “You should be more careful.”

Niragi snorted. “What, you worried about me, sweetheart?”

You shrugged, turning back to your own food. “I just don’t wanna clean up a corpse in my living room.”

Chishiya huffed out a quiet laugh. Niragi grinned.

You let the conversation settle after that.

They weren’t cooperative. Not really.

They didn’t trust you. Not completely.

But they answered you.

And that was enough.

For now.

Because you had a plan.

Because right now, in your apartment, you had two wild animals sitting at your table.

One too smart for his own good.

The other too reckless for anyone’s good.

And you were about to leave both of them unsupervised. On purpose. Because you knew exactly what you were doing.

You grabbed your bag, casually tossing a few supplies inside—knife, flashlight, extra cloth, some food. Nothing crazy. It wasn’t going to be a long trip. At least, it shouldn’t be.

Niragi was watching you.

Not subtly.

At first, he just glanced. Quick, uninterested, shoving food into his mouth like a fucking caveman.

But when you grabbed your coat?

When you slung your bag over your shoulder?

That’s when he actually looked.

He raised an eyebrow. “Uh… babe?”

You hummed, fixing the strap. “What?”

“Why the fuck are you getting ready like you’re about to head out?”

You blinked at him. “Because I am?”

Silence.

“The fuck do you mean you are?”

Across from him, Chishiya didn’t react much. He just tilted his head slightly, observing. Like he was just as curious, but not as dumb as Niragi, so he wasn’t about to react like a fucking child.

Niragi, however, had no such restraint.

He squinted at you. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

You sighed. “Out.”

“Out where?”

“To find some supplies.”

He scoffed. “Tch. You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re seriously leaving me and—” He gestured vaguely to Chishiya. “this asshole alone in your house?”

Chishiya blinked slowly. “You’re a child.”

“And you’re a rat.” Niragi turned back to you. “Seriously, you’re leaving?”

“Yes, Niragi.” You threw some light, pretty pink clothing around your shoulders. “I need to go out. I need supplies. I need—” You waved vaguely at the door. “shit.”

He scoffed again. “Tch. What kind of shit?”

You shrugged. “Just things. Food. Bandages. Stuff to keep you two from dying.”

Chishiya hummed. “How responsible.”

“Right?” you quipped. “I should get an award.”

Niragi wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t mad, but he wasn’t happy either. Because despite the smug, cocky, overconfident asshole persona—there was something else.

Not concern, no. That wasn’t his style.

More like… uncertainty.

Like he didn’t like the idea of you going out there alone. Not because he cared. No, no, that’s ridiculous.

(At least, he’d tell himself that.)

But because in his fucked-up, messy, unhinged brain—

He didn’t trust the world.

And the idea of you walking out there, all soft and sweet and not a complete fucking psycho like him, probably didn’t sit right with him.

Which is why he leaned back in his chair, sucking his teeth.

“Fine.” he muttered. “Then I’m coming with you.”

You blinked.

Then laughed.

Actually laughed.

“The fuck is so funny?” he snapped.

You shook your head, still grinning. “You can barely fucking walk, Niragi.”

He bristled. “The fuck I can’t.”

You tilted your head. “Oh, yeah? Stand up.”

His eyes narrowed.

Chishiya actually smirked, sipping his tea. “This will be fun.”

Niragi ignored him. Instead, he grumbled, planted his hands on the table, and pushed himself up—only to sway immediately.

Yeah. That’s what you thought.

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Go on.”

He glared. “I just need a second.”

“Uh-huh.”

Chishiya chuckled.

“You two are both fucking awful.” Niragi muttered, lowering himself back into the chair.

You smiled. Sweet. Almost mocking. “But I’m right.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue.

You exhaled, adjusting your bag. “I won’t be long.”

Niragi muttered something under his breath, and you almost asked what—but you let it go.

Instead, you turned to Chishiya. He was still watching. Quiet. Unreadable. Like he was picking you apart in his head.

You stared back. After a moment, you spoke.

“You gonna be okay here?”

He blinked once. “I should be asking you that.”

You smirked. “You don’t have to.”

His eyes glittered.

Just a little.

He didn’t say anything else.

You turned back to Niragi. “Try not to kill each other before I get back.”

“No promises.” Niragi muttered.

You sighed. Yeah, you figured.

Then, without another word, you grabbed your coat, pushed open the door, and stepped out, leaving them alone.

And you knew exactly what you were doing.

You had fully prepared yourself for the worst when you returned.

Maybe bloodstains on your fancy-ass couch. Maybe the kitchen completely destroyed. Maybe—just maybe—one of them lying dead in the hallway while the other stood over him. But, to your genuine surprise, the house was still standing.

And even more surprising?

So were both of them.

Chishiya was sitting at the kitchen counter, flipping through a book he absolutely did not own before today.

And Niragi—who you fully expected to have done something violent or reckless in your absence—was sprawled out on the couch, one arm hanging over the side, his whole body screaming bored as hell but refusing to admit he waited for you to come back.

They were separated, obviously.

Like two kids on a road trip who couldn’t sit next to each other without starting a war.

But they were here.

Waiting.

Which meant they had not murdered each other.

Wow. Okay. Good.

You stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind you. “Huh. You didn’t destroy the place.”

Chishiya didn’t look up from his book. “Disappointed?”

You snorted. “Surprised.”

Niragi let out a loud, exaggerated sigh.

“Tch. Not my fault.” he muttered. “There was nothing to fucking do.”

You shrugged, setting your bag down on the table. “Well, good news.”

You started unpacking, pulling out a few cans of food, some extra bandages, a couple of bottles of water and a small, cute plushie. You placed it right on the coffee table, right between the two of them.

Silence.

Niragi squinted at it. “What the fuck is that?”

You blinked at him, deadpan. “A bear.”

He continued staring. Like he couldn’t process the fact that, after scavenging for supplies in an almost post-apocalyptic nightmare world, you had come back with a tiny stuffed bear.

Chishiya just hummed. “Interesting choice.”

You grinned. “I thought it was cute.”

Niragi made a face. “What, you gonna start collecting those now?”

“Maybe.” you mused, organizing the supplies. “Maybe I’ll decorate the place.”

Chishiya smirked. “Would be an improvement.”

Niragi snorted.

You gasped. “Excuse me?”

Chishiya didn’t even look up. “I’m just saying, the place is a little sterile.”

“Sterile?”

“You know. Too clean. Too perfect.”

Niragi stretched, cracking his neck. “Yeah, like a rich kid’s hideout.”

You huffed. “I like my place nice.”

Chishiya turned a page. “Mm. Suspicious.”

You rolled your eyes, finally plopping down onto the chair across from Niragi.

“Anyway.” you sighed. “I got supplies. Food. Water. Bandages.”

Niragi snatched a bottle off the table. “Tch. Took you long enough.”

You snorted. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you have somewhere to be?”

He smirked, taking a sip. “Nah. Just missed you, babe.”

You smiled. “Aww, how sweet.”

Niragi’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You could make it up to me, you know.”

“Oh? And how would I do that?”

He leaned forward, voice dropping. Suggestive. “Ever heard of a stress reliever?”

Chishiya closed his book. Loudly.

You placed your elbow on the table, chin in your palm, and matched Niragi’s energy effortlessly.

“Hm.” you mused, tilting your head. “I have. You should try one.”

Chishiya snorted.

Niragi blinked. Then laughed. Loud. Sharp. Fucking amused.

You leaned back, stretching your arms. “Anyway. You two can fight over the bedrooms again or sleep out here, I don’t care.”

Niragi scoffed. “Tch. Like I’d share a room with this asshole.”

Chishiya smirked. “I wouldn’t subject you to my presence.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

You liked them.

“So, Chishiya.” Niragi drawled, stretching his legs out. “Tell me something.”

Chishiya did not look up. Did not react. Which only fueled Niragi’s need to annoy him.

“If you’re such a genius,” Niragi continued. “how the fuck did you end up half-dead in a ditch, huh?”

Chishiya finally blinked. Slowly. Then sighed.

“Same way you did.” he murmured, flipping through the book again. “By not giving a shit.”

Niragi grinned.

“Oh, no, see, I wasn’t the one who thought I was better than everyone.” he said mockingly. “I wasn’t the one who thought I was too smart to get my ass kicked.”

Chishiya hummed. “No, you were just too dumb to avoid it.”

Niragi laughed. Sharp, amused, but not fucking friendly.

“Cute.” he smirked. “For someone who thinks he’s so fucking smart, you really do make a lot of mistakes.”

Chishiya finally looked up. “And for someone who acts like he’s the biggest in the world you sure ended up in the same situation as me.”

Niragi’s grin twitched.

Your head hit the back of the chair.

Here we go.

Because of course Niragi wasn’t going to let that go. “You wanna repeat that, rat?”

Chishiya tilted his head. “Oh? Are your ears failing, too?”

Niragi sat up.

Even injured, even weak, even not at full strength, he still looked like he was one second away from throwing hands.

“You little—”

“No.”

Your voice cut through the air like a knife.

Both of them froze.

Not because you were loud. Not because you yelled.

But because you didn’t.

You were calm.

Too calm.

And that? That was scarier.

“If you two want to keep fighting,” you said, voice light, but firm. “then you can take your asses out of here.”

Silence.

You crossed your arms.

“You can either calm the fuck down,” you continued, sweet, but threatening. “or you can leave. I don’t care which.”

You watched them.

And you knew.

This was the moment.

If they argued—if they scoffed, if they fought back—then that was it.

They were leaving.

They’d be gone.

But if they stayed quiet—if they didn’t say a word—that was their answer.

That was them choosing to stay.

And for people like them? For people who never admitted they needed anyone, who never relied on anybody but themselves, this was big.

Chishiya sighed.

He looked back down at his book.

Didn’t say anything.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t leave.

Niragi clicked his tongue, leaned back on the couch, and mumbled, “Tch. Whatever.”

Didn’t say anything else.

Didn’t leave.

They were staying.

#alice in borderland #chishiya shuntaro #niragi suguru #niragi x reader #aib niragi #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya x reader #aib chishiya

130 notes · View notes

sunderwight · 9 hours ago

Text

Moshang establishing a weird degree of intimacy (for two people who are at least ostensibly not dating or anything) even early on in their relationship due to having known one another since their teens and both being, y'know. Weirdos.

Like Shang Qinghua has definitely dressed Mobei Jun. Toweled him off after a bath and put clothes on him because Mobei Jun is royalty and he just expects servants to do that, and Shang Qinghua was like, well, okay I guess we do this now I guess this is happening, and decided to just enjoy the view.

Mobei Jun prefers to sleep in beds that smell like Shang Qinghua. It just feels safer, and no he's not interrogating that impulse very deeply. He has food tasters who check his food for poison, and he's heard the term "bedwarmer" thrown around he's pretty sure this is just the same idea, a bed that's just all sterile sheets which don't smell like anyone but himself feels isolated and vulnerable and unsafe. So he'll nap in Qinghua's bed on An Ding, and whenever his servants wash out his sheets at his palace he'll drag SQH over and work him to exhaustion and then make him "warm his bed". Shang Qinghua thinks maybe Mobei Jun prefers a warm bed at night, the way that some humans prefer cool sheets? Like an ice demon thing? Whatever, his king's bed is still more comfortable than his, it has soft pillows and furs and everything so he's not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

Shang Qinghua has treated Mobei Jun's wounds. MBJ used to watch him like a hawk at first but after years of this happening with zero issue he stopped bothering, so between that and the "sometimes dresses his king" thing Shang Qinghua can basically move his limbs around and put stuff in his hands or even his mouth and smear ointment on him and etc and MBJ will just go with it. Sometimes Shang Qinghua worries about the amount of access Mobei Jun's servants apparently have to his person, but honestly none of the regular staff could actually get the same kind of uncritical compliance out of him. Just Qinghua.

Mobei Jun also sees no issue with physically picking Shang Qinghua and moving him around. He will literally throw him at problems he wants solved or carry him to situations he needs examined. Shang Qinghua is very portable and it expedites the process of him begging not to be asked to do something, to just toss him at it and make him sort it out right away instead.

Mobei Jun would also steal Shang Qinghua's clothing if there was any remote chance of it fitting him. Throwing his cloaks and things onto Shang Qinghua works fairly well though, it makes them smell like him which is still good. Shang Qinghua is rarely bold enough to steal Mobei Jun's clothes on his own, but if it's especially cold and no one else is around he's been known to grab part of Mobei Jun's cloak (often while he's still wearing it) and wrap it around himself.

#svsss #moshang

164 notes · View notes

rvmanoffbarnes · 2 days ago

Text

I love you, I'm sorry || Bucky Barnes x reader! au)

Summary: James loved his wife, his son, and the life he had. However, lately he begins to remember his days as a sought-after bachelor in the past and all the opportunities and experiences he wasted.

One night, a magical being appears to him, who offers him to fulfill a wish, which will change his life completely.

Author's note: So i had this idea for a long time ago and i thought it'll be fun to see where this is going. This is some kind of au, where reader and Bucky are married. The magic being is Doctor Strange.

P.S: I love Bucky, and i know he will never do this 💌

《tags: angst, Bucky being a jerk, fluff, married life, arguments, curse words, a character that decide to step in 👀》

Bucky was tired.

He didn't know if he was tired of the long work day he had in the office, or if he was tired of returning to the routine. Sometimes he began to think what would happen to his life if he had made different decisions.

Don't get him wrong, he was sure of what he had chosen: he loved his son Theo, the sweet 5-year-old who looked up to him with a twinkle in his eye every time they spent time together. Bucky thought it was one of the best things that had ever happened to him. On the other hand, the job he had was good, considering that he must maintain a house, a family, pay the bills, put food on the table everyday and treat himself, his son and especially to his wife.

His dear wife Y/N, who had always been there for him. Who he loved with all his might. He can still remember the first time he met her. Well, the first time he actually saw her. Bucky used to be a heartthrob even back in the days when he went to college. He had a certain reputation with the ladies and never committed himself to a relationship; the black haired man wanted to enjoy his single days as much as he could. That's what he thought until he met Y/N, the sweet girl with glasses who helped him with exams and congratulated him every time he got an A. She had bewitched him from head to toe with her noble heart and sweet aura.

He had it all.

But he also had everything in the past.

A life without worries or bills to pay, girls who fought for his attention or to sit next to him in classes, a group of friends whom he still saw, but without seeing much because of their tight schedules. And well, he didn't want to sound like an idiot, but he didn't have anyone to send him to wash the dishes or change diapers. Plus, he always had someone to have a good time with, if he needed to... de-stress.

It wasn't that with Y/N he didn't want any of that now. But he felt like the flame had gone out since she spent most of her time taking care of Theo, the house and resting from expecting her second child on the way.

Shaking off those thoughts of his head, James takes the keys from his pocket and begins to open the door to be greeted by the excited screams of his son, Theo.

"Daddy! You're finally here." Theo throws himself at him and Bucky reciprocates his hug.

"Hello champion" Bucky ruffles his hair and looks into the boy's blue eyes, who look at him adoringly "You didn't cause your mother any problems, did you?"

The little boy shakes his head.

"I helped her clean up the mess after I drew something for you," he mentions.

Bucky raises an eyebrow and looks at him softly.

"Yeah? I want to see it" Bucky says and the boy runs off to look for the draw.

Bucky sighs and puts his coat and briefcase aside to loosen his tie. All he wanted to do was finish the paperwork he needed by tomorrow without fail, take a shower, and sleep.

"Doll, where are you?" Bucky asks, running his hand over his face in frustration.

"In the kitchen!"

Bucky walks to the room and watches as his wife stirs something in the pot. The aroma of food invades the man's nostrils and his stomach growls with hunger. Y/N puts the spoon aside and hugs him lovingly, making sure her bump doesn't crush against the man's body.

“I missed you,” Y/N murmurs against his lips. Bucky accepts it and hugs her.

"Mhm. I'm really tired," he says barely. Y/N frowns and pouts.

"Long day at work?" He nods.

"And I still have to finish the paperwork," he mentions, rolling his eyes. Suddenly, a crazy idea - which he's sure young Bucky would like - occurs to him, he raises an eyebrow and lowers his hands to his wife's butt. "I was thinking that as long as I do the paperwork, and Theo falls asleep... I don't know, we could have fun in the office room."

Bucky starts kissing her neck, to which Y/N giggles. She sighs and moves away from him a little.

"I have to finish doing the laundry and help Theo with his homework," she excuses herself. Bucky grimaces and can't hide the discontent on his face "But maybe later we can..."

"No, it's okay," Bucky says sharply. "I'd better take my plate to the office and eat there."

"Honey, I..."

“It’s okay, Y/N.” And with that, he grabs his plate of food and takes it to his office to lock himself in and not go out again.

"Theo!" Bucky exclaims.

His temperament overwhelms him, especially when he sees the drawing that his son had given him for him to appreciate. He had appreciated the gesture, since Bucky loved when his son drew him, but the man hadn't liked it at all when Theo decided to paint on the reports he had to correct for tomorrow.

Bucky enters the boy's room and he is surprised to see his father angry approaching him. He had never raised his voice at the boy like that, not even when he got into trouble. Y/N follows him when she hears the commotion from the bathroom.

"What happened?" the woman asks calmly. Bucky shows his sheet to the boy.

"Why did you draw on my work report papers? Why did you come into my office, Theo?" Bucky asks, about to lose his cool.

Theo purses his lips and his eyes fill with tears.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to come into my workspace without permission? Damn it!" Bucky screams and the little boy runs into his mother's arms.

"Bucky, this can be fixed, but please don't be so hard on him," Y/N asks, holding the child's head in her belly, in a motherly way.

Bucky shakes his head, laughing unamusedly.

"I have to hand these papers in tomorrow, Y/N! I'm going to have to stay late looking over them," Bucky says angrily. "Theo doesn't have to do this thing where he comes into the office and draws on my papers."

Theo starts to sob.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he says, choking back a cry.

But when James sees this, the man lets out a sigh through his nose and closes his eyes, trying to calm down. The black-haired man crouches down to the child's height and opens his arms. Theo hesitantly approaches him and lets his father's arms wrap around him.

"Oh, champion..." Bucky whispers "I'm sorry"

Y/N watches the scene. She knows his husband is under a lot of stress.

"Do you promise me you won't do it again?" Bucky says looking at the boy, who nods his head and sniffles. The man wipes his tears and smiles slightly. "Good boy. Sorry for yelling at you."

Bucky starts tickling him and the boy laughs in his arms. Y/N laughs when she sees the scene and touches her belly.

“Theo, you have to finish your homework and brush your teeth before going to sleep,” Y/N reminds him.

Theo nods and proceeds to look for his notebooks so his mother can help him. Bucky stands up and looks at his wife with a tired face.

"I have to finish this," he says and she leaves him, caressing his cheek before they both go to do their chores separately.

Bucky can't help but think about how tired he is as he goes to his workspace and locks himself in until he finishes the paperwork.

What would his young self be doing if he hadn't had children?

If he hadn't had Theo and his second baby on the way?

When Bucky comes out of the bathroom in the room he shares with his wife, he drags his feet across the soft carpeted floor and falls onto the bed, while his wife applies cream to his belly, which has grown quite quickly, indicating that there are a few weeks left to see their son be born.

The man just wants to sleep, because he must get up early. He turns off the light on his bedside table and lets his head fall back onto the pillows. He hears a playful giggle from his wife and notices how she turns off the light and approaches him, to begin kissing his neck and caressing his chest with her hand.

"Hi" she whispers.

She continues kissing his neck and Bucky lets her for a moment, even when he feels his wife's hand go down to his boxers. But he doesn't feel like continuing this, he doesn't know why. Maybe it's tiredness or... he no longer feels that way for the woman who caresses his manhood.

"I don't have the energy to continue, doll," he whispers, pushing her away from him and turning his back on her.

"Oh, I'm sorry..." she says, feeling embarrassed.

She raises the sheets until they cover her chest and looks at the ceiling. The truth is that she had also realized that something was distant between them, ever since she gave him the news that they were expecting another child together.

It's like Bucky doesn't see her with the same adoration as before and that makes her feel insecure. Especially when she didn't feel pretty or sexy with the pregnancy.

She closes her eyes, preventing another tear from falling, falling asleep.

Bucky can't.

He keeps thinking about what his life would be like if he hadn't married Y/N.

He loved her, yes. But he was bored of playing the role of the worried, caring, gentle and loving husband. He needed space.

He needed air, so he gets out of bed and watches the figure of the woman sleeping with one hand on her belly. Bucky leaves the room and goes downstairs to grab a beer from the refrigerator and go out to the backyard and sit on the bench to watch the starry night.

"Fuck" he mumbles.

He can't admit it.

No.

But....

"I wish I could go back to my past life" he wishes and takes a sip of his beer.

"Are you sure it's what your heart truly desires?" A voice surprises him.

"Fuck! Shit!" Bucky curses.

He stands up from his spot and notices a man floating in front of him and points the bottle at him, ready to defend himself.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my house?" James looks around and his eyes travel to the window of his room, where Y/N sleeps. "What did they do to my wife? My son?"

The man stops floating to walk on the grass in the yard. Bucky backs away on instinct and continues raising his bottle.

"James Buchanan Barnes" he says his full name, and danger scares him.

"How do you know my name?" He asks without believing it.

"My name is Stephen Strange, and I came here to grant you a wish" Bucky shakes his head, not believing it.

"Pff, sure. And I can fly" he says and raises the bottle, but Strange snaps his fingers and it disappears "What the hell...?"

"Now do you believe me?" Bucky swallows and thinks he's dreaming.

"Who the hell are you?"

"The man who can grant you your wish"

After explaining where it came from and why he was in front of him offering to grant him the wish, Bucky let out a heavy sigh and crossed his arms.

"So... you're saying that you can take me to another reality where I start my life again?" Strange nods calmly. Bucky grimaces. "What will happen to my life here? My job? My kids and my wife?"

Stephen replies: "If I take you to another reality, which in this case would be your past self, your life here will take a different direction. What you do there can completely change what happens here," he explains and moves his fingers to make a golden circle appear with scenes from Bucky's past appearing. The black-haired man approaches as if he were under a spell and remembers some things. "If you decide to go back and be in that reality, nothing you had here would be the same again."

Bucky smiles when he catches a moment where he was the most popular guy in college. Or when he dated Natasha, the most gorgeous woman in the school.

Bucky smiles falters when he sees Y/N studying with him for the exams. And when he carried his son Theo in his arms for the first time.

"Are you sure you want to leave everything you built here to go back to being the famous heartthrob Bucky Barnes?" Strange asks. Bucky swallows and finds himself in a dilemma with himself. On the one hand, he is bored with this domestic and routine life, he misses his life without ties and when he felt like he had everything in the palm of his hand. However, he loves his son Theo, his second child who is on the way and, above all, Y/N.

The woman he married. The woman he loved.

But right now, that didn't seem to care.

But Bucky wanted to have it all and more.

"Strange.... I want to go back" he decides after a moment.

"There will be no turning back," the magician warns him. "With a snap of my fingers, you will wake up in another reality and your life will be different."

And without hesitation, he didn't let himself be clouded by anything other than his desire to have it all again.

"I'm sure"

And Strange snapped his fingers, feeling disappointed once again in people's desire.

Bucky was having a blast.

So far he attended all the parties, went out more with his friends and could go on dates with any girl he wanted. He was taking advantage of that and more.

It was a starry and cool night and with his group they decided to go for some burgers where they always went to eat. Bucky's arm was around the shoulder of his former girlfriend, Natasha Romanoff. The hottest and most outgoing girl he had ever met.

"Today Bucky must buy the burgers" Sam says pointing his finger at him.

Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes in amusement, ignoring the strange emptiness he feels in his chest.

"I'll do it as long as someone deigns to come take our order," says the blue-eyed one, looking around in search of a waitress.

Everything stops in the moment for Bucky.

A couple of tables away was Y/N chatting animatedly with Yelena, Ava and John Walker. He knew John because the blonde was with him in his class. He was a jerk, but somehow he was in Y/N's group since he was dating Ava.

Y/N looks beautiful with her glasses.

When he had married her, he may have commented how funny she looked in them, and how the next day she had gone to the ophthalmologist to see if she could wear contact lenses. An idiotic comment on his part.

"Good evening, what are you going to order?" asks a deep voice coming to their table.

Bucky turns around and sees a boy with slightly long brown hair, below his ears. He remembers it because he was in Y/N's class. His name was Robert Reynolds.

The brunette had always tried to woo Y/N, even when she started dating Bucky. Even at their wedding, Bob was there with a hopeful and hurt look as he saw the girl he wanted marrying Bucky. The latter could only give him a victorious look when he kissed the girl to close their engagement.

"James...." the redhead shakes his arm. He reacts and turns to look at the boy who is looking at him expectantly. "What do you want to order?"

Bucky clears his throat.

"I want a burger and a soda," he asks, not really wanting to eat now. Bob notes it and gives them a flat smile.

"Coming right up, excuse me" he leaves and takes the menus from their hands.

Bucky follows him with his eyes to see how he leaves the menus on the table.

"Are you alright, Buck?" Steve asks him.

Bucky nods nonchalantly.

"Yeah, yeah. Everything's good"

After a few minutes, while Bucky looked out of the corner of his eye at the table where his wife was, Bob arrives with everyone's orders.

"Thank you," thanks Steve.

"Sure. Enjoy"

Bob leaves again and the black-haired man notices how he talks to the man at the cash register, taking off his apron, and then goes to Y/N's table. She smiles shyly at him and he sits next to her, putting his arm behind her shoulder. Bucky watches this scene in front of him with jealousy.

She was his wife. His Y/N.

"Bucky, are you sure you're okay? You seem angry" Natasha points out, stroking his hand. But he feels a different sensation, comparing it to when Y/N used to do it.

Bucky nods curtly.

"Why do you keep asking me if I'm okay?" He takes a French fry and bites into it. "I'm clearly okay!"

Bucky turns to look at the table and sees how the boys from the other table start walking towards the exit. He notices how Bob leaves his hand on Y/N's lower back and gets up from the table.

"Hey!" They turn to see him. He is frozen in place as he reacts without thinking. Y/N frowns holding Bob's hand.

"Um, the burger was good" he says in an attempt to save himself "Thank you".

John, Yelena and Ava laugh watching the reaction he had. Bob nods his head, looking at him strangely.

"You're welcome?"

Bucky stands for a few seconds before Natasha tugs at his jacket, asking him to sit down. The black-haired man watches as the other group leaves the restaurant, ignoring the rest's eyes on him.

"What is wrong with you?" The redhead asks him.

"Buck, you're acting strange" Sam says.

That's it. Strange.

Stephen could help him.

Bucky gets up again and hurries to chase the group.

"Sorry, i don't feel so good"

Bucky rushes out hearing the screams of his friends behind him, but he doesn't care.

He is a few meters away from Y/N who hugs Yelena, Ava and John goodbye. Those three go their separate ways, while Y/N returns to Bob's arms, who takes her cheeks and kisses her sweetly. Y/N hugs him around the waist and Bob imprisons her against him with his arms.

Bucky feels something in his chest and thinks about the wrong decision he made. He would have to be the one to kiss her. She married him. With Bucky she had a family. With her he had everything.

"Strange. Damn Strange, I need you to help me" he whispers.

"I told you the consequences and you still accepted," Strange says, seriously. "Just like everyone else."

Bucky sighs angrily and waves his hands in exasperation. "Yes, i know. But I regret this. I want to go back to my stupid job, see my son Theo again and meet my son who is on the way. And Y/N...." he whispers hurt "My Y/N"

Stephen shakes his head in dissaproval.

"Humans are all the same. They have everything in their hands and it's still not enough," he reflects. Bucky feels the desperation for his body "I can take you back, but not to go back. But so that you can see and learn from your own mistake"

Bucky nods desperate.

Strange snapped his fingers, and the go back to where it all started.

His house.

It's the same as when he left.

Only the yard is with more flowers and toys scattered around. Bucky felt the urge to pick everything up and wondered since when they had so many flowers. Y/N had told him how much she wanted to plant roses for the garden, but Bucky never liked the idea. Now there were flowers.

Bucky walks to the door and Stephen's voice stops him.

"Don't hurry," he says. "No one will be able to see us, so it's better if you come with me."

Bucky follows him and they enter the house, where the aroma of home-cooked food fills his nostrils. His eyes light up as he sees a child painting on the floor. His adorable face rises when he hears the keys to the door.

"Mom, daddy is here!" he exclaims. The next thing he sees surprises Bucky.

"Champion! I missed you so much!" Bob exclaims, receiving the child in his arms.

The black-haired man's face falls as soon as he sees Y/N receive him in her arms and kiss him lovingly. Like she did with him.

"Are you hungry?" she asks.

"I'm starving," he says over his lips. And he plays a little longer without his little son hearing "Maybe later you could give me my favorite dessert."

Y/N laughs sheepishly and punches him in the arm.

"Dad" his son intervenes. Bob ruffles his hair.

“Wait, why isn’t Y/N pregnant here?” Stephen looks down in shame.

"Today they are supposed to do it so that Y/N gets pregnant with a girl."

Bucky chokes a sob. Y/N always wanted two kids: a boy and a girl.

Bucky remembers that he wasn't all that excited to have a second child. He thought it was already a lot of responsibility with Theo, and a second would be chaotic.

But she looked so happy here.

"I guess I'm not coming back here, am I?" Strange nods.

"It was my decision. And I have to face it like a man," Bucky says. He sighs and looks one last time at the scene in front of his eyes. "He won't hurt her like I hurt her, right?"

Strange denies. "It wouldn't cross Bob's mind to change anything about his life with Y/N, here. It's more than enough"

And with that Bucky leaves with Strange feeling like a sword is stabbed into his chest.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #fanfic #marvel #bob reynolds x reader #angst #bucky barnes angst

89 notes · View notes

absolutebl · 2 days ago

Text

This Week in BL - Mame is fielding one of my favorite shows, what is the world coming to?

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

(This was gonna be ready yesterday and then I realized I'd missed 2. Sigh. I'm doing well.)

Feb 2025 Week 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

ThamePo (Fri YT) ep 10 of 12 - SHUT UP. I love them more than anything. I love how nervous and hesitant Thame was the next morning. Def the younger boy who bagged the experienced older dude. This show makes me go “aww” a lot. I do hate this part of the plot though. Because I loathe parasocial fandoms with every fiber of my being and this is why.

The Boy Next World (Sun IQIYI) ep 6 of 10 - The plot has gone wildly off the rails, like into Days of Our Lives waffle iron territory. It is utterly absurd. But I'm still watching it.

The Heart Killers (Weds Gaga) ep 12 end - I love Style so much. The perfect Brat but he is playing Petruchio not the shrew! Ironic and very kinky twist on the original. I also love how most BLs are like “we’re gonna separate them for 2-5 years in the final ep” and Kant & Style were all “fuck that noise.”

Summary

Jojo directs this action romcom about assassin brothers (Khao & Joong) meets tattoo artist ex-booster (First) and very flirty mechanic (Dunk) conmen. I dithered over how to rate this. It felt like an 8 show wearing a 9’s britches. There were dropped threads, forgotten characters, and unfinished plot lines even with a particularly long run time. And, for me, it doesn’t have significant rewatch potential. But it was fun (when one applies no expectations or logic) and I enjoyed the wildly unhinged relationships and, weirdly, music. I mean nobody claimed that we needed Taming of the Shrew only with gay Thai hitman, but we really needed it. And no one asked for Petruchio as the gayest brat ever to strut his perfect skin and copped-top across our screen, and yet we loved him for it. Sure it didn’t make sense, was utterly absurd, but it was terribly earnest and sexy about it. IN the end this goes hand-in-hand with all these other absurd crime pieces we’ve been getting since KP, and frankly I like this one the best from Thailand so far. 9/10 but I’m slightly uncomfortable with that decision.

Perfect 10 Liners (Sun YT) ep 16 of 24 - It’s cute. They were cute. I enjoyed it. But I am still mostly just looking forward to the next couple.

Sangmin Dinneaw (Sun iQIYI) ep 7-8 end - I forgot to watch this one for over a week, goes to show how engaged I am. Anygay, ep 7 amnesia trope is ago. A lot the ep was fuss in hospitals so I went ahead and watched the finale as well. It was fine.

Conclusion

Given its charmingly simple premise and a solid lead pair, this could’ve been quite an tidy little BL, but it went all weird and slapstick and overtly sexual (and I enjoy high heat). It was a little bit like YYY meets modern Thai BL but mixed with early Japanese pinks. All very strange. I ended up being half bored half annoyed half confused half embarrassed. And if that’s too many halves for you, now you know how I felt. 5/10

Flirt Milk (Sat YT) ep 4 or 10 - Umm plot? Where are you?

Ossan‘s Love Thailand (Mon YouTube) ep 6 of 12 - Workplace harassment, form of... Thai BL.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

When it Rains it Pours (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 6 of 10 - Is the live-in boyfriend meant to be perceived as a psychopath or just a controlling monster? I love how blunt Sei was with him. Such and honest little bean. Ah, controlling monster. Well, I really hope they can resolve this in the final episode. Despite all of the pain I’m enjoying it, it's being true to itself.

This is JBL doing its thing and toeing the Tokyo in April party line. I don't know why anyone would expect anything different. Go watch Eternal Yesterday and drink me later. This is what Japan DOES with BL at least half the time. The more JBL we get, the more of this kind of show we get with it. It's a numbers game - just add bruises.

Heart Stain (Korea Weds IQIYI) eps 3-4 of 8 - I have to admit that the only reason I even tolerate love triangles as a trope is because of K-dramas. But I still don’t like it. That said, I do like all of the honesty and conflict that's built into this story and frankly dealt with because of the trope. And I love how massive Woohyeon is so baby girl. The lap sitting was extremely cute. The teacher finding them lap sitting was also cute. And the handhold drag afterwards was cutest. The whole scene was adorable.

FC Soldout (Korea Thurs iQIYI) eps 5-6 of 8 - Tiny idiots. Every. Single. One. (@heretherebedork you must be loving these boys.) Give me a sec to talk to a character: Captain. Sweetcheeks. You know there are better ways to exhaust your adorable boy-toy late at night than forcing him to do physical labor, right? Or, at least, not that kind of physical labor.

Eternal Butler (Taiwan Fri Gaga) eps 9 of 12 - Oooo. emotional Ever 4. Poor baby. I did want to see him kick ass. Hopefully that’s the beginning of next week’s episode.

Impression of Youth (Taiwan Weds Viki) eps 6 of 9 - Very little happened in this episode. Lots of flashbacks. And stuff we’ve already seen.

Fight for Love (Vietnam YT) ep 2 - Ooo 2 timing? Coils within coils, tongues within tongues, my goodness these boys are getting around. It’s all very messy gay drama llama ding dong but... comedy. It’s a new one on me. But sooner that than Thailand’s Only Friends version.

Exclusive Love (Taiwan Fri Gaga) eps 1-2 of 12 - Shy aspiring singer inherits funeral business. Nice to have something more from Taiwan to watch. But this is extremely odd, and somewhat extreme behavior, given the premise. That is a lot of personnel and sunglasses just for one guitar-playing influencer. Even if I agree that he shouldn’t be allowed to play. Surreal that it’s a mafia funeral business, although I suppose it makes sense. It’s not creepy, but the creep-factor is high with this show. It's also v thirsty already. I kind of like the sides, but they seem to be in a different BL. So far, mostly whiplash but I'm not mad about it.

Checkered Shirt (Korea YT) ep 2 of 8 - It remains awkward and cute, but a little boring for a short.

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 19 of 20 - Today in: how to tell your suicidal stepbro you wanna d**k him out.

It's airing but......

Gelboys (Thai Weds iQIYI) ep 1 of 7 - I’m immediately terrified by the fact that he’s carrying a guitar around. It’s slow with that dirty gritty high school authenticity thing from OG Love Sick. Which is not my favorite style of any show, let alone BL. I always get Kids PTSD. I think I’m gonna give this show a pass. It’s just too far out of my wheelhouse. I don’t have patience for this right now.

The Last Time (Thai WeTV) trailer - from 2024, not sure about this one, looks dark. Since it's also difficult for me to get hold of I am giving it a pass until I know about the ending.

Speaking of which...

In Case You Missed it

I Will Turn Back Time (China Gaga) 6 eps - Spies report it does not end well. Stepbrothers trope = yeah! but all other messaging = boo. I'm not gonna bother.

End of year wraps are here!

2024 Trend Report

MY BEST & WORST BLs of 2024

Best Kisses (and sex scenes) of 2024

BL's 2024 Quirky Awards

2024 Awards - Quick Picks

Next Week Looks Like This:

2/21 Bali Hai (Thailand ????) no MDL listing, only rumors, unsure on deets.

2/27 Secret Relationships (Korea iQIYI) - Stars Wei's Kim Jun Seo. Adapted by Cradle Studio (Kakao). About clever and resourceful Daon who has worked hard to overcome being poor. His cheap ways annoy his coworker, Sunghyeon but after “an incident” with his parents, Daon grows closer to him. But Daon also has feelings for his former tutor. This has the signs of a classic Kdrama all over it: Office setting, love triangle, lead suffering for his self-actualization. I’m optimistic about a longer treatment.

2025 Line Up

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 1

BL Announced for 2025 - PART 2

20 BLs Announced for 2025 That I'm Really Excited About

GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENT

Got nothing. Frankly you're lucky this came in a somewhat timely manner, with any screen caps at all. It's chaos 'round these parts.

(last week)

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

90 notes · View notes

27spoons · 23 hours ago

Text

CRUSH | ACT TWO: IF YOU'RE TOO SHY (LET ME KNOW)

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: Two weeks since the night at the party, you find yourself at Natalie's side, again. Nothing ever seems to go wrong when you're together.

wc: 5970

warnings: mentions of drug usage, threatening behaviour, mentions of violence (nothing actually depicted), lowkey some spiraling thoughts towards the end

a/n: i have angst in my pants! sorry this took so long lmao I'm a chronic procrastinator

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT TWO: RIBS

NEXT - ACT TWO: SMOKE SIGNALS

"We're gonna get stabbed." Are the first words out of your mouth when you turn down a very… unbecoming street.

"We are not gonna get stabbed." Nat snorts, flicking out her switchblade, "If anyone is doing the stabbing, it'll be me." She makes some stabbing motions for effect, her grin wide and goofy at the sound of your laughter.

You two have been hanging out more frequently since that night at the party, and it's been easier than expected. You aren't sure if she feels bad for flirting so aggressively, feels bad for ignoring you the entire party, or something else entirely, but it's been nice getting to know Nat.

"You know, that is not as comforting as you think it would be." You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth tug upward in a small smile. "Because nothing says 'safe' like my friend waving a knife around while we walk down a sketchy street."

"Friend?" She echoes, raising an eyebrow and twirling the blade once before closing it with a satisfying click. "That what we're calling this now?"

A scoff leaves your mouth in an attempt to hide the blush that's appeared on your cheeks, "Well, I don't know. What else would I call it?"

She shrugs, shoving the knife back into her pocket. "I dunno. Just feels weird to hear someone like you call me a friend."

"Someone like me?"

Nat shoots you a look, "See, I know you're smart. So why you're playing dumb…" She trails off, and you roll your eyes. "Whatever. Here we are, anyways."

A beat passes before curiosity gets the best of you as you walk past the third building with boards in the windows, "Speaking of… where is here?"

She nods towards a gap in the chainlink fence that looks like it's been cut open with bolt cutters, "Just trust me, Princess."

You aren't sure when you started trusting her. Maybe it was that night she walked you home, and you had an epiphany. Maybe it was the Monday after the party when she showed up at your locker with a cup of hot coffee and acted like it was no big deal. Maybe it was when she started texting you memes at ungodly hours of the night with dumb captions. Or, maybe… it's simply been building over the course of the two weeks since that party.

Whenever it started, you're grateful that it did. Your friends have started telling you that you've been more confident recently, and your parents have noticed that you've been coming home later after school than usual and on days that you'd usually come straight home. They haven't asked why, but even if they did, you'd probably just tell them you've been spending it in the library.

Well… you're pretty far from the library right now, aren't you?

"Hey," Nat cuts off your train of thought, "You're being quiet. Thinking about me?" She teases, bumping your shoulder before moving the chainlink to the side.

"Thinking about how you still haven't told me where we're going," you shoot back, hoping it's enough to convince her that you were not, in fact, thinking about her.

"Why would I tell you when you can just see?" She shoots you a wide grin, "We're almost there. C'mon."

You make a noise of disagreement as you move through the hole, Nat following close behind you.

"I'm really hoping this isn't all part of a long scheme to murder me."

"Oh, trust me." The blonde chuckles as she starts walking down the makeshift path that's begun to form in the ground, "If I wanted to kill you, I would've done it that night we went to the skatepark. Or the night I walked you home. Or any of the occasions I've had you alone. Spending more time with you is a terrible way to draw attention to myself, Princess." She turns her head to look at you, "You've been around me often enough—have you not learned anything?" Nat clicks her tongue and turns her head back.

"No. I don't pay attention to your delinquent activities, Natalie." You grin, taking a few quick strides to catch up with her.

"Oh, yeah?" She shoots a smirk at you that has you almost tripping over a rock, "Well. We're just gonna have to start spending more time together then, Princess."

Natalie doesn’t wait for you to respond. She strides ahead, her boots crunching against the gravel path as if she knows you’ll follow. And you do—because, of course, you do.

You sigh (although it's more of a huff, really) at her comment and continue to trail slightly behind her. "We already spend far too much time together." A beat of silence and a low laugh from Nat prompts you to keep talking, “Are you actually going to tell me where we’re going, or is this another one of those ‘just trust me’ things?”

The blonde shoots you an infuriating grin over her shoulder, continuing those long strides. “It’s always ‘just trust me,’ Princess. Keeps you on your toes.” She turns around to face you, walking backwards. "Plus, surprises are fun, yeah?"

A huff escapes your lips at that comment, "First of all, you're gonna walk backwards into a tree. Second off, I hate surprises." You cross your arms defiantly, "I thought you knew this by now."

"If you hate surprises, you sure keep picking the wrong person to hang out with." She sidesteps a tree behind her without even thinking about it—like she's taken this path enough to know it like the back of her hand, and she probably has. "Because I am just full of surprises. Shit, you still got a bunch more just… waiting to be uncovered. Like Pandora's Box!"

"...isn't Pandora's Box mostly bad things?"

Nat nods in agreement to your statement, that dumb grin reappearing on her face. "Yep. Released evil into the world, or something." A dismissive wave of her hand, "But it's the curiosity that kills. And we both know you are very curious, Princess."

You huff, glancing away briefly in an attempt to hide the blush that burns up your neck at the tone she uses, "I don't—" Another huff, "Whatever. What's your point, Natalie?"

She shrugs, spinning back around to keep walking, "Nothin', nothin'. Just wondering how bad it's killing you right now to not know where we're going."

The scoff that leaves your lips is far too forced to escape the notice of the girl walking in front of you, and you can almost imagine the grin on her face as you reply, "Not that much."

Nice. You sound like a whiny child. Good on you, really showing her.

"Sure, sure," Nat says, pushing some overgrown bush out of her path. "C'mon. Almost there. Promise."

You follow her through the bush, almost getting smacked in the face with a branch when you lose your attention for half a second, but successfully make it out unscathed, and you find yourself standing in front of what looks like an abandoned house. The white paint has long since peeled away, revealing weathered and rotted wood underneath. With the way the windows are bordered up, door hangs half-open in the wind, and roof looks half-caved in, you're starting to wonder if you were right about the whole 'her murdering you' thing.

"I can't remember if my tetanus shot is up to date…" You murmur as you carefully step over a broken bottle, a far contrast to how Nat is walking right now, all confidence and swagger. You'd be lying if you said you didn't envy the air of it that she seems to carry with her at all times.

Nat laughs lowly at the comment, shaking her head as she approaches the front steps to the house, "Never gotten one, and I've been fine so far." She briefly glances at you and gestures to the steps, "Watch your footing. It's rotting. Step on the spots that look dry."

You cringe at the comment about the steps rotting and watch carefully which parts she presses on. "I'm starting to think you have a thing for sketchy places."

"Yeah, well." She shrugs and stops the front door from clattering against the frame, "They’re quieter than most places, y’know? No one bothers you out here.”

"That's because no one wants to come out here."

"Exactly." As you carefully walk up the stairs, she grins at you, "You're getting it, Princess. Pick the places people don't want to come, and you won't be bothered."

Despite the steps protesting with every step you take, you make it to the top without falling through a rotten wooden plank. Nat gestures for you to enter first, which makes you hesitate for a few seconds, but you ultimately enter before she does.

The interior is… not terrible, surprisingly. Sure, it's abandoned and worn down, but it doesn't smell like death, and the grattifi on the walls gives the place some weird charm.

Nat drops her bag on the ground and stretches, cracking her neck. "Welcome to the 'Not-A-Crack-Den' Crack Den."

You stare blankly at her, blinking a few times. "The… 'Not-A-Crack-Den' Crack Den." You parrot, nodding slightly. "Right. That is… very reassuring, Nat. Thanks so much."

She grins at you as a particularly satisfying crack from her lower back sounds, "What can I say? I pick good names for things." A beat passes before she glances around, gesturing toward a few crates pushed up against a wall with peeling paint, "C'mon, sit. Promise you won't get stabbed by a shard of broken glass or whatever." With a grunt, she hoists herself onto one of the crates, nodding towards one pushed against an adjacent wall.

With great trepidation, you drop your backpack onto the crate before moving to sit on it, glancing down at the dirty floor before meeting her gaze again. "So…" You trail off, waiting for her to tell you why she brought you here.

"So…?" Nat repeats back, glancing at you with a curious expression as she pulls out her pack of smokes, tapping it on her wrist a few times before opening it up. "You gonna finish that thought, or just waiting for me to speak?"

A huff leaves your lips as you cross your arms, "No, well, yes, but—" You groan and rest your head against the wall behind you, "I just… why show me this place?"

Nat scowls to herself at your comment, clearly taking some form of offense to it. "What? Don't want me showing you my hangout spots anymore? Because I don't have to. We can go back to sitting around the school or the skatepark."

"No, no, wait, that wasn't what I meant. I just meant that—" You cut yourself off with a sigh, clearly just as terrible with words as she is. "Like… why this spot in particular? Just… uh… curious. Is all. Sorry. I didn't mean to…" You let yourself trail off again and rub a hand over the back of your neck in frustration at yourself and lack of proper communication skills.

Cigarette smoke fills the room around you as Nat puffs on the end of a Marlboro Red, a sigh leaving her lips at your words. "No, I…" She scowls again, but this time more to herself than you. "I just wanted to bring you to another one of my spots, is all." She feigns nonchalance, but you can almost physically see the underlying sincerity behind her words.

"Oh." You say quietly, not quite sure how to respond to that.

The silence blooms between the two of you for a moment as Nat pulls drag after drag from her smoke, clearly also unsure where to go from here.

Eventually, it's clear Nat can't take the silence anymore, and she speaks again with a low grumble, "Don't you have… like… your sketchbook or whatever?" She grunts and stubs the smoke out on the crate before flicking the butt to the ground. "You can, like, draw some inspiration from this place or whatever."

That, surprisingly… isn't the worst idea.

So, you unzip your backpack, pull out a pencil alongside your sketchbook and flip open to a fresh page. An unsure sigh leaves your lips as you glance around the decrepit house, a slight frown tugging at the corner of your lips. "I mean… it's definitely… atmospheric? I guess?"

A scoff parts from Nat's lips as she crosses her arms and leans back against the wall, "Atmospheric?" She chews on the word for a moment, "So… fancy art school talk for 'kinda shitty,' yeah?"

Your frown deepens for a moment before you realise she's just fucking with you, and you roll your eyes as a smile finds its way onto your lips. "No, I mean it. It's… abandoned, but not… forgotten?" You muse, tapping your pencil on the page, "Like there's still some life left in it."

"Shit, Princess." She raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest, "Didn't take you for a poet, too."

"Shut up." You mumble, glancing down to the page as you start sketching the first thing that comes to mind: Nat.

By now, she's pulled out another cigarette (because, of course, she has). She's idly smoking it as her attention shifts between her phone and you, seemingly just enjoying being in your presence without worrying about ulterior motives.

The first thing you sketch is how she holds it between her fingers, loosely but firmly enough that it won't slip from her them—an interesting juxtaposition, you think. Something about it feels similar to her character, in a way. Regardless, you choose not to linger too long on the thought.

With the general shape of her hand done—slightly soft but still with visible definition—you start focusing on the finer details. The way her nails are cut so short you can't see the white tips on the ends of them. The slight boniness she has on the knuckles of her fingers. The rings she wears—mismatched with different shapes and colours. The prominent bones of her ring and middle fingers that appear when her hand flexes as she returns the butt of the cigarette between her parted lips.

This brings you to the next thing you draw—how her lips wrap around the end. Soft and full but chapped. You imagine she's the type to lose every chapstick she's ever had.

You get so lost in this daze of sketching her features, the features that a part of you wishes you could learn more intimately, that you barely even notice Nat hopping off of her crate and walking up towards you, leaning forward to look at your page.

"Whatcha drawing?" She asks, peering over your shoulder to get a better look.

Her sudden appearance shocks you slightly, and you can't help it when you jump and almost send your pencil flying across the room. "Oh, uh!" shit. "I was just, uh, drawing, uh, the—"

"Ho-ly shit. This is wicked." She grins toothily, taking a long glance at the page that you fail to hide from her gaze, "I think you were drawing me, Princess." She points to the small sketch of the cigarette between her lips, "You even got the teeth right. Nice to see you aren't just turning me into a Barbie." Nat slaps your shoulder with her hand as she properly looks at your work once you stop attempting to hide it. "It's good. Real good." Her voice lowers to something more genuine and soft, mirroring the way her expression shifts. "It's, uh, nice. Seriously."

Your face heats up at the compliments, quickly turning your attention away from her. "You're only saying that because you don't know anything about art."

Nat hums, considering that. "Maybe. But I know what I like." She taps the page with her index finger, "And I like this."

A mumble leaves your lips, something that sounds like a meek 'thanks,' but it's quickly becoming clear that the smoker isn't done yet. "I don't show people my spots, you know? Most of the time, they either ruin it or just… don't get it."

A beat passes before you glance back up at her, "I… you think I get it, then?"

She meets your gaze, her expression shifting into something you can't quite place, and leans in slightly. "I think you get a lot of things about me that other people don't."

You swear time pauses, but that could very well just be your heart ceasing its beating, but the moment is gone all too quickly when you hear the creaking of wood and hushed chatters of… what sounds like a group of men.

"Fuck." Nat hisses, immediately pulling back and darting her eyes towards the door, "I didn't fucking think we'd have company right now. Shit."

You shake your head in confusion, "Wait, wait, company? Other people come here, then? Should I be—" Your words are cut off abruptly when a trio of men step into the house one by one.

The first one, evidently the leader, sports a battered leather jacket and stone-washed jeans. His dark unkempt hair frames a crooked scar that stretches from the corner of his left eye to the bridge of his nose.

A low laugh spills from his lips when his steely eyes land on Nat, and the grin that splits his features is nothing short of feral. "Oh, shit! Scatorccio! Was wondering when we'd see you again."

Nat scowls at him, one of her hands reaching to rest on the handle of her pocket knife by habit. "Denny." She spits, "I was wondering when you'd end up dead. Shame it hasn't happened yet." The venom that drips from her words makes you shrink into yourself, genuinely surprised to hear her speaking with such a tone when she's been mostly calm with you.

The man, Denny, laughs again and scratches his chin as he speaks, "Yeah, bet you'd like that. Would be real convenient for you."

He's about to keep speaking when one of his goons—a shorter man who honestly looks twelve—nudges him and points to you, sitting idly on your crate, sketchbook clenched tightly in fear.

"Oh, shit." Denny takes a step in your direction, and Nat's hand tightens around the handle of her blade, but she makes no effort to step in his way. "When did you start hanging around the…" He gestures vaguely to you and your form, "Loser type?"

A laugh spills from his lips, immediately echoed by the two men standing in his shadow, and this time, Nat does step forward. "Who the fuck I hang out with is none of your business, Denny." Her eyes flash to the man who nudged him, "At least I pick the ones that don't act like they need to fucking live in my shadow, Jackson."

Jackson, you assume, scowls at Nat but doesn't bite back with a comment of his own.

Denny’s grin falters ever so slightly, a shadow passing over his features as his eyes dart toward Nat. "Careful, Scatorccio. Wouldn’t want you getting too comfortable running your mouth, yeah? Might get you into trouble."

Nat scowls at him again, "I don't give a shit where my mouth gets me, Dennis. I've spent more than a few nights behind bars. I'll do it again."

The man chuckles, but it’s colder now, devoid of humour. "Right, right. That's real cute, Scatorccio. But we both know I'm not talking about being in a prison cell. What's it been now, huh? A month? Two?" He tsks and shakes his head, "I'm keeping track. Are you?"

You see the way Nat tightens her jaw at the comment, "I don't owe you shit."

Denny—Dennis?—lets out another cruel laugh, "See, that's the funny thing about debts, yeah?" He takes a step towards her and, by extension, you. "They don't just… handle themselves. And your old man… well, I don't see him handling them anymore. Not that he ever really did, anyway." He spits on the ground as he looks towards you, nodding his head in your direction. "Say, your little friend here know about daddy's little tab? Or you keepin' that piece of information to yourself?"

"This isn't about her." She says immediately, "Leave her out of it. This is about us."

"Mm, no." He shakes his head, "I think you got things mixed up here. You brought her here, so now she's involved. You know we like to come 'round here. You seriously telling me it's such a shock we did?" He scoffs and crosses his arms, "But hey, I’m a reasonable guy. You hand over what you owe—or come up with a reason for me to walk out of here without making a mess—and maybe we won’t have to get anyone else involved."

Nat stands her ground, but the way her fingers curl tighter around the knife’s handle tells you just how thin the ice is beneath her. You catch her glancing at you out of the corner of her eye, and the faintest trace of panic flickers across her face.

Which, in turn, makes you panic. Not that you weren't already, but it becomes far more visible on your features now.

"You should leave." Nat mumbles to you, nodding her head to a rear door, "You shouldn't have to be involved in my shit."

Seeing Nat's head move, Denny nudges the remaining unnamed man who came in with him, and the guy heads towards the rear exit. "Nah. We're here, and we're gonna work somethin' out. Ain't that right, boys?" The two men nod their heads, and the one that looks like a literal child cracks his knuckles, and although it really isn't that menacing, it scares you all the same.

"So," Denny speaks after a moment, clearing his throat as his grin returns, "what's happening, Scatorccio? 'cus I doubt you got the cash on you to pay this off right now."

Nat fidgets, eyes darting between you and him nervously. "I told you I was working on it." She mumbles under her breath, which earns her a cruel laugh from Denny.

"Yeah, and you've had two months to work on it, sweetheart." The pet name comes out as an insult, and the unnamed man snorts at the use of it. "And, honestly? I'm done fucking waiting for you to pay up. I'm a reasonable man, Natalie, but even I have my fucking limits."

The blonde swallows nervously, knowing damn well she's outnumbered and you are far from a fighter, so she removes her hand from the handle of her blade and tentatively approaches Denny, speaking low enough that you can only make out a handful of words, most of which are swears.

It's a solid two minutes of them talking, and you trying not to actively have a panic attack with the way the other two men are looking at you before Denny claps his hands and steps back from Nat.

"I expect you to be there, Scatorccio. If you aren't?" He clicks his tongue, "I think that I'll be paying the trailer a visit next time. Maybe say hi to Vera, yeah?"

Nat doesn't say anything back to that as the men filter out of the house, but it's more than clear that she's shaken from the encounter.

She doesn't face you again for thirty seconds after they leave, and she can't meet your eyes when she does. You see her jaw set uncomfortably tense, and her eyes flicker from point to point, but never to yours.

"Nat…" You trail off, not even noticing that you've clenched your notebook so tight that the page has started to rip, "Who… who were those guys? What… debt?"

"It's none of your business." She snaps immediately, eyes meeting yours now, "You weren't supposed to see or hear any of that. Just wrong place at the wrong time."

"But I have seen it." You murmur, glancing away from her and down to the ripped page, "I just… I don't know what it means—"

"And you won't." She cuts you off, "Because this point of conversation won't ever be brought up again, yeah? A one-time thing."

You frown and stand up from the crate, still clenching the book tightly. "It didn't seem like a one-time thing—"

"Drop it." Nat says, her jaw tightening.

"But I can't." You shoot back before you can stop the words spilling from your lips. You take a shaky breath, and everything you just witnessed is sinking in. "I can’t just pretend I didn’t see that, Nat. They… they threatened you. Your mom.” Your voice cracks slightly, but you push through. “And I have no idea what the hell is going on, but I care about you, okay? I can’t just let it go."

She laughs, cruel and sardonic. "Care about me? You don't fucking know me. You don't know shit. All you think you know is what you've pieced together from a few hangouts and some rumours. That's it."

“That’s not fair,” you counter, your voice rising slightly. “you don’t let anyone know you, Nat! You hide behind all this—this bullshit bravado and sarcasm because you think it’s easier than letting someone in.”

"Yeah?" Nat sneers, her voice cutting through the stale air surrounding you, "Well, maybe it is. Maybe it's easier to keep people like you at arm's length so I don't have to deal with… shit like this." She gestures between you, movements sharp and erratic, "You don't want to be a part of this world, Princess," The pet name rolls off her tongue in a way that makes you cringe and recoil into yourself, the once gentle name being used as something far more cruel, "so stop trying to be."

"You don't get to decide that for me!" You finally snap, stepping towards her in frustration as you throw your sketchbook down onto the crate you were sitting on, "I'm standing right here, Nat! I'm not going anywhere. And, yeah. Maybe I don't know everything about you. But I want to!"

Her breath catches slightly at your words, and for a brief moment, the mask she wears slips. But it’s back just as quickly, replaced with a hardened expression as she hisses, “You’re wasting your time.”

"Maybe." You murmur, taking another tentative step towards her, "But I don't think you get to decide that for me."

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Nat doesn't move, eyes boring into yours, and for a long moment, you worry she's going to say something scalding or just leave; the distance between the two irreparable.

But, then, she's moving, crossing the short distance between the two of you in a single stride. Her hands grip your arms, both firm and uncertain, and before you can process what’s happening, her lips crash against yours.

You have no idea what's happening if you're being honest. Sure, you've had a few kisses before, but they have been like this. This passionate and intense, this filled with emotion.

Nat kisses you with an urgency you've come to expect from her, and she doesn't half-ass anything; it's all or nothing, and this is no different.

At least, at first.

Then, she realises that you aren't kissing her in return, and she releases her hold on you, stumbling back a few steps and swiping at her mouth.

Silence blossoms again as you stand there and stare at her, lips still tingling from the sudden crash of hers against yours, and you stare at her with your jaw slack. You aren't sure if you're even breathing at this point. Everything feels like it's balancing on a knife edge, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Fuck!” She hisses under her breath, raking her hands through her hair. “Why the fuck did I—God, why are you like this?”

You blink and shake your head a few times, still in shock, but now even more so. "Wait, wait, hold on, what?" Finally, when you get your head back on, you only get more confused. "Why am I like this?" You snap at her, expression shifting from surprised to hurt. “Why are you like this, Natalie? One second, you’re—” You cut yourself off, throwing your hands in the air. “You’re impossible!”

Her laugh is sharp and humourless. “Me? I’m impossible?” She takes a step forward, frustration etched into every line of her face. “So what’s the point of you coming out with me if you’re just gonna be a fucking uptight bitch about everything, huh?”

"Wasn't it you that told me I needed to live a little, Natalie?!" You yell back, equally as frustrated. "And wasn't it you that said I should learn to say no?! God, why are you being like this?!"

She scoffs, "Has it occurred to you that maybe I would like you better if you just fuckin' took your clothes off, Princess? Huh?" She takes a step forward, "Even you aren't thick enough to see that I've been flirting with you for weeks."

That stings in a way you weren't expecting it to. You take a momentary step back, face contorting, "Fuck you, Scatorccio." You hiss at her, taking a step forward again and jabbing a finger into her chest, "Has it occurred to you that maybe I would like you better if you actually opened up about shit? Huh? Even you aren't thick enough to see, I've been trying to get you to open up for weeks!" You say, throwing her own words back at her.

"Listen, Princess," She sneers, jabbing her finger in your chest, "I'm just tryna fuck. Maybe you should get that through your fucking skull." But, even as she says it, and as much as the words sting, there's a waver in her voice as she says it like she doesn't really mean it but doesn't know what to say in this situation.

"Well, I'm not. And if that's all you want, then you have the wrong fucking person." You cross your arms defiantly, "You should have known that from the start, burnout."

Natalie's lip twitches in displeasure, but she seems to hesitate before saying whatever she is going to and instead opts to scoff and take a step back. "Whatever, nerd. Have fun with your fucking calculus textbooks and your neat little bubble." Then, she turns around and stalks off, slinging her backpack over her shoulder before burying her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket.

And then she’s gone, turning on her heel and stalking off into the shadows, leaving you standing there, raw and reeling, wondering how the hell it all went so wrong so fast.

You glance around the decrepit house, the air feeling much colder than when Nat was with you. The building no longer feels like there's life left in it—but rather, devoid of it. Empty and barren, mirroring the way you feel right now. You hate the place your thoughts take you to—the dark void that plagues you from time to time.

You look back down at your sketchbook, pages half torn and splayed wildly across the top of the crate you formerly used as a chair, and a shaky, weary sigh leaves you.

Gingerly, trying to stop the shaking in your hands, you slowly pack up your belongings, actively avoiding the way you etched her likeness into your book (and mind) as you do. Every move you make echoes in the space; the ruffling of pages and closing of your backpack zipper might as well sound like a plane taking off.

You hadn't even spent that long with her today. You two had plans; she said after this that the two of you would go to that diner on fifth that serves breakfast all day. Maybe eat some shitty pancakes and get a milk-stache from a milkshake.

But… the longer you think about it, did she even want that? Did she truly just… want one thing? Did she just see you as a body to use to pass the time with? A fleeting attraction that would fade once she got her fill? Playing the long game, just to see if it changes how the sex is?

Was that all she wanted?

The wooden steps protest under your weight as you leave the house, the wind picking up and pushing the door shut behind you—almost like a metaphor for something you'd rather not think about right now.

Gravel crunches beneath your feet as you step off the rotting porch, the cool evening air biting at your exposed skin. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself, wishing it could shield you from the ache settling deep in your chest.

Your feet carry you, almost on autopilot, down that same path that Nat had taken you through earlier, but it doesn't feel nearly the same. What was once exciting, thrilling, something out of your comfort zone… now just feels like a harsh reminder of what transpired between you. Empty and desolate.

Fuck. When did you become so… tragic?

The streets are quiet. It’s almost eerie, the way the world seems to hum with an indifference that mirrors the hollow ache inside you. Your mind keeps replaying her words, the venom in them, the hurt you saw behind her eyes that she so desperately tried to mask with anger.

Why did it feel like she was pushing you away the second it felt like there would be any form of struggle within your relationship?

Better to hurt than be hurt, you suppose.

You stop under the dim glow of a streetlamp, your breath visible in the cool air. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, startling you from the train of thought you were stuck in. You fish it out, half expecting it to be her, even though you know better. It’s just a notification about some school assignment being due soon—something that feels insanely trivial right now.

Shoving your phone back into your pocket, you continue to let your brain send you down a path of thoughts you really shouldn't be letting it take you down. When she had leaned in earlier, voice uncharacteristically soft, telling you that you understood her in a way that others didn't… for a moment, you believed that maybe this could be something more.

But now? Now, you aren't quite sure what to believe.

You let your feet guide you down streets that are both familiar and foreign, not even registering the houses or buildings you walk past.

Maybe this is who she is, you think. Chaotic, unpredictable, and closed off. And perhaps you can't change that, no matter how much you want to.

Maybe you don't want to. You just want to know why she is the way she is. An insight into the brain of Natalie Scatorccio. Something that people would likely pay to see.

Maybe… maybe she's just scared. Like you, but confronting her fear differently.

When you finally reach your door, you linger on the porch, staring at the peeling paint on the frame and letting the silence stretch. The sound of the Monroe kids across the street playing basketball, the dog tied to the post a few houses down barking, and the wind shaking the leaves in the trees fill your ears and give you some clarity in this strange situation.

By the time you finally crack the front door to your house open, your mother is cooking something over the stove while idly bickering with your father as he leans against the countertop, neither of them noticing your entrance.

You'll eat your food and try to sleep, but realistically, you'll just stare at your ceiling and replay every aspect of your interaction with Nat for hours, and sleep will never come.

Fucking Natalie Scatorccio.

Fuck Natalie Scatorccio.

Fuck Natalie Scatorccio and the way you still fucking care about her.

Fuck.

a/n: man, when i said this chapter would be hard to write, next chapter... oof. next chapter is gonna be heavy in so many different aspects. you will both hate and love me, if you don't already. <3333333333

#natalie scatorccio #nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #nat scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio x you #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #ladles (fics/blurbs)#butter knives (sfw)#crush #from the cutlery drawer

85 notes · View notes

weloveluigi · 1 day ago

Text

My favorite thing about Luigi Mangione is how he refuses to be controlled. How he refuses to be who, and how, and what his family demanded he be. He'd rather have entirely cut his entire life off at the roots than let them hold it over him, use him, make him do what they want. That at as young as six, he was already firm on his decision that he'd never marry a woman who wouldn't love him over something insignificant and petty as 'table manners' even if he was told he'd be alone if he couldn't learn to eat 'properly.'

I strongly relate to that. I send him letters letting him know that he still owes none of his supporters anything either. No matter what they want of him, he is not beholden to their demands or expectations of him. I think my favorite realization I've ever had in my entire life is that I owe absolutely no one anything. Ever since then, the controlling and judgmental people out there go positively nuclear at the mere thought that I exist, and they don't get to control any part of how I do it.

It's spectacular and wonderful.

I don't have to be correct. I don't have to be smart. I don't have to be beautiful. I don't have to learn. I don't have to change. I don't have to walk this way, or dress this way, or behave this way because you want me to. Even if you're extremely mean about how much you want me to. I don't owe you anything. I never will. Someone else's desire to control me is their problem and their problem alone, and may anyone out there who desires to crush another human, continue to suffer only more because of their perpetual inability to accomplish it.

#luigi mangione #luigi #free luigi #mangione

61 notes · View notes

arcticdementor · 14 hours ago

Text

A few key points:

The first is that progressives genuinely don't seem to understand how non-progressives interpret the weird shit they say, and they especially don't seem to understand how people interpret the combination of weird things they say.

At least some of this is down to being in ideological "bubbles," which in turn are at least partially due to having had so much institutional and cultural dominance. ("What's water?" asks the fish.)

They threatened people... somehow without realizing that they threatened people. From their perspective, suddenly a lot of people got very angry, either without explanation, or because they are "selfishly trying to protect their advantage."

This is the bit that really stood out to me on reading this. Part of it connects to my "teacher" analogy, and is partially a product of people who've spent too much time in classrooms, and not enough outside them; people whose experience of the world is 'Teacher tells you the Correct Opinions and you repeat them back, and your grades, and thus success and position, are determined by how quickly and thoroughly you absorb and repeat them.' And then you leave school, and are no longer one of the students… and then you meet someone who clearly doesn't yet know the Correct Opinions… well, that makes you Teacher, doesn't it? And thus, your job is to highlight their many errors in red pen, so they know what they need to fix and learn, no?

And when a teacher tells her student that his work needs to improve, or else she's going to have to give him an 'F,' she's not really threatening him, isn't he? And the student obviously isn't supposed to just get mad at her for "threatening" to flunk him and lash out at her, he's supposed to hit the books, study more, and do better, right?

But beyond this, there was another model that came to mind, that perhaps fits even better, which comes back to the good old Puritan Hypothesis.

Consider a Johnathan Edwards-style Puritan preacher. He spends hours at the pulpit haranguing his parishioners, denouncing them for their manifold sins, and threatening them near-ceaselessly with hellfire and damnation. Did those parishioners get mad at him for threatening them and start arguing? No, quite the opposite:

[B]efore the sermon was done there was a great moaning and crying out through the whole house — "What shall I do to be saved?" "Oh, I am going to hell!" "Oh what shall I do for a Christ?" and so forth — so that the minister was obliged to desist. [The] shrieks and cries were piercing and amazing. After some time of waiting, the congregation were still, so that a prayer was made by Mr. Wheelock, and after that we descended from the pulpit and discoursed with the people, some in one place and some in another. And amazing and astonishing: the power [of] God was seen and several souls were hopefully wrought upon that night, and oh the cheerfulness and pleasantness of their countenances that received comfort. Oh that God would strengthen and confirm [their new faith]! We sang a hymn and prayed, and dispersed the assembly.

That's the intended effect: when threatened, you're supposed to repent your wicked ways.

And imagine, if when that preacher is listing the sins of his flock, and the invoking the eternal fire they deserve to be cast into because of them, a couple of parishioners jump to their feet, enraged, and began haranguing him back, lashing out at him for daring to condemn their fornication, their sloth, their avarice, whatever… then the preacher would be quite shocked, yes? Would anyone in the church expect this outcome? And what else can the preacher take as the motivation for this, except that these sinners are "trying to protect their sins"?

Indeed, this behavior is not that of a member of the church… it's that of an unbeliever. It is the behavior of an outright heathen. And historically, what happens when the missionaries of universalizing, evangelizing religions with strong institutions — including state institutions — at their back meet such? What happens when the heathens resist conversion. Because (as we can see, for example, in the spread of Christianity into "pagan" Europe) it's one thing when someone is an unbeliever because they certainly haven't heard the Good News yet; those people just need to be evangelized and educated, after which they'll see the light. It's another thing if, after they've been repeatedly sermonized and informed of the One True Faith, and they knowingly and willingly reject it, and stop listening to the sermons; perhaps even try to stop the missionary from continuing to preach it. Because that's where sword and fire come in.

Because "universal human rights" are universal. If you have the Objectively Correct Morality that applies to all people and all places, then aren't you obligated to enforce it on all people everywhere? "An injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere," and so on.

Pascal-Emmanuel Gobry was on Auron MacIntyre's show recently, and at one point, to explain why federalism is dead, recounts an anecdote about a time he met Chris Hayes:

I had this conversation with him, and I said, well, look, why don't we do this, like, y'know, New York and California get to be super-communist, and in exchange, Texas and — well, back then Florida was a purple state — but Texas and Alabama get to… whatever. And I will never forget his response. He said no, because it would mean that somewhere, someone in America would get paid less than minimum wage.

(Emphasis added.)

That "So all we can do is try to crush them" bit in the screenshot is a crusader for the One True Faith coming to grips with the reality of unrepentant heathens whom no number of sermons will convert. Because indeed: "What other options are there?" As Auron said in response to the above:

Right, he needs to conquer the world. His only solution is to conquer everybody and rule them.

Nobody anywhere has the right to violate Universal Human Rights. There are no exceptions or escape from Objectively Correct Morality. (Consider what the Torah says about peoples who refuse to obey the Noahide laws, and what is to be done about them.) You're not allowed to reject the One True Faith. There is no right to be "a -phobe or an -ist."

Error has no rights.

They don't seem to understand that anyone is or was trying to negotiate with them.

Because they don't see it as a negotiation. One does not "negotiate" with the tenets of the One True Faith — that's pretty much the definition of "non-negotiable." Nor, to go to the other analogy, does a teacher "negotiate" with their students as to the curriculum, and to which test answers are correct. We all should know by now that when certain kinds of people say that "we need to have a discussion" on a topic, what they mean is that they get to lecture you, and you're supposed to shut up and listen. This isn't a negotiation, this is Teacher educating you, the student, in what the Correct Answers are. This is the Experts telling all the ignorant non-experts how it's going to be. They are Officially Correct, and if you disagree, then you're the problem that needs to be fixed.

I've made a comparison to the strategies of "woke Hollywood" recently elsewhere, in that it's 'if our customers don't like and aren't buying what we're selling them, then it's they who are the problem, not our product, and we'll lecture them and call them bigots until they shape up.' Blame your audience. You don't need to change, they do.

In the recent back-and-forth reaction-to-reaction-videos over on YouTube between Shoe0nHead and a bunch of other lefties, she more than once made comments about how you blame poor election results on the party, not voters; parties are not owed people's votes, they have to earn them. To which various others all replied, no, if people don't like Democrat candidates or policies… don't blame the party, blame the voters. The party doesn't need to change its platform to suit the voters, the voters need to be changed to suit the party. One even admitted that the current Democratic party is offering nothing to many demographics… only to argue that it's still their obligation to "vote blue no matter who" anyway. The Democratic party is entitled to your vote, and if you fail to perform that duty, then you're the problem, and in need of correction. (Plus, quite a lot about how Corey Comperatore totally deserved to die, because "he was probably a bigot," or "He was at a Hit— a Trump rally" and "a Trump supporter getting shot at a Trump rally is like a Nazi getting shot at a Nazi rally," and so on.)

You don't change your Objectively Correct policies — that are really just basic human decency — to cater to the idiots, the misinformed, and the evil. You explain to the first two groups, and you deal with the third as forcefully as is necessary.

The Democratic base are incredibly loyal, and will routinely defend each element of the combination of positions the Democrats take, either directly, or through denial, or deflection, and so on. They'll defend these positions as though they came from an actual guy.

I'd say more so, even. Because "an actual guy" is a flawed human being, with all his foibles, prejudices, self-interest, and so on. As I've discussed here before, a core element of liberalism, classical or otherwise, is that "an actual guy" cannot be trusted with power or leadership; you have to replace his flawed, corruptible human judgement with rules, with an impersonal algorithm. Procedure is better than people, and so a "combination of positions" that occurs through collectively implementing procedures must be superior to one that "came from an actual guy."

This creates the illusion that there is someone in charge of the Democratic coalition, and that his long-term strategic vision is highly authoritarian. The shadow of an absent leader looks way scarier than an actual leader would be.

But here, I'd argue it's scarier for a reason, because as the procedures and algorithms grow… well, I've made analogy to Searle's Chinese Room before. There is something in the room that "understands" Chinese well enough to answer questions in it; only it's not the man, it's the rulebook he's following. If everyone in the coalition is just blindly following procedures and incentives, the incentives having themselves been put in place by following other procedures, and the procedures increasingly created by committees following their own procedures…

…well, on some level, there may well be an actual leader pushing a highly authoritarian vision, only they're, as Benjamin Boyce put it, a distributed non-human intelligence. A (crude) machine mind running on massively-parallel carbon-based hardware.

Thus the current administration's strategy, which could be described as "a financial strategic bombing campaign." It's assumed that moral appeals won't work (because they already didn't), only that "imposing consequences" will work.

Are they wrong?

Of course, since they are attempting to negotiate with someone who doesn't exist, then the damage they cause can't force this asshole to come to the negotiating table; it can only, at most, reduce left-wing organizing power.

You say that as if that latter isn't itself a good thing to pursue, particularly if they can keep it up long term. Indeed, while you might not like such an outcome, I'd be pretty satisfied with grinding left-wing organizing power down to epsilon.

This suggests that the high-conflict equilibrium will continue until an actual leader comes about on the left side, who can negotiate and credibly enforce a new binding agreement.

Or until the above reduction in left-wing organizing power renders the left side so weak, the right no longer has any reason to bother negotiating with it, even if an actual leader emerges.

Honestly the other thing I've gotten from reading the Library of America stuff on slavery and Jim Crow is the extent to which the racist is terrified that someday *he* might be treated like he treats his slaves.

The rhetoric of slave-holders is full of wounded anger that anybody would trample on their freedoms. Racist mobs would rampage through black neighborhoods, and the ostensible spark was that the blacks were about to rebel.

And what is truly remarkable to me is that people can so directly refuse the golden rule, they can become incensed and terrified at the thought that someone else might treat them like they treat others.

And also, in the American case, it really is directly a fear that whites might be treated like blacks were and are.

There's a feverish fear of anti-white racism (and resentment, always resentment) in Republican circles right now, and, like, look, anybody can be racist against anybody else, but the Vice President stepped in to make sure that Marko Elez didn't resign from DOGE after it came out that Elez had posted things like "I was racist before it was cool" and "Normalize Indian Hate" and "You couldn't pay me to marry outside my ethnicity"

The same people who are certain that every diversity statement is coded anti-white race hatred will argue, with a straight face, "Look, you can't assume someone is racist just because they openly call themselves a racist"

A tremendous fear of anti-white race hatred can live side by side with a complete endorsement, or at the very least an utter apathy towards racism aimed outwards at others.

It's a sick, frightening dynamic. It's no way to live.

#long reply #effortposting

183 notes · View notes

crow-quilll · 2 days ago

Note

hii! when are you gonna post chapter 11? i have been waiting impatiently ahhhh

Hello!! So sorry, just finished my last assignment today and NOW I am free from university's evil clutches for a whole week. SO I can say that Chapter 11 for Nobody's Soldier will be out tomorrow :) But as a little treat, here's a taste tester:

(CW!!: Aftermath of torture)

-----

"I lost, Young-il," Gi-hun's voice grows quieter, lower, more vulnerable, "I lost. I- I couldn't last through all of it, I gave the Front Man what he wanted."

He runs his own hands through his hair, resisting the urge to pull at the strands to distract himself from the dull, all-consuming shame.

"And then he came in here and--"

Gi-hun cuts himself off, pressing his lips together as he instantly decides that he can't vocalize what happened next. He just can't. Telling Young-il about the torture was one thing, but telling him how the Front Man hand-fed him stew? How he gently caressed his face and called him "beautiful"?

No. Young-il didn't need to know all of that, he didn't. He would never be able to look at Gi-hun the same again without picturing the Front Man's hand wrapped around his throat, deciding if Gi-hun had behaved well enough to earn the privilege of breathing.

Young-il's hand finds his shoulder gently from behind, "I'm so sorry."

Gi-hun's shoulders lower with a shaking breath out, pulling his hands down from his face, "It doesn't matter, it's over now. We've got more important things to worry about."

"Gi-hun, you are important," Young-il corrects him, forcefully turning him around to see his face, "How do you expect to lead a rebellion if you can barely stand?"

"I can stand just fine," Gi-hun refutes stubbornly as he meets the other's eyes, ignoring the way his entire body trembles from supporting his own weight, "What time is it? How long until lights out?"

"Just stop," Young-il commands firmly, both hands finding the sides of his arms as if they never left, "take a breath."

Gi-hun stares at him bewildered for a moment, something in him instinctively itching to disobey like a beaten dog that bites before it can be kicked again. He has to remind himself that he's talking to someone who genuinely wants to help. He tentatively obeys, taking a slow breath in and wincing at the movement of his mutilated ribs. He holds it for a moment, a dull blush creeping into his face at Young-il's close inspection, and lets the breath out through parted lips.

"We've got time, okay?" In-ho urges, rubbing the side of his arm gently, "You are bleeding through your bandages, so let me at least redress your wounds before you set off for another fight."

"Young-il, I'm fine--"

"I shouldn't have to keep arguing with you about this," Young-il cuts his lie off, "I know you are in pain. Anyone would be after all you've been through."

Gi-hun grinds his teeth and looks away, "It's not that simple. If we don't make a move now--"

"Hey," Young-il's fingers find his chin and pull his face back up, forcing their eyes to meet, "do you trust me?"

Gi-hun hesitates a little, swallowing the growing lump in his throat at the way that Young-il holds him. It resembles the Front Man's touch just enough to make him instantly nauseous -- but it's different. The Front Man's touch is cold and unyielding like the sharp kiss of frostbite, but Young-il's is tingly and pleasant like warm rain. And yet, a pit still curls in his gut like two frigid hands reached down his throat, took hold of his intestines, and wrung them like a wet towel.

He shouldn't be hesitating - why is he hesitating? Young-il has proven time and time again that he genuinely wants to help Gi-hun overthrow the Front Man. And yet, Gi-hun can't shake this haunting feeling that he's making the wrong choice.

But it's not Young-il making him hesitate, is it?

It's the Front Man and his games. Gi-hun has been warped like wood in water by this place. He can feel rot spreading to every facet of his being, chewing away at everything he is and ever will be like a cancer. His belief that he could rely on other people died with a whimper the day that Sang-woo bled out in his arms.

If he can believe that humanity is still capable of good, then why can't he trust anyone without waiting for a knife to dig into his back?

So, despite that sinking sensation in his chest, Gi-hun bites back his automatic reservations and lets his cracked walls lower.

"I trust you," Gi-hun says honestly, sounding far more breathless than he originally meant as he feels Young-il's breaths warming his face.

Young-il's fingers fall away from his chin, his intense gaze softening like ice in sunlight, "Then let me help."

-----

Hehe, I hope you enjoyed this little appetizer. A new chapter is on its way, get ready my friends <3 <3

#nobody's soldier fic #whump fic #gihun x inho #nobody's soldier #seong gihun #457 #inhun #inhun fanfic

55 notes · View notes

woozinhos · 2 days ago

Note

Hey! Can we get more about jongho like fluff or smut, just more about him 😭🙏🏽

Prove it, Right now

Notes: stop this so good hope you enjoy guys

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

You were hanging out with the members of Ateez, chatting and laughing when the topic of sex came up. Jongho, who had been mostly quiet, suddenly spoke up. "You guys think I'm not good in bed?" he asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice. The others chuckled and exchanged glances. "Well, we've never seen you with anyone," Wooyoung said with a smirk. "So we can only assume."

Jongho's jaw clenched, clearly frustrated by their teasing. He looked at you, his eyes locking onto yours. "What do you think, Y/N?" he asked. "Do you think I'm good in bed?" You felt a shiver run down your spine as Jongho looked at you expectantly. You knew he was waiting for your answer, and you couldn't help but feel a little turned on by his intensity.

"I think you're good in bed," you said, trying to sound casual. The other members snickered and made jokes, but Jongho didn't take his eyes off of you. He stood up and walked over to you, his gaze burning with desire.

"I will," he said firmly. "Right now." The room fell silent as Jongho grabbed your hand and led you out of the room. The other members looked stunned, clearly not expecting him to make a move so quickly. Once you were alone, Jongho pushed you against the wall and kissed you hungrily. His hands roamed over your body, his touch possessive and needy.

"They don't know what they're talking about," he growled against your lips. "I'll show you just how good I am." You were surprised by Jongho's sudden boldness, but you couldn't deny the way your body was responding to his touch. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back, matching his intensity.

"Jongho, wait," you gasped, trying to catch your breath. "What about the others?" He nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. "Let them wonder," he murmured. "I don't care about them right now. I only care about you." Jongho's eyes darkened with determination as he continued to caress you. "I'm going to make you scream my name," he promised. "I'm going to make you forget all about the others and only think about me."

He laid you down on the bed and climbed on top of you, his body pressing against yours. Jongho kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as he dominated the kiss. His hands roamed over your body, teasing and touching you in all the right places. He pulled away from the kiss and began to undress, his eyes never leaving yours. You watched as he stripped down to his boxers, your eyes tracing the lines of his toned muscles.

"You're staring," he said with a smirk, noticing your gaze. "Do you like what you see?" You nodded, unable to look away from him. "You're so hot," you breathed, your voice filled with desire. Jongho chuckled and leaned down to kiss you again, his body now fully pressed against yours. You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, and you couldn't help but grind against him.

"Patience," he chided, his hands gripping your hips to hold you still. "I'm in charge here." Jongho chuckled again, clearly enjoying your reaction. "Surprised, huh?" he said, a sly smile on his face. "I told you I'd show you how good I am." He reached down and tugged your pants off, leaving you in just your underwear. He ran his fingers over the lace fabric, his touch sending shivers through you.

"These are cute," he murmured, his eyes darkening with lust. "But they need to come off too." You gasped as Jongho tore your underwear off, the sound of the fabric tearing sending a thrill through you. He tossed the ruined garment aside and spread your legs wide, exposing you completely.

"No bra either," he said, his eyes raking over your naked body. "You're such a naughty girl." Jongho positioned himself between your legs, his cock hard and throbbing. He reached down and ran a finger through your wetness, groaning at how wet you were.

"You're so wet for me," he growled. "I bet I could just slide right in." Jongho teased your entrance with the tip of his cock, rubbing it against your slick folds. He leaned down and whispered in your ear.

"Tell me you want me," he demanded. "Tell me you want me to fuck you."

"Please," you moaned, your hips bucking up against him. "I want you so bad, Jongho. I need you to fuck me." He smirked, clearly pleased with your response. "Good girl," he said, before thrusting into you in one swift motion.

You cried out as he filled you, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. He was bigger than you expected, and it felt like he was hitting all the right spots. Jongho didn't give you any time to adjust, immediately setting a brutal pace as he pounded into you. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, holding you in place as he fucked you hard and fast. You clawed at the sheets, trying to hold onto something as Jongho relentlessly drove into you. His hips snapped against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

"You feel so good," he grunted, his eyes locked on yours. "You're taking me so well. Such a good girl."

"Let them hear you," Jongho growled, his thrusts becoming even harder. "Let them hear how much you're enjoying this. I want them to know that I'm the one making you scream." You couldn't help but obey, your moans and cries growing louder with each thrust. You didn't care if the other members heard you, all you cared about was the pleasure Jongho was giving you.

"That's it," he praised, his voice rough with exertion. "Louder. Let them know who you belong to." Your moans echoed through the room, mingling with the sound of Jongho's grunts and the creaking of the bed. You were lost in a haze of pleasure, your mind blank except for thoughts of Jongho and how good he was making you feel.

"You're going to come," he said, his pace becoming erratic. "I can feel it. Come for me, Y/N. Come on my cock." His words pushed you over the edge, and you came hard, screaming his name as your body shook with the force of your orgasm. Your walls clenched around him, milking his cock as he continued to thrust into you. Jongho followed soon after, groaning as he spilled his seed deep inside you. He collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing heavily as you came down from your high. Jongho buried his face in the crook of your neck, his chest heaving against yours. He placed soft kisses on your skin, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

"You were amazing," he said, his voice filled with awe. "I knew you would be." Jongho pulled out of you and stood up, a satisfied smirk on his face. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and quickly cleaned himself up before handing it to you.

"Let's get back out there," he repeated, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I want them to see you, all marked up and fucked out." You blushed at his words, but you couldn't deny how hot the idea was. You took the towel and cleaned yourself up, then got dressed in your clothes from earlier. As you walked out of the bedroom, you could feel Jongho's eyes on you, his gaze burning with possessiveness. The other members were waiting for you in the living room, and when they saw you, their eyes widened in shock.

San's jaw dropped as he took in your disheveled appearance, his eyes flicking between you and Jongho. "Damn," he muttered, clearly impressed. Yunho whistled lowly. "You look like you had a good time," he teased. Jongho wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. "I told you I can fuck good, just look at her.”

91 notes · View notes

nmhdreamscape · 2 days ago

Text

persistence is key ✧ l.mk (valentine's day series)

pairing | non-idol!mark x fem!reader

content | friends to ???, sorta angsty, fluff-ish, reader is insecure

word count | 804

request | mark + 15

notes | i don't know how i feel about this one, sorry if it's a little disjointed my brain is still set to academic writing mode 🫠

as you sat in the overly-decorated café you have chosen for the day, one thing was clear to you, you were not in the mood for valentine’s day this year. sure, you had been single during valentine’s day before, but this year was a little different. a little over a month ago you had been dumped, almost two years of your life down the drain. it had been a long time coming, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

cue mark and his goofy smile and unrelenting charm. you had met him through a friend toward the end of your relationship, mark always offering to be the one to listen to you talk about your relationship problems. you probably should have questioned his intent behind listening to you complain about your now ex-boyfriend. but that was far from the forefront of your mind when the break-up finally came, thoughts consumed with sadness and ice cream more than anything.

now that you were single, it had become crystal clear where mark’s willingness to listen to you had come from. a crush, on you. you don’t know how you hadn’t noticed it before, but you were sure as hell anyone from a mile away could see it now. occasional possibly flirtatious comments had turned into blatant fawning. him sometimes picking you up a coffee when you met up had turned into a barrage of gifts you were struggling to keep track of. you just couldn’t take it all seriously, writing it off as a fleeting infatuation, not something serious.

he was persistent, you would give him that. but you just weren’t ready to go diving back into another relationship. and you had made that clear to mark when you had finally picked up on the shameless signals he was sending your way, expecting all the seriousness to drive him away. instead he would brush it off with a joke, still seeming to pop up at the most random of times, a silly pick-up line ready to use on you.

you just couldn’t wrap your head around why he was still sticking around when a romantic relationship was off the table. how had he not become disinterested? he’s extremely good-looking with a personality that would make any girl swoon, he could have any girl he wanted. and yet time after time he came back to you.

which is why, even as he approached you with an egregious looking bouquet and that goofy smile he always seemed to wear around you on his face, you couldn’t seem to find it in you to be mad at him.

“12 roses? on valentine’s day? could you get any more cliché?” you mocked, putting down the book you head been reading to accept mark’s gift. he watched as you looked over the flowers, a small smile forming on your lips. he went ahead and sat down in the seat across from you.

“don’t act like that isn’t a romance novel you’re holding.” mark teased back, snatching the book from where you had put it down on the table to have a look. a feeling of guilt began to settle in your stomach. he should be doing all this for someone else, someone who’s emotionally available, someone who actually deserves it.

“look mark, the flirting and the gifts and everything are super sweet and all, but that doesn’t change the fact i’m just not ready to be in a relationship right now.” you reiterated, the feeling over guilt worsening as your eyes shifted to all the happy couples around you. and yet despite this, mark’s smile never faltered, still looking at you as lovingly as he always did. he reached over to grab your hands to calm your nerves, knowing you only fidgeted with them when you were really nervous.

“i know that. but i will never stop fighting for you. i’m not giving up on us. you’re worth waiting for.” it was like he was peering directly into your soul when uttering those words, fingers interlacing with yours. you had discussed this before, but he had always seemed to take the joking, flirty way out. this instead was genuine, reassuring, a side of him you hadn’t seen yet. it was as though he could hear the doubts swirling around in your head and knew just how to quell them.

the charming, flirty mark was someone you could have seen yourself liking. this mark however, that was someone you could see yourself falling in love with, and you were starting to become a little more okay with the idea of that.

“keep talking like that, and maybe your wait will end sooner rather than later.” you smiled, finally meeting his gaze. his eyes widened at this, ears turning red at your suggestion. maybe valentine’s day wouldn’t be so bad after all.

valentine's gift masterlist

#nct dream #nct #mark less #nct dream x reader #mark x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct dream angst #nct 127 angst #mark angst #nct dream fluff #nct 127 fluff #mark fluff #nct dream imagines #nct 127 imagines #mark imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #mark scenarios

40 notes · View notes

glossypolaroidkisses · 21 hours ago

Text

3/3 - Between Love & Leaving

Part 3/3

— Final part based on request from anon: “thinking about long-term relationship reader and lu and how their interactions would look like right before he cut contact w/ everyone … “ Grab your tissues.

link to part 1 <3 (appartement’s floor plan is here)

link to part 2 <3

The next morning, you woke up with a light grin on your face as you reminisced on the moments before you had fallen asleep. You rolled over, reaching your arm out expecting it to land gently on Luigi’s strong chest, as it usually does. Your hand falls further than expected, hitting the mattress. Your brows furrow, eyes still closed. You attempt to force them open, the bright, sunny room blinding you as you try to see. All you see are blurry, white sheets. Empty bed. You slowly lift your body, sitting up, rubbing your eyes with urgency. “Baby?” you call out, your voice weak and groggy. Usually if he doesn't respond the first time, you hear the sizzling pan on the stove, or the faucet running for the dishes. Nothing. “Luigi???” you raspily call out, much louder this time. Forcing your tired body to carry its own weight, you stumble out of bed.

You rush into the kitchen, standing just outside your bedroom door to observe the living space. It’s as if the world is frozen, the way everything is untouched. Everything is still, silent. One could assume you live alone. No dishes in the drying rack, everything clean and tidy. Luigi’s keys aren't hanging and his wallet is gone from the counter at the front, where they usually are.

You take a couple of steps further, your heart beginning to race. The air smells faintly of Luigi’s cologne, but something about it feels wrong, almost like it’s been lingering for so long that it’s become stale. A weight sets in your chest, confirming something must be wrong. You go from practically standing still, frozen, to rushing around the apartment, desperate for clues.

His toothbrush is missing from the bathroom, weatherproof jacket gone from the coat rack, favourite backpack missing from the closet. His shoes, the ones he always leaves by the door, aren’t there.

In the midst of your panicked search, you rush into the living room and your heart drops. You stop dead in your tracks, almost falling forward. The only room in the apartment that you’ve come across that isn’t perfectly neat or missing items; It has something left behind.

You sit on the couch in front of the table– where you start every morning –to find your usual breakfast. Morning coffee with jam on toast is made, just how you like it. Next to it, a large box with a folded note on top of it, perfectly centred. Scared to meddle with potentially the last untouched part you have of Luigi, you gently grasp the mug’s handle. It’s cold, so is your toast.

You take a deep breath, feeling lightheaded, head almost fuzzy. Picking up the note, you slowly unfold. There it is, the sight of Luigi’s handwriting.

You immediately break down at the sight of his nickname for you, in that writing you’d always make fun of him for.

Mia stellina,

I don’t know how to explain this in a way that will make it hurt any less. I’ve turned the words over in my mind a thousand times, but there’s no version of this that feels okay. But, you guessed it. I’m not backpacking. Don’t kill me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be back.

I never wanted to lie to you, but the truth felt impossible to say out loud. I have a feeling a part of you already knew. No way to make leaving you feel like anything other than a mistake, even when I know I have no other choice.

How can I explain walking away from the one person who gave my life meaning? How can I make you understand something even if I don't fully understand myself?

What I can say with certainty, the only thing that matters, is that I love you. I love you more than I thought it was possible to love anyone. You’ve given me light in a life that’s known too much darkness, and that light has saved me in ways I can never repay. Being loved by you was the greatest gift of my life. You are my heart, my home, my peace.

And still, I have to leave.

I can’t tell you why. I can’t explain. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t find the words to make it make sense. There are things I have to do, things I can’t let touch you. Please don’t think this is your fault or something you could have stopped. It’s not. This is my choice, and as much as it’s breaking me, it’s one I have to make.

I know you’ll hate me for not saying goodbye in person, for not giving you a chance to stop me. But if I had stayed one more minute, looked into your eyes one more time, I wouldn’t have been able to leave. And I have to go. Even if it kills me. Even if it means walking away from the future we dreamed of.

Last night, as we looked at the stars, I tried to memorize every second. The way your face lit up when you found a constellation. The way your fingers found mine without a thought. It’s all burned into my memory now, something I’ll carry with me, no matter where I go. Just like I will carry the memory of that summer evening at the lake—the two of us sitting on the dock, your feet in the water, my arm around you. I think about that night often—how safe it felt, how you made everything else disappear. Maybe one day, if the stars align again, we’ll meet there. I don’t know if that day will ever come, but if it does, you’ll know where to find me. I will look for you in every night sky.

Also, last night, I’ve replayed the moment a thousand times. When you mentioned our future kids, I should have said something then. I should have told you that I've always wanted that, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. That I dreamt of our life together, of raising children with you, speaking Italian together. But in that moment, I froze. I couldn’t find the words, not because they weren’t there, but because I knew, deep down, I was about to leave. I knew I wouldn’t be there to make that future with you. And I couldn’t bear to tell you that. I couldn’t bear to break your heart more than I already was.

I wish I had said, "Yes, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. A family with you." I wish I had told you how much I loved you, how much I wanted a life filled with laughter, with our children running around, with us speaking Italian in our home, just as you imagined.

Please don’t think for a second that I didn’t want that with all my heart. But the truth is, I couldn’t give it to you. And I couldn’t leave without telling you this now, even though I know it may hurt you.

By the time you read this, I will be gone. I don’t know if we will ever see each other again. Maybe we will, maybe we won’t. I don’t have that answer, and that uncertainty will haunt me for the rest of my life.

But I need you to live. Don’t let this letter, or my leaving, hold you back. Don’t let it steal the light from you that I love so much. Live boldly, laugh loudly—obnoxiously, please—love deeply. Be everything you’re meant to be, and do it for both of us. Do all the things we talked about, even if it’s without me. Live the life you deserve, my love, because that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. Even though the thought of you finding happiness with someone else kills me, I hope, with everything in me, that you find it. I need to know you will live a life full of joy and beauty, even if I can’t be there to witness it.

I will hold onto you for as long as I live. Your laugh, your smile, the way your hand fits in mine; they’re all a part of me now, they always will be. No matter where I go, no matter what happens, I will never stop loving you. You are my greatest joy, my only regret, my eternal hope. You are the love of my life.

I couldn’t leave you with nothing, not when you’ve given me so much. I know it won’t make this any easier, but I need you to have these pieces of me, even if they don’t feel like enough.

The hoodie. Yeah, THAT hoodie. The one you always teased me for wearing because I practically lived in it. You’d roll your eyes and say, “Again? Don’t you have any other clothes?” I can hear your voice as I write this. You’d tease and whine, then steal it off me when I wasn’t looking. I saw how you’d wrap yourself in it, how your shoulders would relax like you were safe. So it’s yours now. It’s yours for good. Hold onto it. Pull it tight when you need to feel me close. I sprayed it with my cologne, the one you love, but most of it is just me.

Your top three favourite books. Don’t worry. I bought new, hardcover copies because I know you would hate if I ‘damaged your originals’. I annotated the margins. So, if you ever want to reread them together, my thoughts intertwined with the words, it’s as if I’m speaking to you through them. Whenever you miss me, let’s read together.

The cash—it’s not a gift, and it’s not pity. It’s practicality. I know you’ll try to argue with me, even if I’m not there to hear it. But you’ve got dreams, my love. I want to make sure you can chase them. Whether it’s traveling to all the places we talked about, starting that project you kept putting off, or just giving yourself time to breathe, use it. I beg that you use it. Live the kind of life you deserve, not for me (okay maybe a little for me), but for you.

Also, because I can’t be there to take care of you anymore, I did something you might be upset about, but I don’t care. The apartment is yours. Paid off, in full. No mortgage, no rent. You’ll never have to worry about it again. Consider it my last selfish act, because I couldn't stand the thought of you struggling, of you losing the one place that still smells like us. Keep it. Sell it. Burn it down, if that’s what you need to do. But I wanted to leave you with something more than memories, and this way you have a choice.

Even if I can’t be there, at least this can.

The ring… I don’t even know where to start. I’ve been carrying it around for weeks, waiting for the perfect moment to give it to you. Clearly there isn’t a perfect moment now.

It’s engraved with our birthstones and initials on the inside. I don’t know what to say, except that it was always meant for you. Keep it, wear it daily, your ring finger, or not. Throw it into the ocean, wear it on a chain– whatever you need to do. But know that when I bought it, it was with forever in mind.

Okay, my turn to admit to being greedy. I took a few things of yours, too. I know it’s selfish, but I needed something of yours to hold onto, too. Something that feels like you in the most private, unfiltered way. Here goes,

Your favourite lingerie. It wasn’t just about how beautiful it looked on you. It was about the way you carried yourself in it, the way your confidence would flicker into something soft when I traced my fingers down your spine. I took it because I couldn’t let go of that feeling. A private keepsake of the way we fit together, of the moments that were just ours.

Your sleep shirt, the one you always stole from me.. now it’s my turn. It still smells like you, like the warmth of early mornings and the way you used to curl into me, allowing your body to fully rest within each other in my grasp, before you were fully awake.

Before you get mad, there’s something else. I tore a page from your diary. Just one. Not one of the heavy ones, not the pages where you spilled your worst days or your fears (those are sacred to you, and I would never take them from you). The page I took was different. It was about an ordinary day, the kind you’ve probably forgotten. The way the sun’s warmth felt on your face, the way your coffee tasted just right, the way you caught yourself humming one of those songs you love but never remember the name of, a cute caterpillar you saw. You wrote about how the smallest things made the day feel special, and how grateful you were for moments like that.

I needed that. Your words, in your own handwriting, a reminder of how you see the world. How you find joy in the little things, how you make everything brighter just by being in it. That page is proof that you’ll find those moments again, even without me. I’ll keep it with me always; a piece of your light, folded into my pocket.

I know none of this will fill the space I’ve left. None of these things can hold you when you feel alone. They won’t make you laugh when you need it, or tease you when you roll your eyes at me. But I hope they remind you that I loved you. That I will always love you. That no matter where I go, you’re with me.

I need you to live, my love. To laugh so hard you cry, to wake up and feel like the world is wide open for you. Live for the both of us, okay? That’s the only way I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for leaving.

And if the world bends in some miraculous way, if life brings us back together when we least expect it, you’ll know it’s me when you see someone wearing that one stupid shirt, since the hoodie is yours now. You know the one.

For now, this is goodbye. But you’ll always be my light, my constant, my everything.

If there is a chance for us, a day when fate brings us back together, I will find my way to you. I promise. But if that day never comes, please remember that I loved you more than words could ever say. Our love is the kind of love that I thought only existed in, well, not MY books, but your books. Fairytale love.

I don’t have the words to say goodbye, not really. I was supposed to finish writing five minutes ago. I don’t think there’s a way to end this that doesn’t feel wrong. So I’ll just say this,

You were the best thing that ever happened to me. And I’ll carry you with me, always. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Forever yours,

Luigi

You were on that couch for hours, a mess. You had no idea you were capable of shedding so many tears, wailing in ways you didn’t know your body could endure. You retraced every piece of Luigi in your life, the moments you shared, the quiet mornings and stolen glances, the touch of his hand, the sound of his laughter. But there was nothing left of him now, just empty space.

His location, a mystery. Your texts, unanswered. Your emails, unread.

You searched for other missing things, tiny remnants of his presence that might still linger—something, anything, to hold onto. Other things he may have taken of you. For example, a sample of your signature perfume. You noticed because the bottle was out of place on the shelf, a few drops spilled carelessly onto the counter.

He invaded your dreams, every single night; And you were in his.

In those dreams, You’re there with him, and somehow, he's there with you, even when you woke up to the empty silence of your room. You couldn’t believe it. Luigi had gotten to say goodbye, and you hadn’t. What you would say if you could just hear his voice again… if you could just tell him everything you never had the chance to say.

Some nights in your grief, you scream out from the balcony. Your voice echoing into the still night, raw and aching. A neighbour always reminds you, shouting from another balcony that you aren’t alone in this world. You get embarrassed, but it doesn't matter. In those moments, you felt like the universe had turned its back on you, and there's no one who could truly understand.

Sometimes, you whisper conversations in the dark, pretending Luigi still beside you. You’d look into the telescope’s eyepiece, pausing for a moment, waiting for him to look as well, as if he were still there, watching the stars with you. You continued to make meals, always enough for the two of you, but the second plate would always sit untouched, always ending up as leftovers in the fridge.

You reread your favourite books, each line a memory of something you had shared. You laughed at the comments you could still hear him saying, written in that handwriting, his voice alive in the words of the stories you both cherished.

You continued your days, waiting. Not fully sure what you were waiting for, or if it was even possible, but waiting nonetheless. You worked through accepting this new reality, and sometimes that meant you were cradling his hoodie, rewatching old videos, or fiddling with the ring on your finger as you fought back tears.

In the quiet moments, something shifted. No answers, no closure, just the faintest possibility that the story wasn’t over. The world moved on, and bit by bit, you did too in the slightest, even if your heart wasn’t ready. You wondered if you'd ever see him again or if the scattered bits of memories and physical pieces would ever come together.

But that was a question for later.

For now, you carried his memory, wrapped in your heart.

a/n: wwwwwooooweeee! see why it took me so long to finish that? LOL omg the amount of times i have cried…. anyways. If you want me to continue this, feel free to comment or send anon requests to how you see it continuing. Explaining why he left, if they’ll reunite. As always, i’m open to any and all feedback. love u guys. hope u enjoyed. mwah.

#luigi mangione #luigi fanfic #fanfic luigi #ff luigi #luigi imagine #fanfic #luigi ff #luigi mangione fanfic #luigi oneshot #luigi x reader #luigiff #lugigi anon asks #anon asks #luigi requests #luigi au

33 notes · View notes