#and now after several years of stepping away

[writerdownbookworder]

“What’re you doing here?” I mumble over my shoulder. Although I’m not looking, I know without a doubt who it is.

Ray sighs. “Look, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Not worth much,” I say, staring at the picture of my partner, framed and unnatural. She never would have wanted this. Her family didn’t know her anymore, why were they allowed to make these choices?

A groan behind me finally makes me turn. Ray stands there with his arms crossed, full disguise. I stare at him so long - not thinking much of anything, just numb - that I startle when he clears his throat.

“How long are you going to mope like this, Saga?”” He uses my code name, although I’m not dressed in my usual clothes. I didn’t take much care with my disguise today, just throwing on my mask and hood over dark clothes for the funeral.

I look away. “”If you came here to fight, let’s just get it over with. I’m not in the mood today.”

He sighs again. Why does he keep doing that? “I’m not here to fight. I’m here to pay my respects. I know you and Kya were close.”

“It’s my fault,” I whisper, turning back to the picture. She wasn’t just my partner, she was my best friend. I knew she was still a newbie, and I told her to go by herself. I thought she could handle it. 

By the time I got there, it was too late.

“Hey,” Ray says gently, shocking me. “It wasn’t your fault. I was there, remember? No one could have predicted that a normal everyday occurrence would turn so violent.” 

It was true. Ray had been there, for the same reason I was. Our fight had traveled several blocks and we happened to chance upon the scene. My fight with Ray had been forgotten as I rushed to Kya’s aid, and until this moment, I had forgotten he had been there at all.

I start walking toward the door, unable to stay a moment longer. 

Ray follows me. “It’s okay to be sad, Saga.”

I stubbornly ignore him.

He rolls his eyes behind me and I scoff. “You know I can see you. Why do you insist on being rude anyway?”

He grins. “It’s what I do best. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Argh!” I whip around to face him, face red with anger. Ray actually takes a step back. “I am not okay! My rookie died because of something I told them to do! My best friend is gone because I wasn’t there for her! And worst of all, she never got the chance to do anything she wanted to do! She was only 19…” My voice trails off with a sob.

Ray opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “No, you know what’s worse? You, coming here, to her funeral to mock me. Follow me, fight me, yell at me to your heart's content, but don’t sit here and mock me by pretending you care about Kya or my feelings!”

“Fine!” he snaps back, finally losing his temper. “I’ll tell you the truth if you want!”

I throw my hands up in frustration. “What I really want is for you to leave me alone, but go ahead!”

Ray’s voice drops back down in volume, slightly lower than his regular speaking tone, his voice shaking slightly with anger. “I’m not pretending anything. I may not have known Kya much at all, but I do know that on the few occasions I saw her, she seemed to be a genuinely good and happy person.”

“Why do you-”

“I’m not finished!” he snaps, before continuing again. “As for you, I do know you. I knew you would blame yourself, I knew you would be upset and sad, I knew that you would be here, and I knew you would stay long after everyone else left. I know you. Your feelings haven’t been a mystery to me for years! 

“The truth is, I know who you are.” He doesn’t meet my eyes as he says it. “Inside, outside, underneath the mask and hood. You aren’t a mystery to me. I honestly thought you would recognize me long before now.”

I stare at him, unable to speak, trying to understand what he is telling me. “You-”

Ray looks up into my eyes, voice soft. “Emma.”

He slowly pulls off the mask, revealing the one face I didn’t expect to see.

The one that equal parts of me hated and loved, unable to decide between desire and defense. Part of me never wanted to see him again, had hoped he died.

Part of me was so relieved that I wanted to cry.

I chose the latter.

your a super Villian/super hero who's partner just died. When the funeral was supposed to be attended, nobody came, except for one person, your arch nemesis, who came there to comfort you through these tough times

[trippinsorrows]

ltye: the announcement

authors: inspired by several asks and convos with ya'll about these dream children of roman and solana. 😭

warnings: none

words: 2.3k

*photos found on twitter*

tags: @sayyestoheav3nn @cyberdejos2 @lov3rla03 @annfg8 @jayjayem1999

@that-one-anxious-mango @fearlesschimera @wwecrazed2010

“Our house used to be quiet, ya know.”

Solana rolls her eyes as she sets the timer on the oven for the homemade chocolate chip cookies she’s had a craving for all morning. Just one of the three trays she’ll have baked when all is said and done.

Her family has a big appetite. Especially the boys.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she pokes a little fun, “that was before the children, my love.”

“And the dogs,” he scoffs, mind briefly wandering to Dulce. Two years later, he still finds himself waiting for her to walk her lazy self into his office and plop down in her bed for a nap or to roll onto her back for a stomach rub. Her passing is still something that gets to him from time to time.

Solana's giggles pull him from his brief recollection as she removes said apron and walks over to him. Hands on her chest, she looks up, asking, “you ready?”

Roman sighs. Not necessarily. He knows this is about to be a shitshow, but it's also something they can’t put off any longer. “Let’s get this shit over with.” He takes her hand in his, walking them towards the living room, stopping near the staircase. “Kids! Family meeting!” As expected, a chorus of protests sound from up the stairs. Another heavy sigh, followed by a much firmer, “now!” 

An almost immediate wind of silence as husband and wife journey into the living room, standing near the 80inch flat screen TV. Roman isn’t surprised to find that Aroha is the first to arrive, skipping into the living room wearing that ballerina costume she seems borderline obsessed with. Tutu and all. Also, not surprising, is the fact that Coco has tagged along with her, settling into the bed in the living room. 

“Look, mommy! I’m a princess!” Aroha spins around, making Roman crack a smile. While her infatuation with wanting to wear costumes all the time can be a challenge, especially when it’s time for school and she has to wear her uniform, her softness reminds him a lot of Leya and Solana. She’s taken after their personalities.

“You’re a beautiful princess, mija.” Solana compliments, accepting the hug and pressing a kiss to her cheek. They share a short conversation in Spanish before she’s over by him, reaching to be picked up. He easily obliges, smile widening when she kisses his cheek and lays her head on his shoulder.

Lina and Leya are next to arrive. Lina is clearly gym bound, given her matching workout set that Roman is about to comment on when she asks, “daddy, can I use the big gym tonight? I need to lift.”

The big gym would be the separate mother-in-law suite that Roman had turned into a gym when Lina and Tama started expressing increasing interest in fitness and working out. So much so that Roman found his initial gym that was built in the main building no longer serving its purpose.

Thus, the renovation. And again, having seen what Lina wears to train from time to time, he’d rather her only see their property and nothing beyond it. 

“Sure.” It’s an easy, agreeable thing.

Lina fist pumps the air. Roman then notices that Leya has come with her sketchbook tucked under her arm. He watches how she sits on the sofa, legs crossed before she pulls it out to continue whatever her latest creation is.

So much like Solana. 

Tamasā, Tama, is the next to come down the steps, a huge jump allowing him to bypass the last three. He directs his attention to Roman, “dad, can Lina and I use—”

“Already asked him,” she cuts him off, texting away on her phone that her eyes are glued to. Roman scoffs a bit. She better not be talking to that grown man looking lil boy. “You’re late. As always.”

Tama sucks his teeth, muttering, “man, whatever.” He walks over to Solana, giving her a hug that he has to lean over for. At freshly turned 15, he’s almost the same height as his dad. “Hey, mama.”

“Hi, baby.” She kisses his cheek as their oldest son falls down on the other sofa, also pulling out his phone.

“Boys!” Solana calls, giving Roman that ‘of course, they’re the last to come’ look. It’s not surprising. Roman is certain them boys have ADHD or something. They’re always on the move. “Come on!”

“Mom!” Koa calls down with an almost whine. “I’m about to beat the wizard!”

Roman walks over, still holding his baby girl and easily calls up the steps, “Imma beat you, that wizard, and your brother if ya’ll don’t get down here now.”

The Tribal Chief already knows his second set of twins are gaming together, from their separate rooms, using that online play feature shit. There’s grumbled protests and stomping as the 10 year olds finally make their appearance, pouting and scowling. 

“Fix your faces,” Roman warns as they begrudgingly walk into the living room and opt to sit on the floor. He’s about to say something when they pull out those handheld gaming systems, but Solana beats him to it.

She speaks in Spanish, the boys responding back in Spanish before putting the devices on the floor next to them. 

With everyone settled, Roman carries Aroha over to the sofa so she can sit next to Leya. Leya offers a warm smile to her little sister, sharing the art with her. Even with the age difference, they’re close. Roman gets it. The two of them are so much like Solana, having taken so much after her. In all of the good ways.

“Wait.” Tama suddenly sits up, excitement painting his face. “Is this about my car?” He smiles, and Roman almost feels like he’s looking at himself many years ago. Like the girls have taken after Solana, Tama has definitely taken after him in looks. The spitting image of himself when he was a teenager. “Am I getting—”

“I’m not getting you an Aston Martin,” Roman shuts that down real fast, unsurprised when his son scowls. Again, his twin.

“But Lina and Leya—”

“Didn’t crash a car before they even got their damn license,” he shoots back, easily. Tama can be….distracted at times, hence him crashing Roman’s Bugatti when learning how to drive. One of Roman’s favorite cars. 

Aroha then decides to ask in the sweetest voice. “Daddy, can I get a pony?”

“No, baby, you cannot get a pony.” Animals. His youngest is also on this animal fixation as of recent. She almost threw a fit just the other day when he refused to stop for the ‘little baby’ she saw on the side of the road when he was bringing her to gymnastics practice.

Possum. 

The little baby was a fucking possum.

Of course, his younger sons seem to see an opportunity to get their request in since Aroha’s was denied. With perfect synchronization, they start off with their application.  “Can we get a—”

But, Roman is already three steps ahead. “I’m not getting ya’ll no damn lizards.”

Koa and Kai have wanted reptiles for a while. And they’re gonna keep wanting them, at least until they’re grown and out of the house. Dogs, Roman can get with. Anything else is a hell no. Especially some damn lizards. 

Kai, the more crafty of the two, is the one to object. “But, dad, they’re bearded dragons!”

“Dragons?!” Aroha’s gaze shifts into horror as she buries herself into Leya’s side. “I don’t like dragons.”

“Baby, dragons aren’t real,” Solana comforts, offering a warm smile. 

“Would ya’ll stop scaring your sister?” Roman pinches the bridge of his nose. This is going exactly as he expected, except they haven’t even dropped the news onto them yet. “Now look, this meeting isn’t about any of ya’ll getting anything. You get things all the time anyway. That’s why the house looks the way it does.”

Roman has a low tolerance for most things. Granted, there’s always an exception for his kids, even on days like this where they are clearly on one. So while he has denied the requests thus far, it’s more often than not he has packages arriving daily. Either things the kids have suckered out of him, things Lina and Leya have ordered, Solana even. Not to mention Koa and Kai who somehow have a damn Amazon account of their own.

He’s still trying to figure that out, though something tells him Tama had something to do with it. 

But as a result of the constant arrivals and items being purchased, the house being filled with stuff, it’s always clean. Solana likes keeping a tidy home, and the kids are good with their chores. Usually. But still, Kai and Koa practically have a gaming and tech set-up in their rooms that could make even the Geek Squad jealous.

Tama has every pair of Jordan’s to ever exist. Lina too. Each having their own rooms just for their shoes.

Leya’s room is a damn art gallery with her often painting and designing her walls every couple weeks. 

And Aroha’s bedroom is more or less a playroom. The girl has dolls everywhere. 

The kids are all spoiled rotten, but they’re still respectful. And that’s all Roman cares about.

“Your dad and I—Well, we have something to share with you all.”

At that, the younger kids have returned back to their previous headspace of receiving. “Are we going to Disney?!”

Yes, they are going to Disney. Roman willing to sacrifice his mental wellbeing for a few days to make the kids happy. It’s been a couple years since they last went, and they’ve been wanting to go, so Solana and him have been working on that behind the scenes. But, it’s a surprise, so he’s not about to confirm as such. 

“No. We’re not going to Disney.”

Lina chuckles, still texting on her phone as she jokes. “What then? Are you guys pregnant again or something?” At that, she looks up, sharing a small laugh with Leya and Tama. However, that laughter is quickly cut short when neither Solana nor Roman offer any sort of disagreement. 

Or deny it.

Lina’s jaw drops. “Wait…..” She looks over at her mom. “Mami? Is it true?” She speaks in Spanish, Roman not needing to speak the language to understand what’s being asked. She snaps her head to Leya who’s looking over at Roman. 

“Dad?”

A deep breath followed by a shared look with Solana who gives him the non-verbal go ahead. Time to rip the bandaid off.

Roman doesn’t hesitate or stutter as he announces, “your mom and I are having another baby.”

And thus it begins. In less than seconds after it leaves his mouth, the group erupts with various expressions of shock and borderline panic.

“How does this keep happening?”

“Why does this keep happening?”

“Where is it gonna sleep?”

“Can I go live with Aunt Naomi and Uncle Jimmy?”

“Is that all you and mama do?”

“Alexa, how do I get adopted?”

Roman lets them get it all out before his loud voice silences the room. “Alright, that’s enough.” Temporary silence. That’s all.

Koa crosses his arms over his body, scowling. “Where do these babies keep coming from?”

“The baby fairy!” Aroha answers with the happiest expression, like she’s just shared this great big secret with everyone that will make everything all better and solve world hunger. “The baby fairy puts lots and lots of babies in mommy’s tummy, and then they come out her vagina.”

That last portion makes all of the boys turn up their nose in disgust. Kai being the one to shout, “that’s nasty!”

“You’re nasty!” 

“Naw, mom and dad are the nasty ones to keep making all these kids.” Tama sucks his teeth, adding on almost desperately. “Aren’t ya’ll kind of old to keep doing this?”

Aroha jumps off the sofa, pouting and defending. “Daddy’s old, but he’s not that old! He’s baby santa old.”

Roman looks over at his wife with all of the confusion only to her covering her mouth and looking away, clearly trying to hide her smile.

“I’m not old,” he defends. 

Lina rolls her eyes. “Dad, come on. You get more gray in your beard every day.”

“Yeah, well, if ya’ll kids would stop stressing me out—”

“So then why’d you make more?” Tama mutters it to himself, but it’s still loud enough for his father to overhear. One sharp look from Roman making him cough awkwardly as he focuses on his latest kicks.

Solana clears her throat, redirecting all the attention onto herself. “I know—I know this is a lot to take in, and it’ll be an adjustment for everyone, but it’ll be fine.”

“I really think we should talk again about me, Leya, and Tama getting our own pl—”

“That’s not happening.” Roman shuts that shit down so fast, once again reiterating his main point every time this is brought up. “I’m not getting ya’ll a penthouse. This is your house. You’ll stay here.”

“With all these kids?” Lina pouts and gestures to the younger kids who are somehow now arguing over the existence of dragons and princesses. “This is torture in some countries.”

Leya smiles, asking gently, “how far along are you, mama?” 

Solana’s smile is soft as she answers, hand resting on her stomach. “6 weeks.”

Tama gives a smile as well, rubbing his hands together. “Bet it’s another boy.”

At that, the twins roll their eyes, Leya poking fun, “no way. Another girl.”

“Wanna bet?”

As the teens start placing wagers on the sex of the baby and the younger kids continue their passionate debate, Solana hugs her husband, eyes closing when he kisses the top of her head. His hand on her belly, content and pleased.

However, the timer on the oven going off seems to be the thing that breaks all conversation, Tama asking, "mama, you baking?"

Solana smiles, leaning into Roman's chest. "Chocolate chip--"

She can barely finish her statement as all of the kids, Coco too, are suddenly rushing out of the living room and into the kitchen, now arguing about who gets dibs on the first set.

"Oldest first!"

"No way! Guys first!"

"You guys always get first!"

"Cause you two always eat them all!"

"Mommy! Daddy!"

Solana giggles into Roman who's only sighing again, index and middle finger pressed against his temple.

"Maybe we should hear them out on the penthouse idea."

"Roman!"

[hoonieyun]

collecting tears - heeseung

jar of tears that were shed for heeseung

lee heeseung x reader "y/n"

genre: angst, situationship, unrequited love

warnings: kissing, suggestive, profanity, mentions of a dead parent, overall 18+

summary: your relationship with heeseung, if you could even call it that, has lasted for almost 3 years. 3 years you were at his beck and call and you were finally done. having convinced yourself that you didn't want to continue what you had with him even if you didn't necessarily believe that. to him it was casual but to you it meant everything.

We were goin' right, then you took a left Left me with a lot of shit to second-guess Guess I'll waste another year on wonderin' if If that was casual, then I'm an idiot sabrina carpenter - sharpest tool word count: 1401

Had it been any other person, you wouldn’t have stayed for so long, but something about Lee Heeseung just pulled you in. 

Three years of wasted time and no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that you were slowly chipping away at the hard exterior of Heeseung you were always met with, “You know I’m just not ready for something serious right now.” whenever you would bring up how you’d wish he would hold you as his girlfriend and not the girl that was just filling the empty space in his bed. 

“Hey, are you still up, love?” the text reads as your phone shines in your face. The clock says 2AM but to you it was time to crawl into his bed and to Heeseung it was time to call for someone to take up the empty space between his arms when he sleeps. You don’t even give yourself the time to try and convince yourself that you shouldn’t go before you’re behind the wheel of your car, pulling into Heeseung’s parking lot. The walk from your car to his apartment felt long, your heart drumming inside of your chest and with every step you took it pounded louder and louder as you arrived at his door. The pounding of your heart suddenly silences as you knock on the door and it almost instantly swings open; revealing a casual but handsome looking Heeseung. 

He was standing in his doorway, sweatpants hanging loose around his waist and his toned body being hugged by the black compression shirt he wore. A sight you saw quite often, his usual attire when you would come over and although simple, it definitely had an effect on you. Your mind instantly clearing of any worries or hesitation when you seem. 

“Hey…” Heeseung says and that simple three letter word held so much weight. 

It wasn’t just “Hey�� it was: 

“I’m glad you’re finally here.” or…

“I’ve been waiting for you.” and…

“I need you in my arms right now.”

but it was never:

“Be mine.” or “I’m yours.” 

Heeseung takes your hand in his, guiding you to his bedroom but not before connecting your lips, mindlessly moving against one another as you kick his door closed and turn the lock. Navigating your way to his room with no worry because the two of you had memorized the path to his bedroom and you could get there with your eyes. Much like now, eyes closed as your lips connected. 

Past the dining room where his leftover takeout sat, cold. 

Through the hallway with several picture frames hung on the wall of his loved ones, none of which featured you. 

And into the doorframe of his bedroom, landing on his plush bed as you pull away from him to catch your breath. Heeseung’s eyes are dark and low as he watches you, your chest slowly rising as you recall all of the other times you were in this situation. 

When Heeseung took you to his older brother’s birthday, ending the night in his bed. 

When Heeseung took you to the theme park because you said you’d never been before, ending the night in his bed. 

When Heeseung asked you to temporarily move in while you were still looking for a new place to live after college, ending every night in his bed until you found a place. 

Right now, after you spent the whole day thinking of Heeseung, ending the night in his bed. 

Heeseung sets his hand over your neck, his thumb softly rubbing your cheek as he tries to read what you were thinking of through your eyes, “What’s on that pretty little mind of yours?” he asks. It was moments like this when he would speak to you in that way that just soothed your heart, he just had this way of speaking to you and telling you exactly what you needed… but not what you wanted. 

You just shook your head in response and continued where you left off. Spending the night rolling around in his bed, sharing tender and notso tender moments, and making you forget all of the times you wished you hadn’t come over. 

The sun rises in the east, the morning light shining through Heeseung’s bedroom window as your eyes flutter open, the soreness in your legs and back and marks on your neck serving as a reminder of the events of last night. You stretch the events of the night before away as you flip over to the middle of the bed, realizing that Heeseung’s presence was absent. 

Finding your way to his dining room as you see he’s cooking something in the kitchen. The dull air in his apartment almost suffocates you as you approach him, his head slightly turning in your direction when he senses your presence. “Hey, I’m almost done with breakfast. Hope you’re cool with-” Heeseung begins but you interrupt him, knowing what he was already cooking up, “ramyeon?” you say, the two of you chuckling together as you finish his sentence for him. 

“Am I that predictable?” he says with a laugh. “Mmm just a bit.” you say teasingly but you were only half joking. Knowing that you knew how the day after usually goes, you wake up in his bed alone, you find him making the two of you breakfast, and before the clock strikes noon you’re on your way back home with the weight of last night and every other night before that stacked onto your shoulders. 

An endless cycle that has been going on for the last 3 years that you just couldn’t break. 

“Y/N? You hungry?” Heeseung asks and you blink away your thoughts when you realize he’s calling out to you, already sitting at his dining table with two bowls and two sets of chopsticks laid next to him. Steam floating above the boiling pot of ramyeon. 

“What are we?” you abruptly ask Heeseung, shutting his eyes with a sigh as he tries to gather his thoughts for a conversation he doesn’t necessarily want to have. “Really? This again, Y/N?” Heeseung asks, clearly annoyed by your question. “Why can’t you ever just leave it? Let us have what we have without putting a label on things?” Heeseung continues, each word creating a crack in your already brokenheart. 

“And what exactly is that Heeseung? Hmm? What do we have?” you ask, emphasizing the word have like you were testing him because to you, you had something more than Heeseung would admit. He scoffs at your remark, not having an answer but he deflects, turning it back onto you. “See, this is why I can’t commit to you. You want so much out of me and I told you that I just wanted something casual!” Heeseung says, his voice getting louder when yours was barely above a whisper. 

“So is that what this is… casual?” you ask and although he doesn’t give you a verbal response, his actions were enough as he averts his eyes away from your gaze, not wanting to make eye contact with you. “Right…” you say, retreating to his bedroom to grab the small amount of things you brought, planning to leave and not turn back. 

“Where are you going?” Heeseung says, getting up from his seat at the dining table, the pot of ramyeon getting colder the longer this goes on. “Anywhere else but here.” you say, brushing past him as he tries to block you from leaving. 

“None. NONE! Of this was ever casual and you know that.” you say as you stare blankly at his front door. Afraid that if you looked at him you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from crying but you felt the tears welling in your eyes as you slipped your shoes on. “We’ve met each other’s parents. I went to your brother’s birthday party, you bought my mom a birthday cake, I to- took you to my dad’s gravestone…” you say, your voice breaking at the last part of your sentence. 

“If that was casual, then I’m an idiot.” you say, tears falling from your eyes as you hurriedly leave his apartment, leaving him stunned as he stood staring at his front door left ajar. 

A choice you had to make even if you didn’t want to. 

Telling yourself that you couldn’t keep doing this with Heeseung even if you never stopped wanting him.

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

[brodygold]

Turning the Coach

Coach Chet could sense something different in the air even before Captain Richard and Brody stepped into his office that evening. There had been whispers among the players, stories of private meetings and special drills, of something called the Polo Drones. He hadn’t paid them much attention, dismissing them as another of the team’s phases. But now, seeing the stern expressions on both men’s faces, he realized this wasn’t just a rumor.

“Coach,” Richard began, his voice low and even, “it’s time to discuss where the Golden Army is heading. We’ve formed a new group within the team: the Polo Drones.”

“Polo Drones?” Chet leaned back, arms crossed. “What exactly are these Polo Drones, and why do you need me to join?”

Brody’s eyes were intent, almost hypnotic as he watched Coach Chet closely. “The Polo Drones are more than just a squad,” he said. “They’re a team within the team—a group that embraces perfect synchronization, unity, and loyalty. Each member is given a number, a role, and a purpose. They’re no longer distracted by individuality. They’re fully dedicated to the mission of the Golden Army.”

Chet shook his head, a slight laugh escaping his lips. “Loyalty? You think I’m not loyal enough as I am? I’ve given years to this team. I don’t need to strip away my identity to prove that.”

Richard’s expression grew more severe. “Coach, this isn’t just about loyalty; it’s about total dedication. You’ve done well, but you’re still… separate. The Polo Drones operate as one mind, one purpose. This isn’t optional.”

Chet’s amusement faded, replaced by a flash of irritation. “Not optional? I think I’m done with this conversation.” He stood up, moving to leave, but Brody quickly stepped in his path, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Coach, don’t make this difficult,” Brody said, his voice steady. “We respect what you’ve done, but you need to trust us. This will make you better—make us all better.”

Chet clenched his jaw, unwilling to move. But before he could protest further, he felt a sharp prick at the back of his neck. His vision blurred, and his muscles weakened as whatever they had injected into him began to take effect. Unable to resist, he was guided back to the chair and strapped in, his arms and legs bound.

His vision cleared just in time to see Richard and Brody fitting a strange headset over his eyes, its dark lenses covering his field of view. The headset came alive with a gentle hum, and suddenly, Chet was immersed in a cascade of golden patterns, swirling, flowing, merging together in endless loops and spirals. He tried to close his eyes, but the light seemed to seep into his mind, tugging his focus deeper and deeper into the trance.

“Listen carefully, 099,” Richard’s voice cut through the haze, cold and commanding.

“099?” Chet mumbled, his voice weak, almost unrecognizable to his own ears. “That’s… not me…”

“That’s exactly who you are,” Brody replied firmly. “You’re 099. Your purpose is to serve the Polo Drones. You’re not Coach Chet anymore. You’re a number, a unit, a part of something greater than yourself.”

The golden patterns pulsed in rhythm with their words, syncing with the steady beat drumming in his ears. As each word sank into his mind, the name “Coach Chet” felt more distant, more alien. He tried to hold onto it, but the beat grew louder, more insistent, washing over his resistance like waves eroding a stone.

“Repeat after me, 099,” Richard commanded. “I am a Polo Drone. I serve the Golden Army.”

Chet’s mouth moved against his will, the words falling from his lips in a lifeless monotone. “I… am a Polo Drone. I serve the Golden Army.”

The mantra echoed in his mind, binding tighter with each repetition. Images began to flash within the patterns, scenes of the Polo Drones training together, executing drills with perfect precision, each player in flawless sync. They wore identical uniforms, their faces blank, focused only on their task. Chet could feel himself slipping into that vision, a faceless figure moving with them, responding to commands without hesitation.

“Good,” Richard’s voice was calm, almost pleased. “You are 099. Your purpose is unity, discipline, loyalty. You are part of the whole.”

A sliver of resistance flared in Chet’s mind. This wasn’t who he was—he was a leader, a mentor, someone who’d built his career on his own terms. But as quickly as the thought formed, it was smothered by the hypnotic lights, the rhythm hammering away at any lingering defiance. His sense of self blurred, shifting, fading, until he could barely remember why he’d resisted in the first place.

“Tell us your purpose, 099,” Brody prompted, watching him with a smile of satisfaction.

“To serve the Polo Drones,” 099 replied automatically, his voice empty of emotion or thought. The name “Coach Chet” no longer meant anything to him. He was 099, a loyal, obedient member of the Polo Drones.

Richard and Brody exchanged a glance of approval. They removed the headset, and as the swirling patterns vanished, 099 blinked, his expression blank and compliant. He stood at attention, awaiting orders, every trace of his former identity erased.

“Welcome to the Polo Drones, 099,” Richard said with a nod. “From now on, you’ll operate as part of our unit, following instructions without question.”

099 nodded, a spark of obedience lighting up his eyes. “Ready to serve,” he replied in a monotone, the words flowing without hesitation. Any personal ambition, any trace of resistance, had been extinguished, replaced by a single, unyielding drive to serve the Polo Drones and bring their vision of unity to life.

As he followed Richard and Brody out of the room, he no longer felt any sense of conflict. The memory of who he’d been was gone, lost in the golden lights and rhythmic beat. He was simply 099 now, a loyal drone ready to serve the Golden Army’s new vision.

[sashaisready]

Since You've Been Gone: Chapter 1

Bucky Barnes x Reader

After a regrettable first meeting in the cemetery, you discover that you have something in common with a certain member of the Avengers. Unfortunately, you can't choose your neighbours, even in death.

(Setting is approx. post TFATWS)

Hi, I'm back! I have no idea where this came from, or where it's going! So apologies as updates may not be consistent while I figure it out. Warnings for death of parents, grief, mentions of cemetery/graves - please tread carefully if these are triggers for you.

🍂

It was a chilly Autumn day, but not unbearable. Your coat could more than handle the frigid breeze. You squinted at the headstone as you crouched on your knees, angling your head to make sure you hadn’t left any streaks or marks from the polish. Satisfied with your performance, you trimmed a few of the roses that were leaning against it before standing and taking a step back to admire your handiwork.

Immaculate as always, so neat you could almost be fooled into thinking you weren’t even outside. You could hear your parents’ voices in your head now, joking about being able to keep their graves far cleaner that you ever managed your bedroom to be, their frequent nags falling on deaf adolescent ears.

You smiled sadly as you looked at the intricately engraved text below their names on the shared stone:

Beloved parents taken too soon,

Waiting in heaven to be reunited with their only daughter

You’d never really like that phrasing; it was a little too whimsical for your tastes – especially all these years later. But a recently orphaned teenager wasn’t exactly an expert in choosing the best headstone wording. You’d been more than happy to let your aunt and the funeral home lead the way, too paralysed by grief to make even the smallest decisions in the hellscape that was death admin.

Still, you’d never want to upset your aunt by getting it changed, there’s a lot of strange emotion tied up in grief even when time has passed, and that mourning teen has become an adult. And it wasn’t like new headstones were cheap anyway…

As you packed up your cleaning kit your attention was drawn to the two graves next to your parents’ - George and Winnifred Barnes. They had both passed several decades earlier, long before your parents were buried next to them. They had died only a few months apart according to the text…maybe they’d couldn’t survive without each other.

It was easy to infer that they no longer had anyone left earthside. The graves had been long untouched, unkempt, and overgrown, the inscriptions getting harder to read – and you’d never seen any evidence of a visitor in all your time coming here. Except of course when the cemetery staff did one of their occasional mass clean-ups of the neglected graves.

About a year ago, you’d started tending to them alongside your parents. You weren’t sure why, it just seemed like the right thing to do. They were neighbours after all. And you’d want someone to do the same for your mum and dad if you weren’t around.

You’d cleaned their stones, wiped away the grime and given them a decent polish. You’d trimmed back the weeds and laid fresh flowers. The first time took a while, but after you’d got them to a reasonable standard it was all pretty easy to maintain.

You’d often wondered who they were. What they were like. The dates suggested they’d died of old age, a luxury your parents didn’t have. Were they kind? Funny? What hobbies did they have? They were around during the war, that must’ve been tough. You knew from the inscriptions that they had children who would’ve been over hundred by now. Maybe no grandchildren which is why nobody came by to see them anymore. It made you feel sad, how we could all be just a few generations away from being forgotten entirely. At least you could try to remember them.

You gave their graves a quick once over, took away the dead flowers and added some fresh roses in their place.

“Well, I’m done,” you said aloud, “see you soon, mum and dad. And you too, George and Winnifred. Sleep well”.

You sighed, walking back to your car and back to your life. You knew all too well that the dead may be still, but the world continues around them.

🍂

A week later you were back at the cemetery with your cleaning kit slung over your back, your arms full of fresh flowers.

“Afternoon, mum and dad,” you said as you placed your kit and flowers down and pulled out the foam pad that you used to kneel on, “and you, George and Winnifred”.

“Work has been kicking my ass this week,” you sighed as you got to work on your parents’ stone. “There’s only so much I can take of Brock’s moaning about the numbers…it’s getting harder not to smash my keyboard over his head – yeah I know, violence isn’t the answer, blah-blah-blah…”

You worked diligently, chatting away as you went through your maintenance tasks. It was nice, talking to them like this. You could say anything, really. No judgements, no admonishment, just silent acceptance of everything you told them. It was a bit like therapy for you. You often imagined your parents were sitting behind you as you spoke, just out of sight.

You liked to use old newspaper to buff up the marble. As you gathered your things together, you glanced at some of the headlines from the copy you’d brought with you. Lots of dreary grimness unfortunately. There was also a longread feature on the Avengers and where they were now, their photographs lined up across the top of the page. It was sad that a few of them were dead now, or at least no longer here. You felt a pang of sadness for their loved ones – you knew what that was like.

You didn’t know all the details of The Avengers and their associates, but like everyone else you knew the basics. It was a strange time, just a decade or so ago nobody had ever thought superheroes really existed…but then all of these ‘enhanced’ people started crawling out of the woodwork, revealing weapons and technology that previously had only existed in sci-fi movies. It was hard to believe, really.

You scanned the newspaper page, looking at the pictures for a few moments. You took your time studying their faces before sighing and placing it back down.

“All done…now let’s help out George and Winnie over here, looks like you guys need some new flowers…and all that heavy rain we’ve been having has really done a number on your stones…let me just-”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the gruff voice behind you demanded, causing you such a shock that you nearly joined your parents.

You spun your body away from the graves, horrified to see a man looming over you as you stared at him open-mouthed in surprise. You hadn’t heard him approach, not quite understanding how you hadn’t noticed him coming at all…

“I said what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he repeated to you, his blue eyes alight with anger.

He was big. Bigger than you. Even under his coat you could see his broad shoulders. A mop of dark hair framed his face, most likely quite an attractive face when it wasn’t pulled into a furious sneer like it was now. He wore black gloves as he pointed at you accusingly. The fact that you were kneeling on the ground while he stood towering at his full height had not gone unnoticed by you.

There was something strangely familiar about him, but you couldn’t place it. Did he shop at the same market as you? You couldn’t quite…

“I’m…I’m just-” you spluttered as you fumbled for the words, still caught in your surprise and the fact that this normally serene time had been interrupted by a stranger yelling at you…

“Get away from there!” he snarled.

You quickly realised he was talking about the Barnes’ graves. You bounced backwards, landing painfully on your ass in your desperation to do what he said. He had a chilling air of authority that you didn’t want to screw with. You weren’t trying to piss off an angry man while you were out here all alone…

“I was just tidying them up,” you managed weakly as you sat up and clutched at the flowers.

“Nobody asked you to,” he scoffed in response as he leaned over and ran a gloved finger over Winnifred’s inscription, “you shouldn’t be clambering all over graves of people you don’t know”.

You frowned as the initial shock of the encounter wore off, now annoyed now at his abrupt rudeness towards you when you only had good intentions.

“Oh, and you know them, do you?” you snapped back sharply as your felt your emotions surge and your eyes water, your cheeks hot with mortification, “well, nobody has been to visit those graves in years so-”

“Yeah, actually I do know them - I’m their son,” he spat furiously.

Your head bounced back in surprise and confusion. You curled your lip and frowned at his strange claim, he appeared to be his mid-to-late 30s at most – many years away from the very elderly man he’d need to be for that to be true.

What was his goal here, exactly?

Was this guy just looking to start an argument and decided you’d be his target? Spouting off nonsense about random graves just to mess with you?

And where did you know him from?

Despite your survival instincts, you couldn’t help but fight back. You didn’t appreciate being messed with at the best of times, let alone when you were only here to visit your deceased loved ones. Who came to a graveyard to fuck with people? And yell at them?!

“Huh? Son?” you scoffed with derision and jabbed a finger towards the inscriptions about their children, “well, that can’t be true as that would mean their kids would have to be over a hundred…and how many one-hundred-year-olds look like you…?”

“I’m 107 years old, actually,” he said venomously. He sounded utterly sincere despite the ludicrousness of his claim. His face was sullen, his eyes piercing.

You ignored the shudder that threatened to roll through you in response. It was a strangely familiar expression on his face.

Where had you seen that look?

“Oh, yeah! You’re 107…Sure!” you laughed sarcastically. “You just have the greatest plastic surgeon of all time, in fact there’s a bunch of centenarians wandering around looking thirt-”

You trailed off as a wave of recognition suddenly hit you and the penny dropped. Oh. Oh.

He wasn’t from the market…

It was him.

Your eyes panned down to the crumpled newspaper lying next to you. The same man’s face scrutinised you from the page, an exact mirror image of the brooding 3D version in front of you. A little older now, but still unmistakably the same man.

Oh!

Now you remembered that same picture on the news. Read about the terrible things he’d done before when he was under hypnosis. For the Nazis? The Soviets? Both? Flashes of recollection hit you at once, disjointed and scattered.

It wasn’t really him doing all of it, it was a mind control thing, they’d said. He was like the Captain…the first one from the 40s. Kept young…somehow. He had a robot arm. Then there was the big government pardon after he’d helped to save the world. The deep dive the New York Times had done on his assassin past. What had they said he was called? Iceman? Winter? Winter hitman?

The Winter Soldier.

Barton? Baines? No, Barnes.

Barnes.

As in…son of Winnifred and George?

Ah.

He must’ve seen your train of thought written all over your face as he nodded solemnly at you.

“Yeah. It’s me. And I only found their resting place a few weeks ago,” he said with disdain.

You got to your feet, taking a few cautious steps backwards. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You didn’t need to be a jerk - I’ve just been coming here for years, and I’d never seen…”

You trailed off, he didn’t care. His focus was on the graves, one gloved hand gripping the top of his father’s stone as he peered down at the grass below.

You turned to leave, giving him his privacy, “I’m sorry for your loss,” you mumbled quietly as you picked up your kit.

You started to head back to your car, then turned to face him again after a couple of steps. You warily moved back towards him and leaned over, placing a single flower between the feet of his parents’ graves. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t pick it up and throw it back in your face, either.

As you walked away, you thought you felt the weight of his gaze on your back.

🍂

Another week passed and you were back at the cemetery once more, working the usual routine and doing your best to forget what had happened the last time you were here. Upsetting a war veteran slash Avengers superhero by accusing him of not being his parents’ child was impressively incompetent, even by your standards. But in your defence, he did just start yelling at you out of nowhere. And you were only trying to help. And he was a literal defiance of nature, time, and aging…

But then again, people weren’t always their best selves in a cemetery. It wasn’t exactly Happy Hour over here. And you’d probably freak out too if you caught a stranger tinkering around with the resting place of your parents. The parents who died of old age while you were cryogenically frozen and a prisoner in your own body…

You’d done a little more reading up on him, James Buchanan Barnes. ‘Bucky’. The man behind the scary winter soldier mask. The older images of him in his combat gear were chilling, as were the alleged stats of his kills, but mainly you just felt immense empathy for a man out of time. A man who had lost his youth, a limb, his autonomy, and everybody he once knew from his old life.

You tried to put it out of your mind, catching your parents up on what they’d missed and pretty-ing things up a little around their plot. You didn’t touch the Barnes’ this time, just gave them a little wave and concentrated on your own flesh and blood.

You were a million miles away, lost in the quiet fog that often seemed to overtake you when you were working in the cemetery. It was peaceful, really. This was the one place you could switch your brain off and quiet the chatter of your head, just concentrate on the tasks you knew so well by now that your hands did them on muscle memory alone.

You were just adjusting the newest flowers when a voice interrupted you.

“Hey,” it said.

It startled you as you were still in your own world and hadn’t heard anyone else approach. You whirled around slightly panicked as a pair of eyes the colour of sapphires met yours.

It was him again.

“Oh, hello,” you replied quietly.

He stared over at you, wrapped up in his coat as he was last time. His stare was still intense despite appearing much calmer than when you first met him. He wore black pants and boots, his hands tucked away into his pockets, a dark backpack slung over his shoulder. His face was more relaxed than it was during your first encounter. His blue eyes were just as arresting, but the absence of anger made them sparkle rather than burn. He had a soft dusting of stubble across his taut jawline, his dark hair was pulled back behind his head as he absent-mindedly ran a hand over it. He was…

…hot?

Fuck.

He nodded at you in acknowledgement and moved to George and Winnifred’s plot, kneeling in front of their stones. He pulled a candle out from his backpack and lit it with a lighter, placing it between where his parents lay.

You turned away sharply, not wanting to look like you were intruding during what was clearly a private moment of mourning. You focused on your own parents’ graves, clipping back the flowers as quietly as possible.

The two of you continued doing your own thing, the awkwardness thick in the air. You remembered how furious he’d been with you last time. You considered saying something, trying to explain that you were only trying to maintain the graves, but you didn’t want to provide any more ammunition for potential anger. Instead, you continued your routine in silence, keeping your eyes down.

After you finished you packed up your stuff and cleared your throat, ‘uh, bye,” you said quietly to him as you hurried down the path and back towards your car. He didn’t respond, but looked up at you as you passed, studying you intently.

[rubysunnday]

but who could stay?

a/n: i'm erasing colin's 'lover boy' atttidue (or however you describe it) because it was the least colin thing i've seen imo. like, my man travels bc he doesn't want to be the ogling of the ton... anyways

summary: Every time Colin Bridgerton returned from travelling the world, there was always an urge inside him to run away again as soon as he could. There was only one woman who could make him stay. Y/N Barrett waited for Colin, but he never stayed long enough for her to tell him her feelings. Now she is engaged and about to enter a loveless marriage arranged by her parents. All she wants is for Colin to stay in London long enough to realise the truth of their relationship.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

masterlist | tip jar

Every year, after the debutantes had walked in front of the queen, there was a garden party. Open to everyone, it gave the debutantes an opportunity to further make their mark on the ton as well as allowing other attendees to catch up with friends after a few months away from London.

Colin had been away for longer than just a few months. As soon as Anthony had married Kate, he had been on the first ship over to France.

It wasn't that he didn't like London - he did. Nothing would ever compare to his home city - the gas lamps in the November fog, the bright blue skies after days of endless rain.

Yet, he never felt at peace in London. There was always an urge inside him to up and leave. To travel as far away as he could and not stop until he fell off the edge of the world.

Perhaps it was fear of comitting to a life in one place. Perhaps he was just trying to escape the future that had been planned out for him since he was born.

Perhaps, he had yet to find a reason to stay.

Now that he was back in town, the urge to leave had resurfaced once again. Everywhere he looked, women were staring at him, debutantes were waving and gaving him coy smiles.

Colin awkwardly smiled back and then promptly turned around. He always felt uncomfortable when the attention suddenly became solely on him. He wasn't entirely sure why - he liked women and he liked flirting - but when every woman in the ton came at him at once, it felt predatory.

He knew they were only interested in him for his money (or what he had left of it) and his name. None were interested in Colin the Explorer or Colin the Writer.

Except one.

"Colin!!" Y/N Barrett exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as he walked toward her. "You are back at last!" She reached up and wrapped her arms around Colin's neck, pulling him in for a tight but quick hug. "You could have told me!"

"Apologies," Colin said, smiling at her as she stepped back. "I only just made it back in time for Francesca's debut."

Y/N's gloved hand trailed down his arm. "I am glad you are back," she told him, squeezing his hand once more before letting go. "It has been dull without you."

"Anything exciting happen whilst I was gone?" Colin asked, offering his arm to Y/N - a silent invitation to promenade around the gardens.

"Well, Alice Carey got married to Lord Carlson and then promptly gave birth to a son about four months later." Y/N raised her eyebrows at him. "Easy math there."

"Indeed," Colin muttered. "Has anyone called her bluff yet?"

Y/N shook her head. "No, she has been 'unwell' the last few months and has yet to reappear amongst the ton." She tilted her head to Colin and lowered her voice, "but rumour says she is pregnant yet again... with another man's baby."

"Has Lady Whistledown written of these rumours?"

"You and I both know she will not," Y/N replied with a quick roll of her eyes. "Not only had she not been seen since last season, she has changed her column entirely and now writes exclusively in support of the debutantes! I do not understand how you can go from writting rumours and scandal and causing the public downfall of several well known figures to... well, promoting other women!"

"Perhaps she has had a change of heart," Colin suggested.

"Leopards rarely change their spots, mon ami," Y/N said softly. "Anyway, enough about scandal and rumour," she extracted her arm from his and turned to face him, "how are you?"

Colin stopped walking. He looked at her, her gentle smile, her bright eyes. "I am... okay."

"Just okay?" Y/N asked, her brow furrowing slightly.

"I want to leave again," Colin admitted quietly. "Already, women are staring at me and eyeing me up as if I am their dinner. It makes me incredibly uncomfortable, to be honest. I know that all they want is Colin Bridgerton and not just Colin."

Y/N gave him a sympathetic smile. "Does it help that I am only interested in Colin?"

Colin found his lips curving up into a smile. "It does," he told her, "more than I can say. Which reminds me."

He reached a hand into the pocket of his coat - a coat that Hyacinth had kindly nicknamed his 'pirate coat' - and pulled out a dark velvet bag pulled taught by a silver tassel. Colin held it out to Y/N and she took it with her lilac gloved hands.

"You bought me a present?" Y/N exclaimed, holding the bag as if it was glass.

"I did not want you to feel left out," Colin said, his smile widening as Y/N stared in awe at the bag.

"Colin, it's beautiful!"

"Oh, the bag isn't the gift," Colin said quickly. "The gift is inside the bag."

Y/N's cheeks burnt with embarrassment. "Oh, yes, of course."

She carefully pulled open the bag and turned it upside down, tipping whatever was inside into the palm of her hand. Out tumbled a pair of silver embroidery scissors, engraved to look like a bird.

"Oh, Colin, they're gorgeous," Y/N whispered. "Where did you find them?"

Colin's smile grew. "A shop in Spain. They had other types but... well, they were different."

He had to confess, he was utterly delighted at her reaction. He knew Y/N loved her embroidery - she had endless baskets of thread and material and often sat in the park working on her current project. For his birthday, Y/N had gifted him a hand embroidered waistcoat featuring different birds and flowers from across the globe. Colin had taken it with him on his travels, wearing it as often as he could.

So, when he had seen the little embroidery scissors in the store, he knew he head to buy them. He had carried them around for six months and now, finally, they were in her hands.

"I have needed new scissors for a while," Y/N told him, her eyes still focused on the scissors. She gently turned them over in her hand, the metal glinting in the sunlight. "Thank you, Colin."

A voice interrupted the moment, carrying across the garden. "Y/N, my love."

Y/N looked over her shoulder, giving the man who had called her name a smile.

"Who is that?" Colin asked, looking at the man - who was signifcantly older than Y/N.

Y/N sighed as she turned back to face him. "Mr Catesby. The man I am courting," she told him softly. "Mama set us up. I have been out for three years and she expected me to be married in year one and having a baby by year three."

She was trying to smile but Colin could see that it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Do you love him?"

"I do not think love is possible," Y/N told him, glancing over her shoulder again. She turned back to Colin. "Friendship, perhaps but never love."

Silence fell around them for a moment. All Colin wanted to do was reach out his hand and hold hers. But he knew he couldn't. This was how it would be from now on - always near his side but just out of reach.

"I should go," Y/N said softly. "Thank you, again, for these. I will cherish them, I promise."

Y/N turned around and, with one last glance over her shoulder at Colin, walked toward Catesby and her future with him.

Colin couldn't look away. He knew he should because, really, what was staring going to do.

Y/N didn't look happy or sad as she stood next to Catesby, putting her arm through his. Whilst she smiled and laughed, none of it reached her eyes. She was pretending and Colin was the only one who could tell.

"You have to look away at some point," Francesca said softly, appearing at his side.

Colin swallowed heavily. "I know."

Francesca reached down and held his hand gently. "Why won't you?"

"I don't know," he eventually replied, forcing himself to look away and at his younger sister. He forced himself to grin at her. "Come along, I'm hungry."

Days turned into weeks and soon Colin hadn't spoken to Y/N for over a fortnight. He had seen her across the room at parties and balls, always at the side of Catesby.

Even though she wasn't happy, she still looked beautiful. Her dresses shimmered in the candlelight and when she did laugh, Colin could just picture her smile along with it.

Ever since he had found out she was being courted, Colin had retreated into himself. He spent long hours in his study, writing and drawing and wondering about what could have been.

His heart broke that little bit more the night of his mother's ball when Catesby announced their engagement. Y/N had smiled, sparkling under the lights once more in a dark blue gown and matching silk gloves. But Colin knew better. He could see how tense she was, how loosely she held Catesby's hand in hers - the way her eyes kept straying over to him.

Benedict and Anthony flocked him as they approached to give their congratulations. They bowed together and Colin was grateful that his brother's did all of the talking - speaking loud enough and quick enough so that neither Catesby nor Y/N's parents noticed Colin's silence.

Y/N did, though. She held his gaze the entire time and there was so much sadness within it, so much regret, that Colin nearly ripped her from Catesby's grip and pulled her to his side, threatening the man with a duel if he dared come closer.

Instead, he maintained his silence, giving a brief bow when they were finally dismissed. Colin refused to look back, focusing his gaze on the table of lemonade and sweet treats jutting out from the far wall.

"Colin, are you alright?" Benedict asked, raising his eyebrows slightly at his silent brother.

"Yes, why would I not be?" Colin said, picking up a glass of lemonade from the table.

"You are being unusually sullen and silent," Benedict replied.

Colin turned around to face his brother. HIs gaze flittered past him and over to Y/N. "Nothing's the matter."

Benedict caught Colin's wayward gaze and turned his head. His own gaze softened a little as he turned back to his brother. "It isn't too late," he said quietly.

Colin laughed humourlessly. "Really? She is an engaged woman, Benedict."

"Were you even around last season?" Benedict raised his eyebrows. "Anthony almost married someone else entirely - he got as far as the altar, Colin."

"That was different?"

"How so?"

Colin let out a frustrated sigh. "Because it just was. Who is to say Y/N would even be interested in my hand?"

"Who's to say she wouldn't?" Benedict looked at his brother. "Answer me this. Every time you come home, you immediately have the urge to flee again. Do you still have that urge when you're with Y/N?"

The silence that followed answered Benedict's question perfectly, Colin knew that. He eyed his brother. "I cannot do that to her, Benedict. I cannot."

"Well," Benedict sighed, "you are a better man than me, brother." He squeezed Colin's shoulder and turned to go, leaving him alone by the refreshment table.

Colin looked over at Y/N again. She had moved and was now walking onto the dance floor, hand in Catesby's. It hurt him more than he was prepared to admit. Yet, it would be so easy to walk over to her and take her hand from his - to confess all his feelings in a flurry of words and doe-eyed expressions. But the scandal that would cause - the ramfication's that could have on Y/N... Colin couldn't do that to her.

It would also be easy to simply walk away, leave the country and pretend he had never met her. Colin knew that nothing he did would ever mean he could forget her. He thought about her everywhere he went, from the churches of Florence to the waters of Athens.

Colin groaned quietly. He tilted his head back and swallowed the rest of the lemonade in a big gulp, wincing at the bitter taste. He set the cup down on the table and stepped away from the wall.

Weaving through the crowds, he spotted his eldest brother standing by the open french doors, Kate by his side. Colin heistated for a second, not wanting to darken Anthony's door with his issues. But the last time he had struggled with issues of the heart, he had given him some startlingly clear advice and he needed that again.

"Colin!" Kate exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as he approached. She pulled her arm from Anthony's and hugged Colin tightly.

Colin squeezed her back as hard as he dared, knowing Anthony was watching his every move like an over-protective swan. "How are you?" He asked, reluctantly letting go.

Kate puffed out her cheeks, hand straying to her stomach. "Coping," she replied. "He, however," she nodded at Anthony, "is not."

"I am allowed to be stressed," Anthony muttered, hand resting against Kate's waist. "It is very overwhelming, but exciting," he added, noting his wife's worried look.

Colin instantly felt guilty. He knew Anthony was overwhelmed. Trying to run the household, keep an eye on Francesca and Eloise all whilst being concerned for his wife and unborn child was more than enough trouble.

"What's wrong?" Anthony asked, noting Colin's distant gaze.

"Oh, nothing," Colin told him with a shake of his head. "Sorry, I should -"

Kate reached out and grabbed his hand by the wrist, pulling him back to them. "Colin, stop." She gave him a gentle smile, cupping the side of his cheek with one hand. "Come, let's go for a walk."

Kate put her arm through Colin's and let him lead her out into the gardens of Bridgerton House. It was still daylight, though the sun had descended. A few couples stood around the grass and patio but it was otherwise quiet.

"I assume this is about Y/N," Kate said, pulling her purple silk shawl tighter around her arms.

Colin nodded, leaning against the stone balustrade. He crossed his arms, a heavy sigh escaping him. "I do not know what to do. I should have stayed, made my intentions clear but I did not and now... now I do not know."

Kate pushed herself up and onto the balustrade, sitting on top of it, her feet dangling down. "What is your heart telling you to do?"

"To steal her away from him and marry her tonight," Colin admitted. "But I cannot do that."

"Why not?"

"Because she is engaged. I cannot bring that scandal to her, Kate, I just..." Colin closed his eyes. "What if she does not return my feelings and I ruin her one chance at marriage?"

"But what if she does?" Kate said softly. "What if she does return those feelings and she spends the rest of her life with you rather than a man she does not love?"

Colin looked at her. "Can I take that risk?"

"Anthony and I were plagued by scandal last year," Kate said quietly, hand resting on her slightly swollen stomach. "Things should never have gone as far as they did but it did not stop us from finding our true happiness. If you want her, Colin, then go and get her. She is right there, waiting."

Five minutes later, Colin was back inside the house, searching everywhere for any sign of Y/N.

He still wasn't sure if he had the courage to tell Y/N the truth. Whilst he knew she wasn't happy, happiness was a minor issue when it came to marriage. The status and money Catesby would give her was more than Colin could ever hope to offer in a lifetime.

But he could give her happiness and he could give her love. Surely, that was worth something?

Yet, as he stood against the landing wall, watching Kate and Anthony waltz together, he knew what he had to do.

Y/N stood by herself, near the table laden with food. Colin spotted her as soon as he walked down the stairs. She wore a dark green gown, one that matched his jacket perfectly.

He tried to approach her first thing but his mother grabbed his arm and whisked him off in the opposite direction, gabbling at him about eligible women and debutantes and flowers.

Y/N had noticed Colin as soon as he'd walked in the room. His jacket matched her dress and all she wanted to do was approach him and ask him to take her far away from here.

She was overwhelmed with wedding preparations and plans for her to move to Catesby's estate in Dorset. Her mother had not allowed her a moment's peace. Sleep refused to come at night and Y/N lay awake, regret and panic growing inside her as the date of her wedding grew ever closer.

The engagement had been a shock. Y/N herself had not actually spoken the word 'yes' aloud, her mother had done that for her. She had blindly followed along, allowing Catesby to place the ring on her finger and brag to his friends that he would soon be a father.

A father. Never mind a husband or a man in love. Just a father.

Because, whilst he was not a bad man, all Catesby wanted was a son to continue his line. That was all Y/N was to him, all this relationship was to him - making an heir.

Y/N had known this marriage would never be one built on love. But a foolish part of her had hoped that, maybe, they would find love together. Seeing Catesby now, flirting with other women and bragging to his friends, she knew that there would never be love.

She plastered a smile to her face as yet another person approached her to congrulate her on her engagement. Exhaustion was beginning to pull at her body, the sleepless nights and endless trips to the modiste finally catching up with her.

"You could at least try and look happy," her mother muttered, suddenly appearing beside her.

Y/N sighed softly, blinking the pull of sleep away. "Sorry."

"Honestly, when was the last time you slept, you look dreadful."

Thank you, mother Y/N thought, trying not to roll her eyes.

"I need you to look beautiful for this wedding," her mother continued, "there is a lot riding on this marriage for this family. Do not mess it up. Ah, Lady Cowper!" Y/N's mother crowed, rushing over to greet her friend.

Y/N needed to leave. She glanced around the room, checking that everyone was preoccupied and then made a swift dart for the corridor running behind the stairs. The room had been warm when she'd walked in but it had only gotten hotter in the hours since. Her head was aching, her heart was pounding and her hands would not stop shaking.

She didn't know what had come over her. There was no reason for her to be acting like this - all she was doing was getting married. But there were so many things wrong with the marriage and with Catesby and with her mother's obsession of wanting a grandchild that Y/N could not go through with it.

The corridor was quiet and signifcantly cooler than the ballroom. Y/N leant her back against the wall and took a deep breath in, desperate to calm herself down and reinstate her happy facade.

"Y/N."

Of course, Y/N thought, turning her head and watching Colin Bridgerton approach her. Of course he appears now.

"Colin, I do not -"

"I have to talk to you," Colin said firmly, coming to an abrupt stop at her side. "Please."

Y/N closed her eyes. She felt sick. The pounding in her head was only getting worse and she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten anything.

"Please, Y/N, I beg -"

"Yes, alright!" Y/N exclaimed, silencing Colin. "Come with me."

She led him back up the stairs - not an abnormal sight since many guests had seeked solace in the front room of Bridgerton house - and down the corridor into an empty room.

"Colin, whatever you want to say to me, please make it quick," Y/N told him, pushing him into the room and pulling the door to. "I cannot disappear from my own engagement party for long."

"You do not love him."

Y/N frowned at Colin. "I told you this earlier -"

"Just... say it again."

"No, I do not love him," Y/N told him, her voice soft. "But that does not mean I can walk away from this marriage."

"What if you had someone else to walk to?" Colin asked, moving toward her.

Y/N stared at him. "Colin, what do you... why..."

"The reason I travel, Y/N, is because I have never felt at home anywhere," Colin said. He took a deep breath in, steeling his nerves and forcing himself to not back down. "Every time I came back, I would have the urge to run away again until I reached the edge of the world. But each time I came back and I saw you, I suddenly felt as if I finall had a reason to stay."

Y/N felt as if all her air had been stolen from her. She stared at Colin - that was all she could do. Here he was, confessing his heart to her and all she could think about was how angry her mother would be, how much scandal it would cause and also how much the room was beginning to spin.

"I could not let you go off into this marriage without giving you a choice," Colin continued, moving a step closer. "I love you, Y/N, I have done for a long time. I wish that I had not spent so long away because maybe things could have gone differently. Perhaps this would be our engagement ball instead. Perhaps it still can be.

"I know that this is asking a lot of you and I know that with this choice scandal will come. But I will stand by you through it all, Y/N. No matter what the ton say, no matter what they do, I will not leave your side. You deserve to be happy and you deserve the right for this to be your decision."

Y/N looked at Colin. Hope was clear as day in his eyes. She had wanted this confession from him for so long and here it was. The circumstances were awful and scandal was calling and her parents would hate her and the ton would give her the look they reserved only for the worse offenders and -

"Y/N? Are you alright?" Colin asked, concern replacing the hope in his eyes. Her skin had lost colour dramatically quick and she was beginning to sway.

Y/N swallowed, nausea growing. She blinked, looking past Colin and at the window. No, that too was spinning.

"Is the room spinning for you?" Y/N asked, her voice quiet.

Colin frowned. "No. Is it for you?"

"A little," Y/N admitted. "I think I might need a moment."

She took a step forward but the room tilted dramatically to the side and hazy black spots filled her vision. Y/N mentally braced herself to hit the carpeted floor and for her body to ache but hands wrapped around her waist, guiding down.

Colin knelt on the floor, resting Y/N's back against his chest. He was never great when it came to dealing with poorly people - his siblings could attest to that. He himself was a terrible patient, incapable of waiting until he was better and always pushing himself before he was ready.

But this was Y/N - his Y/N. Her skin was clammy and lacking colour and her hand was shaking as she tried to grip his. And he had no idea what to do.

They couldn't simply stay in here, someone else might walk in and then there would be a whole other scandal.

Then, an idea came into Colin's head. There was one place he knew no one would stray into. One place that would shield them for just a little longer.

"Come on," Colin whispered. "I've got you."

He put one arm around her shoulders and slipped his other under her legs, lifting her up into his arms. With one foot, he nudged open the door. The upstairs corridor was quiet. Colin snuck out, keeping his footfall as light as he possibly could.

His bedroom wasn't far away. In fact, it was only three doors down the corridor. As he pushed open the door, Colin thanked his past self for forgetting to close the door properly.

It was cooler inside than it was anywhere else in the house. His windows were open, the net curtains blowing gently in the summer breeze. A small fire crackled in the hearth, giving off enough light to chase away the darkness.

With as much care as he could, Colin lay Y/N down on his bed, laying her head on his pillow. He absently brushed his fingers along her cheek as he straightened and her eyes slowly opened, looking up at him.

"Has the room stopped spinning yet?" Colin asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand resting against her leg.

Y/N hummed softly. "Partly," she told him. "I still feel awful."

"When was the last time you ate?"

"I do not remember," Y/n replied. At Colin's raised eyebrows, Y/N let out a tired sigh. "Mama has kept me so busy and I have hardly slept these last few weeks. Oh, Colin" she said, her head finallycatching up with what had just happened, "I can only apologise for -"

"Do not be silly," Colin told her, reaching up and taking her hand in his. "Our bodies can only handle so much."

"But fainting? That is just... mortifiying!"

Colin chuckled. "When I was in Spain, I fainted in the middle of dinner with a very important noble because I had spent too long in the sun and not looked after myself. My face was bright pink and sun burnt and I felt awful for days after." He shook his head, laughing softly. Colin squeezed her hand. "What I am saying is that we all forget to look after ourselves sometimes. You have a better reason than me, however."

Y/N pushed herself up, letting Colin pull her forward until she was sat cross legged on the bed. He kept a steady hand on her upper arm until she gave him a reassuring smile, confirming that she wasn't about to spontaneously collapse again.

"If this engagement is making you this unwell," Colin said quietly, "is it worth it?"

Y/N sighed softly. She rubbed the pad of her thumb back and forth across Colin's knuckles. "No, it is not."

"Then what is holding you back?" Colin asked. He leant his head forward, seeking her gaze. "Tell me."

"I am scared," Y/N admitted with a small shrug, looking down at the bed. "I am scared of the consequences that will come with calling off this engagement."

Colin gently tilted her chin up until she was looking at him. "What else? Because there is something else, I can tell."

Y/N swallowed heavily. She closed her eyes for a moment. "My mother is determined to make this work," she said softly, opening her eyes again. "She keeps reminding me about how much is riding on this marriage, the things it will do to our family. I am terrified of her reaction if I do not go through with it. What if my family disown me? That will be an even bigger scandal than calling off the engagement!"

"What if she does not?" Colin suggested. "What if everything falls into place?"

Y/N shook her head. Her eyes were glistening with tears as she looekd at Colin. "But what if it doesn't?" She asked quietly, her voice almost lost to the night air.

"Then I will stand by your side no matter what," Colin replied, taking both her hands in his. He held them as if they were the most precious things in the world - because they were. "No matter what happens, you will always have me and you will always have my family, I promise you."

Uncertainty still lingered in Y/N's eyes. Colin knew he was asking much of her but she deserved a happy, loving marriage with someone who loved her. She desered to have a choice.

"You deserve to be happy, Y/N," Colin said softly. "Do not ever think otherwise."

"You promise to stay?" Y/N asked, her voice quiet and small. She looked at him. "Because, every time I thought I was ready to tell you I loved you, you disappeared, Colin. Then, I wouldn't see you for months and... I cannot do this if you are going to leave me again the moment we are married."

Colin leant forward and pressed a kiss to her forehad, his right hand holding the back of her neck. "I promise," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers, "to never leave you again. Together until the end of our days."

Y/N smiled at that, relaxing into Colin's hold. "Okay," she said, her voice certain for the first time all night. "Are you going to ask me, then?"

Colin released her and stood up from the bed. He moved over to his desk and pulled out a drawer, rumaging through it until he found what he was looking for.

"I picked it up in Florence," Colin said, coming back over to the bed. "Because I had decided that when I got back, I would take your hand as mine. I thought for a moment I would never get to do this but..."

He trailed off, looking up from the ring box. Y/N was still sat on his bed, her smile slowly growing. Colin clicked open the lid and knelt down on one knee, extending the box out to her.

"I know I left and for that I am deeply sorry," he said quietly. "It took me this long to realise that you were my reason to stay. So, Y/N Barrett, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

Y/N nodded, her smile reaching her eyes and crinkling the corners. "Yes," she whispered, holding out her left hand, "of course I will."

Colin pulled the golden band out, the moonstone set in the centre catching the light of the fire. He slipped it onto her finger, pleasantly surprised to discover that it fit perfectly.

"Perfect fit," Y/N said, holding her hand up. She looked back at him. "It is as if it knew."

Colin grinned. He took her hand in his, thumb trailing over the ring. "Perhaps it did."

[rina-teatia]

“Where's the child support, daddy?!” (18+)

AU: Toji didn't die, he admitted defeat and agreed to stay away from the magical college. 

Summary: After nearly five years, Gojo Satoru comes to his humble abode in need of the Inverted Spear of Heaven, and will go to any lengths for it.

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Satoru Gojo

Tags: Parental Gojo Satoru, Bottom Gojo Satoru, DILF Fushiguro Toji, Fushiguro Toji Has a Big Dick, Child Fushiguro Megumi, Knifeplay, Improvised Sex Toys, Anal Fingering

Gojo arrived in a rather poor neighborhood in Tokyo. It had been some time since his graduation from the magical technical college, and he was now a young teacher himself, who often traveled on assignments. And today's stop for him was here. But it wasn't about the cursed spirits.

Apartment number six hundred and two was locked. Gojo knocked several times, walked past the windows, but there was no light on inside, and obviously no one was home. What was there for him to do? He couldn't leave with nothing. Looking all over Tokyo for that damn jerk couldn't do it either. Gojo shoved his hands in his pockets and walked along the ledge, kicking an empty and crumpled Coke can. All that was left to wait.

“Who do I see? An infinity shaman?”

Gojo turned around at the voice. Walking slowly towards him was him - Toji Fushiguro. The man looked as usual, his large, muscular figure obscured by the setting sun. The cursed spirit on his shoulder habitually grinned stupidly as Toji looked around the mage in front of him with mocking eyes.

“You know my name perfectly well.” Gojo wrinkled his nose.

“I have a bad memory for names.” Toji chuckled. “What's your name? Suguru?” 

“Satoru. I'm Gojo Satoru.” 

“I'll forget in five minutes.” 

The man leisurely opened the door of his apartment. Stepping back, he invited Gojo in as well. The man silently walked inside. Toji's presence so close to him sent shivers down his spine; not a pleasant sensation at all.

Toji's apartment was a small room, cluttered with junk, but still somewhat pleasant. Not by Toji's own efforts, but probably because he had not lived here long enough for it to become a branch of a dump.

Toji gestured for Gojo to sit down, while he went to the electric kettle to boil water and make ramen.

“Why are you here, shaman?” Toji stood with his back to him, leisurely opening a package of noodles. 

Gojo knew they were going to have a difficult conversation. The case he had come with would not please Toji.

“The management of the Tokyo Magic Technician thinks that you should hand over the Inverted Spear of Heaven to them.”

Toji chuckled.

“Let them rethink. The old cretins are out of their minds.”

“They sent me to pick it up from you and bring it to the technical college.” Gojo crossed his arms across his chest. Well, Toji's reluctance was understandable to anyone, but he wasn't interested in his desires. “The spear doesn't belong to you.”

“It didn't belong to them either.” Toji was lazily pouring water over a bowl of ramen. “Look, kiddo, if that's all you have to say to me, I'd get outta here if I were you. I can wield this spear very well, and now that I know where to hit, I won't lose to you again.”

Toji took the bowl and sat down at the table across from Gojo. He wasn't going to offer food to his guest; Toji obviously thought he'd already shown an extreme degree of hospitality by allowing Gojo to come into the room and sit on a chair.

“The spear belongs to the Zenin clan, whom you stole it from.” Gojo lowered his black glasses to his nose so he could see his interlocutor better. “It's a powerful cursed weapon of a special rank, capable of canceling techniques and breaking seals. The management of the technical college believes that such a serious magical artifact cannot belong to some…”

Gojo's eyes widened as he was interrupted by an extremely obscene and loud slurping sound - Toji was pulling a huge bag of noodles into his mouth with great appetite. It was enough to make Gojo cringe in disgust and clench his teeth and fists irritably.

“Enough!!! I mean it!!!”

“I still haven't heard a single reason why I should give the spear to you.” Toji spoke with his mouth full, the beautiful Gojo's feelings were of little concern to him. “If it belongs to the Zenin, let them try to take it from me.”

“They can't.” Gojo exhaustedly exhaled.

“I wonder why?” Toji was having fun, he liked the idea that the Zenin were simply incapable of opposing him.

“You know it yourself, if you're so happy about it.” Gojo was in no hurry to satisfy someone else's ego. They both understood why Gojo was the only one who had already defeated Toji in battle once. They knew that Toji would only listen to Gojo Satoru, and that he was the only one he could negotiate with. Any other shaman would die a quick death.

“You're right.” Toji propped his head up with his hand and smiled. “But why do you need the spear? What would you do with it?”

“The management of the technical college would keep the weapon until Megumi came of age.” Gojo exhaled. 

This was his last trump card - he hoped to arouse a modicum of fatherly feelings in Toji, so that he would agree to give up the Inverted Spear of Heaven without a fight. After his defeat, Toji was forced to leave Tokyo for a long time, and Gojo took full custody of Megumi. However, even when Toji returned, he was in no hurry to run to see his son. However... The opportunity to pass on a great inheritance to his child could make Toji happy and give him hope of rehabilitation in Megumi's eyes. Gojo just hoped it would work.

“Who is it?” Toji looked at him with an unchanged expression.

Gojo gave a strained smile - everything cracked inside. His faint hope failed with a deafening thud. What the hell were fatherly feelings! He didn't even remember his son's name!

“He's your son,” Gojo replied with a stony expression. He was expecting an ʼI have a son?!ʼ discussion, but Toji didn't try to deny it any further:

“Oh, right, Megumi…” he yawned, then returned to his ramen. The boy's fate was obviously of little interest to him. “Why would an infant need the Inverted Spear of Heaven?”

“Megumi is ten years old now.”

“Really? Wow.” Toji looked genuinely surprised as he shook his head, amazed at the speed of time. Gojo was sitting with the sourest face in the world at that moment. It was over: Toji would not give him the Spear without a fight. However, it was possible to try one more small maneuver:

“Since you left Tokyo, I've taken over the boy's care. And, you know, when you're eighteen, chasing after a six-year-old is no fun at all.” Gojo frowned and rose from his chair to loom over Toji a little. “Where's the child support, daddy?!”

Hearing such a statement made Toji cringe for a couple seconds, but then he laughed, slamming his palm on the table:

“Not bad, not bad! I like you, kiddo.” He propped his cheek with his hand, looking defiantly at Gojo in return and smiling mockingly. “Well, mommy, you think we're divorced now, so I have to pay you something?”

“There's more.” Gojo grimaced and distanced himself a little. “I'm not the one who needs your money, Megumi is. And he'd be extremely grateful if you gave him the Inverted Spear of Heaven. It's a small payment for not having child support for ten years now.”

Toji slowly licked his lips after the noodles, pushing the empty bowl aside. The tip of his tongue grazed an old scar as the man stood up from the table as well. His huge figure loomed over Gojo with a mountain.

“Good. I'll give you the Inverted Spear of Heaven.” Toji smiled unkindly. Gojo's eyes widened in surprise and he tensed up a little. He had somehow agreed very easily, and it was suspicious. “But…”

“But?” Gojo guessed that nothing good was in store for him.

“But in return, you'll have to work hard for it, like Megumi's mommy.” Toji moved forward, pinning the boy against the opposite wall rather quickly. He froze, his cheeks flaming with shame, humiliation, and fear. “Do you know what I mean?”

“No…” Gojo understood, but he didn't want to believe it. This asshole is actually offering him.

“Just to get laid for the Spear,” Toji finished his thoughts instead, smiling calmly. “That's what mommies do when they want something from their daddies. Nice tradition, don't you think?” Toji pulled the Inverted Spear of Heaven out of his cursed spirit to show it off and tempt him even more into agreeing.

Panic was creeping up Gojo's throat. On the one hand, he had the Spear, which he desperately needed. On the other hand, he couldn't let that bum's cock enter his perfect, handsome body! Toji's probably got some kind of contagious disease, like syphilis or AIDS! 

“Look, I... I'll agree, but... Let's not have anal sex...?” Gojo grimaced, moving the man's hand away from his thigh. Toji stroked it slowly, pressing himself close to the guy. He couldn't believe he could even say that at all. What was he thinking! But the Spear was right there, so close and far away at the same time — Gojo knew he wouldn't have time to attack and take it away. Toji's reactions were instantaneous; if Gojo just jerked, he'd be left without a head, which would be mercilessly swept away by that same Spear.

Toji grinned unpleasantly. He pulled Gojo to him by the waist and led him smoothly to the bed, sitting him on it. He squirmed, glancing nervously at the man. The shaman killer shook off his spirit and removed his shirt. The sight was... impressive. Gojo didn't want to admit he liked it, but admiration surged inside. He himself most often used cursed techniques in battles rather than physical strength, but Toji had no cursed techniques at all. He only used the raw, primal power of his own body, and together with his weapon, he was becoming the equal of Gojo himself - the strongest mage of the modern era.

Toji slowly licked the edge of the Inverted Spear of Heaven. It was in a shorter version and looked more like a dagger.

“Take off your clothes,” Toji ordered briefly. “If you don't want my cock inside you, let it be so. You'll have what you need inside you so badly.”

He loomed over the boy, pressing him into the bed while Gojo embarrassingly unbuttoned the teacher's uniform gakurana. What did that even mean?! 

Kisses and tender foreplay were not to be expected. Toji wasn't a romantic at all, and this was sex infused with pure and mutual hatred. Gojo held firm as he was rolled onto his stomach and forced to remove his pants. The strongest mage's firm ass immediately earned a series of spankings from the shaman killer. Toji was frankly enjoying himself - the one who had defeated and banished him was now lying in front of him with his ass cocked and flexing for his weapon like a pathetic whore. It was a moment of cold, successful revenge that warmed Toji's soul and heart more than the Inverted Spear of Heaven in his inventory.

“Shall we play, infinity shaman?” Toji ran his nose over the other's shoulder, causing Gojyo to flinch. “Today with lube... Only because you acted like my obedient wife and didn't try to challenge our arrangement.”

Lubricant was surprisingly easy to find in the old bachelor's apartment. The viscous, cool liquid squirted out of the tube and onto Gojo's ass, giving him goosebumps. Strong, warm hands grasped his buttocks powerfully and stretched the tight hole with concentrated roughness, inserting their fingers into it one by one. Gojo groaned in surprise and immediately clamped his hands over his mouth. He didn't want to behave the way Toji had described him, but he was already nothing more than a whore to him! God, what humiliation…

Remembering that he couldn't get his cock in, Toji first decided to play with Gojo's ass with his hands. He inserted three or four fingers at a time, making the magician shriek and moan as the pads of his fingers traveled over his prostate. Toji was very fast - just like in battle - and Gojo soon felt himself on the verge of orgasm. There was no strength to hold back, and he moaned like the latest hentai whore. Come to think of it, it had been a long time since he'd had sex where someone very strong, with a very big cock and experience, roughly takes him and forces himself all over his balls. Yes, Gojo almost regretted giving up his cock right away. However, when he was ready to cum, something quite thick and large entered him... The object had a rough surface, you could feel it even through the layer of lube. What is that...? Gojo turned around, numbly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blade of the Inverted Spear of Heaven sticking out of his butt, and Toji's face was grimly satisfied.

“Do you like it, Mommy? Oh, you're doing such a good job for your dear Megumi... Just imagine how he'll fight with this Spear, holding it by the hilt.” The man licked seductively and moved the hilt further, driving it deep into Gojo so that his hips trembled and another near orgasmic moan escaped his lips.

“Toji!” The mage coughed, choking on air. The spear continued to move rapidly inside.

“I'm sure Megumi would love the opportunity to touch the thing that was deep inside his foster mommy's ass.”

“S-shut up…” Gojo gasped in arousal, cumming with a loud groan.

***

“Oh, you're back…” As the hallway light turned on, Megumi looked out of his room. The boy looked sleepy, he was yawning as he watched the older man. “Where have you been? What's this...?”

“Yeah, hi…” Gojo was finishing up his phone call, clutching some sort of bundle tightly to himself. He looked, by the way, terribly wrinkled. When he heard the questions, he jumped up and waved his hands: “Nowhere! On a mission! There's nothing there! It's none of your business!”

“I see.” Megumi grimaced. “It wasn't very interesting.” 

He was used to Gojo's antics, so he went back to his room, unaware of what his sensei was going through for him….

[radioisntdead]

"Please, please, please"

Hazbin OCS & sibling! Reader, mild Vox x gn! reader sibling!

Warnings: a good chunk of this was written several months ago hence the somewhat old writing style + the choppyness because the writing difference between April me and November me, Valentino UNFORTUNATELY Doesn't get beaten up, yet, reader unfortunately does,reader is a little too trusting to be in hell, reader is GN but gets compared to a 50's housewife and gets magically shoved into a 50's dress

Song used

You were rather close with your sisters, or at least you used to be, you had drifted away in recent years, you had all died together, a horrific traffic accident ripping away your precious lives.

How tragic it was, Your dear old parents had to bury three of their beloved children, your eldest sister left an entire wedding behind and the other one had only just finished veterinary school, and you? Your life had only begun, a year or so into college and just at the start of your [insert Job profession of choice here] career,

And to make matters worse? You all ended in hell!

What are the chances! And what did you even do?!

Not to mention you look different then you did alive, one thing you paid the most attention too was the soft black feathered wings that sprouted from your back.

Your sisters had become almost unrecognizable if it wasn't for the fact that their voices remained the same you would've never thought it was them!

Your second oldest sister, Theodosia, her once hazel hair now a sparkly orange, her once normal human colored skin now a shade of orange, her legs were now bug-like, she had an entire new pair of arms, she had a pair of orange butterfly wings attached to her back.

She looked like a orange creamsicle, butterfly edition.

And your other dear sister, the eldest she looked like a puppet, her limbs had screws embedded, red strings draped over her neck and torso, her skin now a deep red and porcelain-like, she now preferred to cover her face with a comedy and sorrow mask.

It took some getting used to but you all got through it, together.

It was tough at first after all, it was hell, eternal damnation!

There were sinners causing chaos, fighting, excessive drinking, and other unholy activities but you three managed to find an apartment complex near cannibal town and move in, Theodosia had gotten a job at Rosie's emporium, butterflies did have cannibalistic tendencies after all.

Your eldest sister had decided to climb the ranks and become an overlord, discarding her name and choosing another.

Deyanira was the name she chose, gaining power and territory with enough souls to build a small army

And you? Their beloved younger sibling well you always were the creative type and with the backing of your overlord sister, managed to rise up as a well-sought after artist in the pride ring, it wasn't anything super intricate but it paid well and it made you happy to do,

you would've preferred to get out on your own without the influence of your sister but what could you do? She was practically suffocating you at this point.

you had been commissioned to do a large portrait for the Vee's, and that's how you met Vox, oh how you should've rejected that commission, or asked for a reference picture and you could've sent it in the mail.

You remember like it was yesterday, it was a rather decent day, but you supposed the chaos would pick up again soon so you hurried your way to the tower,

Being greeted by a professionally exhausted sinner who directed you up where you met the Vee's, Velvette ever attached to her phone took a glance up from the device and made a muffled comment about your appearance, it seemed she didn't particularly like your outfit, Valentino was preoccupied by a lamp,

Vox gave a smile, and stepped forward to greet you, that signature public appearances smile, that somehow managed to make something in your stomach move.

That should've been your que to get out of there, quickly and swiftly, but it wasn't,

You had them pose and stay there, as you painted, glancing up at them as you sketched out a rough draft with a mechanical pencil, your eyes moved to the Vees then back to your canvas working as quick as you could as to avoid their wrath if you should take too long or do something to upset them,

You were thankful that they were distracted by their phones, and talking amongst themselves but you didn't like how Valentino would attempt to look at you every now and then, it sent an icky feeling down your spine.

You didn't notice that Vox did the same.

You got the base layer down, they, at the moment, looked like a smashed blot of colors but it takes time for art to well, art

Valentino had thankfully made an exit, cursing about some whores as he left, while Velvette got distracted by something on her phone, texting feverishly on it before walking off somewhere, perhaps something had happened to one of her models or her clothing line?

However Vox stayed, doing what you assumed was work on his phone, could he do work on his tv screen? How would that even work?

You were so glad that you weren't cursed with a TV as a head that would be so inconvenient, imagine trying to lean your head on someone's shoulder only to bonk them and give them a concussion

"How's it going?"

Vox popped up behind you breaking you out of your TV head bullying thoughts, leaning in a little too close for comfort, his claw finger brushing against one of your wings, sending a shiver down your spine.

The painting would take a couple of days to finish, you offered to work on it at home but Vox insisted on having you come up the Vee's tower every other day to work on it, It didn't matter if it was an inconvenience to you.

He'd work on whatever he does while you painted, he'd have you paint while in his office, whatever he thought to keep you nearby,

It seemed he gathered a fondness for you, and you liked the fondness, it felt nice to have someone who wanted you near them.

Your sisters, on the other hand, didn't like it, Especially Deyanira, she was an overlord herself, she knew who the Vee's were and their antics, especially in overlord meetings, Velvette's respectless musical number was still playing in her head.

she made sure to keep herself away from them aside from a couple of business deals and she wasn't naive to Valentino's reputation with his employees, especially those whom souls he had in his watered down grape juice looking hands, after all, people talk, what if he targeted you? Vox surely wouldn't protect you.

She didn't want to see her younger sibling beaten and bruised, eyes swollen shut, purples, blues and nasty glimpses of yellow scattered across you, and Theodosia would be out for blood if any of the Vee's laid a hand on you, she was a cannibal, and while grape would probably taste like mold and STDs she could probably cover up the taste with seasonings or something.

They just wanted you to be done with the painting and come back home where you were safe, with them.

You thought they were just being overprotective, they had scared off other potential love interests back when you were alive, introducing them to a someone that was going to take you on a date? They'd show up with pitchforks and fire, it was just what big sisters do!

Sometimes though, you should listen to your big sisters when they tell you the TV man isn't someone you should date.

But the soft words he said! They were sweet and just, he'd look you in the eyes and tell you he loves you, that you were his everything, wasn't that enough?

They didn't know him like you did!

The way he asked you out was oh so lovely! With flowers! He gave you gifts every week, anything from art supplies, jewelry, clothing in HIS colors and much much more...

When you finally finished the portrait, it hung up in their hall for all to see,

Vox didn't like that you wouldn't be within an arms length away, that he couldn't grab you when he wanted,

So he asked you to move in, Your sisters didn't like that.

"Excuse me, he what?"

Deyanira asked, gripping the teacup she held in her hand as you grinned,

"He asked me to move in! Into the Vee's tower! Ain't that amazing Deya?"

You said, eyes filled with nothing but excitement for the future

"He said he's gonna take care of me, I want more art supplies? He said he'd get em' for me, he treats me good, he loves me,"

Deyanira grimaced, You were acting like she did long ago, You will not end up like she did if she could do anything about it.

"You know he's full of shit right?" She said in a point-blank tone

"Deya, please, he's a good guy!"

"Good guys don't end up in hell!" Deyanira sat her teacup on the table with such force that it almost cracked the porcelain.

"They can! After all we're down here together aren't we?"

"Birdie, listen to us, The Vee's-"

Theodosia was cut off by you sighing loudly and shaking your head,

"Somewhat problematic, I'm aware but I know what I'm doing!"

"Didn't he die in like the 50's? What if he wants you to be a like 50's housewife? Ew,"

"Theo!"

"You know what was rampant in the 50's? Domestic abuse,"

"Deyanira!"

"She has a point, why do you think there were so many former housewives around? Because They killed their husbands! just stay with us, we can keep you safe!"

"I don't need you to protect me!"

You shout as you get up from the couch and move to your room, art decorations, paint splatters, stickers and much more covered the walls, pictures of you with your sisters, with Vox and others hung up on a string.

You moved quickly to grab a suitcase that laid underneath your bed as your sisters spoke amongst themselves, managing to pack a good chunk of your clothing into it before Theodosia entered your room, leaning against the door way, both pairs of arms crossed.

"Birdie, please listen to us,"

"Theo, I'm moving in with the Vee's and that's final." You said turning to look at her only for her to pull you into the hall and down the stairs, dragging you into the living room, only instead of the warm colored living room you had grown accustomed too it was now grayscale and decorated like some 50's sitcom, but more stuffy, everything felt too clean and not lived in.

Where they serious?? What was this?

Where was that music coming from?

And why was Deyanira leaning from the second floor railing?

Theodosia pulled out a flashlight and shined it upon you as if it was a spotlight, effectively blinding your eyes.

"You're a sinner who's on fire"

Oh.

Oh no.

They were singing.

"Shinin' brighter than a thousand suns"

She shined the light directly into your eyes blinding you causing you to hiss out in pain.

"Is this really love?"

You felt hands wrap around your shoulders and spin you around,

"There's no need to rush, afterlife has just begun,"

''afterlife has just begun,''

When you recovered your vision you were wearing a blue 50's styled dress.

"You're brave as you are brilliant,"

Your sister's disembodied voice sang out, if you weren't so desensitized, it'd be horrifying

"Your radiance is like a million lights,"

Nevermind even if you were desensitized it was still horrifying where was she??

''A artist on high, A colorful mind, You mesmerize,''

''You mesmerize,''

You shook your head and moved to grab a glass of wine from the counter, pouring it out into the glass you were about to take a sip only to hear a cough from the couch, you look over to see a TV glued onto the body of a mannequin, clearly meant to be mimicking Vox.

"And he's just," "He's just,"

You raised an eyebrow and took the sip anyways,

''He's just,"

Theodosia popped out from wherever she went and swatted at the mannequin causing it to vanish.

"Just some guy!"

She took the glass out of your hand and placed it to the side before taking both of your hands into hers

"Please, please, please,"

She looked into your eyes, her spiralling black ones gazing into yours.

"Please, please don't do it','

You took your hands out of hers and took a step back.

"You're bee's knees,''

She held out all four of her hands, reaching out.

''Stop being foolish, You're pie in the sky, The apple of eyes!''

You pull away tucking your hands underneath your arms.

"He's not worth your time,"

Her voice was soft and warm, you felt like you were five again, crying to your big sister about a boy pushing you down on the playground.

''So lose that guy,''

But you weren't five anymore,

''You can do a whole lot better,''

A grayscale style picture of Vox appeared on the the 50's tv, Theo pointed at it,

"Than this suit-wearing old man creeper,'' ''Old man creeper,"

They weren't wrong, you and Vox came from very different eras,

Deyanira appeared from who knows where scaring the hell out of you, she grabbed your face and stared at you

"Don't settle for less, You deserve the best,"

You couldn't see her eyes, hidden behind her comedy/tragedy mask.

"You're a double feature," "A double feature,"

You've nearly forgotten that she's trained for this type of stuff, you shook her hands off of your face, you open your mouth to say something but Deyanira gestures to the TV

"And he's just," "He's just,''

He's what?

''He's just-'' Deyanira waved her hands around trying to find the words to sing.

"A TV guy!''

"And his name is Vox, for fuck's sake!"

Okay it was an odd name but it could be worse!

''Please, please, please,''

''Please, please don't do it''

Deyanira couldn't get on her knees, puppet troubles you supposed, so she towered over you,

"You're bee's knees, Stop being foolish!"

"You're pie in the sky, The apple of eyes,''

Theodosia popped out from behind you holding a concerning amount of eyeballs.

"He's not worth your time"

Theo grabbed one of your hands.

"So lose that guy,"

Deyanira grabbed the other.

"Please, please, please, Please, please don't do it''

You were getting tired of this.

''Royalty shouldn't be stoopin' ''

Was that offensive to the royalty down here? What happened if you were royalty in life? Would that still be valid??

"You're pie in the sky, The apple of eyes,''

They pulled you towards them,

''He's not worth your time," ''So lose that guy!''

They wrapped you in their arms in a group hug, was this supposed to convince you to stay?

"How could you run off to be somebody's spouse's''

You weren't running off, it's not like you were never going to see them again.

"When you could be here with your favorite sisters,"

You rolled your eyes, your youngest sister who you assumed wasn't dead yet, and hopefully wouldn't end up here, cleverly wasn't mentioned.

"Yeah, he calls you an old soul, But he's just a child,''

Okay his temper tantrums were childish but they were cute?? No, No they weren't.

"Woah, oh, oh, oh" "Please, please, please"

You moved to leave but was pulled back by Deyanira's strings wrapping around you.

"How could you run off to be somebody's spouse?"

You opened your mouth to say something but was cut off by her singing once more.

''Please, please don't do it, You're bee's knees,''

''When you could be here with your favorite sisters,''

Again they were the only ones down here, they weren't your favorite, at least not right now.

''Stop being foolish','' "You're pie in the sky, The apple of eyes,''

You shook off her strings, leaving them to fall to the floor before Deyanira pulled them back onto her.

"He's not worth your time," "Woah, oh, oh, oh""

Oh! Deyanira's freaky little puppet people were there too, fun.

"So lose that guy."

Your sister pulled out the flashlight and blinded you again, once you regained your sight everything is back to normal, no longer in the 50's attire you somehow got yoinked into.

"Enough! I'm going to move in with him and that's final!"

You shouted before rushing back to your room to finish packing, leaving your sisters behind, Theodosia disappointed and Deyanira fuming.

The move itself was smooth, everything was good at first, wasn't perfect but then again it was hell.

But things got worse, with Vox choosing to entertain Valentino in multiple ways as opposed to you.

If you opened up about your concerns then you were hypnotized and told to let it go.

On the times Vox decided to give you affection Valentino got jealous, severely jealous.

You had gotten your own art studio, it was a decent size and near Vox.

You spent the majority of your time, when not with Vox, in there, painting away, the walls were your favorite color, old paintings of yours that you were proud of hung on the wall, your door was cracked, you had plastic on the floor to catch any fallen paint, two mugs one for drinking and one filled with paint water, and unbeknownst to you a camera was hidden around always watching you.

Music blasted through your headphones as you painted away, brush sliding across down the canvas.

Valentino left destruction in his wake, broken glass, employees ripped apart, your sister had pulled some of her people out of one of his... Productions and he was angry.

He was going to complain to Vox but he managed to spot you, through the crack of your door, how he managed to see you with his shitty eyesight? Who knows.

You didn't even hear him come in with the headphones on, you only realized he was there when he shoved a majority of your art supplies onto the ground, paint spilled, bottles broke, brushes were snapped in half.

It happened quickly you couldn't even get a word out as the paintings you worked so hard on were ripped and thrown onto the ground, frames broken and canvases ripped.

You tried to yell for him to stop, but he simply turned his rage onto you, within a mere second he grabbed onto your wings and a loud crack could be heard.

You laid down in a puddle of spilt paint, shearing pain pulsing throughout your wings and back.

Everything hurt, you felt nauseous, you couldn't even try to move your wings.

You faintly heard Vox appear, you heard things being spoken but you couldn't make them out, the last thing you recall is someone touching your face.

By the time you awoke, your wings were bandaged up, a imp dressed like a doctor was beside you, telling you to rest and not to irritate your wings until they were healed, they scrambled to leave the moment they saw that Vox was hovering over the door, Vox came in, talking about how this wouldn't happen again, how he and Valentino came to an agreement.

All you could hear was that Valentino was still there.

That despite what came out of Vox's mouth, this could happen again.

And so you could do only one thing.

Wait, you waited until your wings were healed up enough that whenever you walked they didn't ache, you waited until Vox fell asleep for the night, powering off.

You packed what you could and fled, you passed by your art studio, opening the door to a heartbreaking sight.

Your eyes darted around the room, your studio was completely destroyed, paintings that took you months to finish torn apart, unrepairable, unsalvageable.

You closed the door and continued your way down the Vee's tower.

You ran down the streets of the entertainment district of pentagram city, passing by sinners and hellborn alike, passing by billboard signs and advertisements of the Vee's.

Before you knew it you were pounding on the door where your sisters resided, looking behind you, terrified that maybe you were followed.

You remember that next you felt Deyanira's arms wrap around you, bringing you inside and wrapping a warm blanket around you.

Vox came 'round the day, when he realized you weren't around, causing Deyanira to chew him out, eventually he left.

But that didn't stop him from watching you whenever you left the house.

His face appearing on the TV's, phones, electronics.

Eventually Theodosia had enough, and as Charlie waltzed into cannibal town, singing a musical number and gaining the towns help to defend her hotel from the extermination, she had an idea.

And so after extermination day, she dragged you to her workplace during her lunch break.

You and your sister sat across from each other at the emporium, your throat felt dry, in your hands a cup of hot tea, on the table in front of you a cannibal treat.

you could hear the clock tick, counting each second, each minute until she finally spoke up,

"Bridie, have you thought of redemption?"

"Redemption?"

"Yeah, you've heard of that hazbin hotel right?"

She asked tilting her head, her antennas twitching slightly, you nodded, who hadn't? Certainly Vox had, you remember hearing him talking about it, after all the radio demon was hanging around the place.

"What do you think of getting redeemed? It'll be better then having Deya making sure that TV can't-" she was interrupted by you, wide eyed.

"What about you? And Deya? I can't just leave you here!"

"You won't have too, We're obviously going with you, dumb-dumb." She said reaching for one of the treats on the platter Infront of you, she seamlessly popped it in her mouth, glancing out the window as she chewed.

"But what about," you looked at the sinner made snacks "You know the Cannibalism thing, not the mention Deyanira's an overlord,"

"Eh, I can do a cleanse," she licked away the red smudge from her cheek, "Probably and you know Deya, she's willing to give that up if it mean we stay together."

You stay quiet for a few drawn out seconds taking a sip of your drink, you should've ordered something cold.

"And we'll go together right?"

"That's the plan.''

You take one pair of her hands in yours, they're dry.

"Let's do it, staying at a redemption hotel sounds nice.''

Good evening folks! This has been in my drafts since like April, BUT NOW IT'S OUT BECAUSE I NEED TO CLEAR OUT THE DRAFTS, I HOPE YOU ENJOYED, and I hope you have a wonderful night

Psst! You should join our discord, we can talk about our OCS!

[delulustateofmind]

Bad Luck

Yan!Mahito x Reader

Description: You bring home a blue worm, what could go wrong? 

TW: Mahito (that’s literally the only one you need), Noncon/dubcon, brief lactation kink, Yandere behaviors - just obsession, threatening to disfigure people, Somnophilia, overstim, teeny-tiny piss mention (listen I would piss myself if I saw Mahito’s creations), praise (towards mahito) 

MDNI

WC: 2.3k

A/n: I literally despise Mahito, but I just feel like he would be such a good horror yandere. The dude is spooky. Fair warning, I am not the most comfortable with writing smut, especially dark stuff like this, so it could be actually terrible, but I figured I would test the waters. There may be errors, as I got to shy to read my own smut.

Today was not the day. Everything seemed to unravel at once. First, you lost your job at that trendy new café—a small but lively spot you had started to actually enjoy—all because you spilled a drink on your now ex-boyfriend. He’d walked in holding hands with your best friend, their shared laughter and kissing had…struck a nerve with you, and before you knew it, your world tilted. Your scholarship? Gone, revoked due to an anonymous tip accusing you of plagiarism in your senior project. You were lucky they didn’t expel you, but the word “lucky” felt like a cruel joke.

The streets of Tokyo buzzed around you, a dizzying blend of neon lights and the chatter of hurried crowds. The rain started, cold and sudden, soaking through your clothes and chilling you to the bone. Great. No umbrella, no clear memory of where you’d left your bike. You shuffled through the rain, each step heavier than the last. The absurd thought flitted through your mind: maybe you should have reshared that Facebook post you saw years ago, the one that said, “Share if you love Jesus or ignore for ten years of bad luck.” Perhaps ignoring it had been your downfall. You’ll make a note for next time. 

After several minutes, you found your bike, its metal frame slick with rainwater. Just as you were about to sit down, you noticed something small and peculiar resting on the seat—a grayish-blue caterpillar, fuzzy and oddly mesmerizing with what seemed like patchwork markings. You’d never seen one like that before. Your first instinct was unexpected: maybe you should bring it home. If you left it here, it might get crushed by a passerby or snatched up by a bird. Or worse—maybe it was poisonous and someone else’s day would become just as disastrous as yours.

Carefully, you opened your empty bento box and placed the little creature inside. It seemed to squirm contentedly, almost as if it understood your intention. You opted not to close the lid, fearful it might suffocate. Gently, you set the box in the small basket of your bicycle and began the short ride home. Your apartment was only a few miles away, nestled in the heart of Kabukicho, Tokyo’s vibrant and infamous entertainment district. It wasn’t ideal—the clamor of nearby bars, the Yakuza lurking in shadowed alleys, piles of trash and drunks lining the streets—but it was the only place you could afford. And on most days, it felt safe enough.

You climbed the eight flights of stairs, each step more taxing than the last, breath hitching as you struggled to catch it. Maintenance had promised to fix the elevator months ago. By the time you reached your door, you were gasping, sweat and rain mixing on your skin. You looked down at the caterpillar. Or was it a worm now? Its form seemed more elongated, less distinct. It stared back at you, almost knowingly. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Perhaps the rain was already starting to give you a fever. You should have brought a jacket today. 

You blinked, shaking off the thought. You were exhausted. It had been a day of too many shocks, and your mind was playing tricks on you. That had to be it. Right? 

You found an old tank from that one fish you tried keeping alive, setting the worm, caterpillar, thing—whatever it was—inside. You placed a few leaves from your plants that were barely living. Perhaps a reflection of you in a sense, starting so bright in life only to wallow in self-deprecation. You placed the cover of the tank, giving the worm thing one last look before scrounging through your fridge for something besides leftovers.

You could always move back home.

Go back to your little small rural town, tend to the rice fields just like your parents. Marry some local boy.

You tried to wipe the tears before they could fall into your sad bowl of ramen, the running snot and the wails of your cries. Was this pack of ramen always this salty or was it your tears adding to it? You weren’t sure if you cared or not.

After your good little cry session, you passed out in bed. Unaware that you had made a huge mistake bringing home that silly little caterpillar.

You awoke in the middle of the night to a heavy weight on your waist. Was your stuffed animal always this heavy? You blearily looked up, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. Your heart nearly stopped in your chest when your gaze was met with a cruel smile, teeth white and unsettlingly human, glistening in the dim light.

Cold terror seeped into your veins. The figure looming over you was not human. Its eyes were black voids, bottomless pits reflecting nothing but curiosity. The skin, pale and stitched together like a mangled corpse.

Was this how you die? At the hands of some nightmare made flesh? Maybe you should have reblogged that post. Maybe you should have sent that money to that Nigerian prince you thought was a spam email.

“Hello,” the voice giggled, a mockery of warmth twisted by an unnatural echo. The creature tilted its head, gray hair that was partially braided spilling to the side. Its markings, dark and jagged like stitches. You suddenly remembered the caterpillar, and your stomach roiled with dread.

“Did you bring me home to play?” it whispered, voice lilting with a sickening glee. The grin widened impossibly, the teeth remaining unsettlingly human. The creature’s eyes glistened with delight as it fed on the raw, unfiltered terror etched across your face.

“I’m so glad you did,” it cooed, fingers like talons skimming across your cheek with a touch too cold, too calculated. Suddenly, it giggled again—a sound both childlike and unsettling, as if a child were delighted by their favorite toy—and clapped its hands. “We’re going to have so much fun! Let’s see how long you can scream,” it said, eyes sparkling with manic glee.

Suddenly, Mahito’s expression softened, taking on an eerie, almost affectionate look. He traced your jawline with a gentler touch, tilting his head with an unsettling innocence. “But you’re special,” he murmured, as if sharing a secret. “You brought me here, after all. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll keep you.”

The room spun as confusion and fear filled your mind. The monster’s gaze shifted from playful to possessive, a twisted sort of fondness darkening his features. He pressed his forehead against yours, the unnatural coldness of his skin seeping into you.

“You’re mine now,” Mahito whispered, a mockery of affection that sent chills racing down your spine. “And I protect what’s mine.”

The next few months were hell. You found out that only you could see Mahito. Something about him being a curse or something. At times, he would remind you that you were lucky that he liked you. He’d remind you by dragging you to witness his “experiments,” humans grotesquely twisted into unrecognizable forms, clawing at the damp walls of a forgotten sewer.

“This could be you,” he cooed so playfully, pressing a few light kisses to your neck as your eyes widened in horror at the sight before you. You trembled, unable to look away from the writhing, desperate figures.

“But you’re so pretty, I just… I just love you,” Mahito giggled, an almost boyish smile splitting his face as he looked at you, eyes brimming with a twisted sincerity. His arms wrapped around your waist, a possessive embrace that felt more like a shackle.

“You take such good care of me, y/n,” he whispered, the words sending shivers down your spine as the grotesque chorus of agony continued around you. The contrast between his gentle tone and the grotesque scene made your stomach churn. You knew there was no escaping him—not now, not ever

“Mahito... can we go home?” you rasped, voice trembling as his teeth grazed your neck, leaving a stinging mark in their wake. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, but you bit back a cry.

“Go home...?” His voice took on a mocking, airy tone as he nuzzled against your skin. “I was going to join you at the university today. I need a few more shrunken experiments, you know? I was thinking about picking that one girl who sits next to you. The one who always compliments your outfits.” His hand slipped under your shirt, his touch cold and insistent as he left another bruising kiss on your collarbone.

“She should’ve known you were mine,” he giggled, the sound innocent and jarring as he toyed with your vulnerability. His hand made its way to your chest, and a shocked, playful laugh escaped his lips. “No bra? My, my, you spoil me…”

His eyes glistened with delight, a twisted mix of childlike excitement and sadistic pleasure. “Remember when you used to run away? I miss those days... I miss scaring you with my experiments. But I also love when you let me touch…”

Mahito’s lips quivered in a deranged smile, as his fingers found your nipples. Twisting and pulling until milk begins to dampen your shirt.The tips of his fingers becoming sticky with your milk. A giggle escaped his lips “I was so lucky this alteration to your body took…I was nearly worried it was going to kill you in the process….messing with brains can be hard” he whined the past few words as he continued to milk you, staining your poor blouse with each tug and pull. The only thing that filled the room was the sound of your sweet moans and the horrors that were monsters clawing the walls. You felt sick as slick began to coat your thighs, something that could be mixed with piss from the sight around you and the arousal building up from your sensitive buds being toyed with, to the point where they ached. 

You practically whimpered in his grip. Clawing at the arm that held you to his chest. 

“I love you,” he continued, his voice dripping with twisted delight, the words flowing out in a sing-song manner. “Say it back and we’ll go home…okay?” His smile, stretched wide and near-manic, sent a chill down your spine as he watched you wither under his touch.

“Hah…I…” The words caught in your throat, lodged behind the growing bile threatening to choke you. You forced them out, pushing past the terror and the nausea that gripped you as your eyes darted to his grotesque creations, their hands clawing desperately at the walls of the forgotten sewer. “I love…you…” The phrase broke into fractured sobs, each one echoing in your mind, barely masking the sound of Mahito’s gleeful laughter as he swept you up into his arms.

“That’s my girl! See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he chirped, the cheerfulness in his voice a sickening contrast to the horror around you. Your body tensed, but you forced yourself to relax, leaning into his chest. They were once people, weren’t they? 

As your vision blurred, exhaustion pulled you under, your mind swirling with nightmares of those poor, wretched things clawing and pleading in the darkness. 

You weren’t sure how long you were out for, your mind hazy, you felt like you had a fever as you panted. You blinked away the sleep, feeling a pool of heat between your legs and you could hear…moans? Everything felt so hot…so messy. 

“Give…give me one…more” Mahito whined with each and every breath. Has he been?…The soreness hit you first, you felt so raw. You watched at the pale creature pathetically humped the bed like a bitch in heat. “I was a good boy…right? Right? I waited…so that way you could enjoy it too…” His dead eyes looked up at you, expecting some sort of praise for his deranged actions. You hoped that you could mask the horror on your face, right before, he curled his fingers deep inside you causing you to squirm. 

“Hah…I memorized your body…while you were asleep…if I touch you here” you nearly screamed out of pleasure, your body compulsing as you saw stars, your eyes rolling back of your skull, You were just so overstimulated. “It will make you climax within seconds…so I figured I would keep hitting that spot until you wake up” He smiled as he licked your clit, circling his long tongue around the sensitive nub that caused a guttural moan to slip out of your lips. “Then this little thing causes your legs to shake…must feel good right? All red and puffy” he continued licking up and down, side to side. Spelling out his name until you were spilling out curses from your lips. His fingers kept curling around that sweet spot that was located deep inside of you. The sounds that filled the room, made your stomach tighten in knots. You shouldn’t be feeling this….good. 

You peeked down at him, the way he looked up at you like a lovesick bitch in heat. He enjoyed this a little too much you could tell. 

“Tell me, I’m a good boy, please…please” He moaned as he continued to fuck himself against your bed. “Y/n…I’m your good boy…” he whined in between licks. “I cleaned you up and everything…hah…you were just so messy…couldn’t…help myself.” 

You forced the words out in between labored breaths.

“You’re…a good….boy” After that final word, pleasure clashed into you. Your hips moved involuntarily as you squirted on his face, earning a large, cruel smile from his lips as he licked at the sweet juices in between muttering Thank you and I love you. You were thankful you passed out. Not wanting to know what else he had in store for you tonight. 

Perhaps hell would be better than this.

[jojo-schmo]

Did anyone else get roped back into liking fnaf after the movie like that SpongeBob episode where Sandy lassos Patrick back to her and he explodes

[random-thot-generator]

Ghost decides after one blind date that you're going to be his.

>>>>>

Simon isn't used to dating. A quick hook up in the loo, sure. A drunken one night stand? He's had too many of those to count. But proper courting? Hell, it's been years, maybe a decade, since he's taken a bird out on an actual date.

It's probably going to be a disaster, but he gave Johnny his word he'd go out with his bird's best friend, so he can't back out now. He'll just have to grit his teeth and power through it.

His sour outlook for the evening is forgotten the second he sees you walk in with Johnny's bird. You're no tipsy tart on the pull, like the birds he's used to dealing with. You're a proper lady, dolled up nice for your date with him. It makes his chest feel tight when he gets a good look at your pretty face and nervous little smile.

His usual gruff manner is obviously not going to fly with you, so he quickly tries to recall the mannerisms he's seen his captain use around women. He gets to his feet with Johnny when the two of you reach the table, trying his best to look less intimidating.

Johnny introduces the two of you, and Simon melts inside when he takes your soft little hand in his for the first time. His brain goes fuzzy, dark eyes glazing over, and he's not sure what he says when he greets you, but it earns him a smile.

"It's really nice to meet you, Simon," are the first words you say to him.

Your voice is soft and sweet, and the way you say his name? Oh, he's gonna need to hear more of that, and often.

For the first time in a long time, Simon's worried about what someone thinks of him. He's worried he'll put you off with his harsh manner. So, he minds his words and gentles his tone. He slows his steps to match your pace and tucks your small hand at his elbow to keep you close and safe. He's holding doors and pulling out your chair. He compliments your dress and hair.

And when your heel catches on the sidewalk and you stumble, he doesn't bark a laugh or say something mean, wouldn't bloody dream of it. No, he catches you before you fall, and all that softness in his hands makes something shift in his brain. You're such a fragile little thing, delicate as spun sugar. You need a big nasty mutt like him to protect you, take care of you, and he's more than willing to do the job.

When the date is over, Simon sees you home, and you kiss him on your front stoop. It's not all groping hands and tangling tongues. It's a gentle press of lips, his big hands cradling your face, the sweet intimacy making his eyes flutter shut. He's floating when he finally gets back in his truck and drives himself home.

Instead of going to bed, Simon begins to formulate a plan of strategy. He figures it'll take a few more dates before you invite him into your flat, and several more after that before you invite him into your bed, then eventually into your life. It might take months, even a year or more. That's alright, though. If his years in the military have taught him anything, it's patience.

Simon knows how to play the long game. He'll go at your pace, let you get used to having him around, then make himself indispensable to you. No one will treat you as good, meet your every need and desire the way he will. He won't stop until he is your world, your reason for being. Your everything.

And when enough time has passed, he'll claim you completely as his. He's going to put a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly, then tuck you away safe and sound in one of those cute country cottages he looked up online. You'll be his little missus, and he'll be your tamed beast, keeping his teeth and claws hidden but at the ready.

By the time he arrives at your flat the next evening for your second date, he's already got your engagement ring in his safe at home and the names of your future children picked out.

And when you text him the day after to invite him for dinner, the new name he replaced yours with pops up on his screen.

It says 'Missus Riley', of course.

-

[woovalin]

i’m in such disbelief right now and beyond disgusted.

i really hope y’all are choosing your morals over kpop; because we do not know these men at all. i will never side with or defend a predator and a criminal, even with little to no proof. even if there is the smallest chance he may be innocent, i will always believe the victim first.

some of you, as fans of the boys for years and him in general, i know you must be feeling disappointed and betrayed. you’re not dumb for previously supporting him, as we couldn’t have possibly known. but now is the time for a reality check and it’s time to wake up and take a step back. this just goes to show that we know absolutely nothing about them.

for sm to just outright put out a statement on their own before any rumors even surfaced and immediately kick him out? this has to be insanely serious and i’m terrified of what he could’ve done. the crazy thing is with everything currently happening in korea with the telegram situation, and korean women constantly being in danger in general because of the men there, i’m not at all surprised that celebrities are being exposed. sm has protected criminals before, and held onto lucas when his scandal came out as well as other artists who have been exposed for similar crimes. i can’t even imagine the severity of the current situation. we’ve seen what happened with the burning sun, and these men are not immune to being misogynistic, vile human beings.

members have already unfollowed him and deleted posts with him in them; his best friend of 17yrs has unfollowed him. the company taking the initiative and him getting kicked out of the group in less than a second before anything even came out, no denying the claims or even trying to defend him. that should be enough to tell you and understand how serious this actually is. i am beyond disgusted with him and this whole situation.

i sincerely hope the victim is doing okay and praying for them to heal and get the justice they deserve. and remember that your love for these celebrities should always be conditional, because we do not know them. it’s their job to put on a show and show you their public persona, but behind closed doors? we don’t know what they’re actually like. we put them on a pedestal and yet we don’t know what they’re really capable of. they are still men after all. i hope the police are taking this seriously. there needs to be consequences and these women need to be protected.

let this be a lesson to all of us. they don’t know us, and we don’t know them, not really, not at all.

ALWAYS choose morals over these strangers you idolize. and as women, we should be standing with the victims.

maybe not all men, but enough of them. and maybe not all men, but somehow always a man. and going forward, i will continue to support nct as a whole with the remaining members. however, keeping the situation in mind, i will be supporting from afar for a little while. if the situation escalates and other members are investigated and new information comes to light about the rest of them either knowing or possibly being involved, it would be best to step away for good. i will do my best to stay updated. but i do hope the rest of the members are doing okay, and hopefully no other members were involved; but this, just shows that they can always surprise us. you never think it’ll be your fave, until it is.

let’s hope this causes a domino effect and more of these people are exposed and charged for the crimes they’re committing.

sending love to anyone who has ever experienced sexual violence or has been targeted and been in a similar situation. it is not your fault and it never was!

love you all and my dms are always open if you need to vent. <3

❗️EDIT: also i wanna add that we need to not praise the rest of the members or any other celebrity for simply unfollowing him on social media. that is the least of anyone’s worries.

we don’t know if they were aware, we don’t know if they knew and were protecting him or turning a blind eye. it could be them trying to save themselves and clear their guilty conscience. maybe they didn’t know and are just as shocked as we are, we don’t know that either.

we blindly trust these people and believe they have good intentions but look at where that can lead to. fans being upset is valid, yes; but remember people with money and power will do whatever it takes to sweep things under the rug and make it go away in order to save face and keep their image and reputation.

follow-up post here.

[headspace-hotel]

Nature is healing.

I burned the Meadow a couple weeks ago. At first it looked like nothing but charred ashes and dirt, with a few scorched green patches, and I was afraid I'd done something terrible. But then the sprouts emerged. Tender new leaves swarming the soil.

My brother and I were outside after dark the other day, to see if any lightning bugs would emerge yet. We had been working on digging the pond. That old soggy spot in the middle of the yard that we called "poor drainage," that always splattered mud over our legs when we ran across it as children—it isn't a failed lawn, and it never was.

Oh, we tried to fill in the mud puddles, even rented heavy machinery and graded the whole thing out, but the little wetland still remembered. God bless those indomitable puddles and wetlands and weeds, that in spite of our efforts to flatten out the differences that make each square meter of land unique from another, still declare themselves over and over to be what they are.

So we've been digging a hole. A wide, shallow hole, with an island in the middle.

And steadily, I've been transplanting in vegetation. At school there is a soggy field that sadly is mowed like any old field. The only pools where a frog could lay eggs are tire ruts. From this field I dig up big clumps of rushes and sedges, and nobody pays me any mind when I smuggle them home.

I pulled a little stick of shrubby willow from some cracked pavement near a creek, and planted it nearby. From a ditch on the side of the road beside a corn field, I dug up cattail rhizomes. Everywhere, tiny bits of wilderness, holding on.

I gathered up rotting logs small enough to carry and made a log pile beside the pond. At another corner is a rock pile. I planted some old branches upright in the ground to make a good place for birds and dragonflies to perch.

And there are so many birds! Mourning doves, robins, cardinals and grackles come here in much bigger numbers, and many, many finches and sparrows. I always hear woodpeckers, even a Pileated Woodpecker here and there. A pair of bluebirds lives here. There are three tree swallows, a barn swallow also, tons of chickadees, and there's always six or seven blue jays screaming and making a commotion. And the goldfinches! Yesterday I watched three brilliant yellow males frolic among the tall dandelions. They would hover above the grass and then drop down. One landed on a dandelion stem and it flopped over. There are several bright orange birds too. I think a couple of them are orioles, but there's definitely also a Summer Tanager. There's a pair of Canada Geese that always fly by overhead around the same time in the evening. It's like their daily commute.

The other day, as I watched, I saw a Cooper's Hawk swoop down and carry off a robin. This was horrifying news for the robin individually, but great news for the ecosystem. The food chain can support more links now.

There are two garter snakes instead of one, both of them fat from being good at snaking. I wonder if there will be babies?

But the biggest change this year is the bugs. It's too early for the lightning bugs, but all the same the yard is full of life.

It's like remembering something I didn't know I forgot. Oh. This is how it's supposed to be. I can't glance in any direction without seeing the movement of bugs. Fat crickets and earwigs scuttle underneath my rock piles, wasps flit about and visit the pond's shore, an unbelievable variety of flies and bees visit the flowers, millipedes and centipedes hide under the logs. Butterflies, moths, and beetles big and small are everywhere.

I can't even describe it in terms of individual encounters; they're just everywhere, hopping and fluttering away with every step. There are so many kinds of ants. I sometimes stare really closely at the ground to watch the activities of the ants. Sometimes they are in long lines, with two lanes of ants going back and forth, touching antennae whenever two ants traveling in opposite directions meet. Sometimes I see ants fighting each other, as though ant war is happening. Sometimes the ants are carrying the curled-up bodies of dead ants—their fallen comrades?

My neighbor gave me all of their fallen leaves (twelve bags!) and it turns out that piling leaves on top of a rock and log pile in a wet area summons an unbelievable amount of snails.

I always heard of snails as pests, but I have learned better. Snails move calcium through the food chain. Birds eat snails and use the calcium in their shells to make egg shells. In this way, snails lead to baby birds. I never would have known this if I hadn't set out to learn about snails.

In the golden hour of evening, bugs drift across the sky like golden motes of dust, whirling and dancing together in the grand dramas of their tiny lives. I think about how complicated their worlds are. After interacting with bees and wasps so much for so long, I'm amazed by how intelligent and polite they are. Bumble bees will hover in front of me, swaying side to side, or circle slowly around me several times, clearly perceiving some kind of information...but what? It seems like bees and wasps can figure out if you are a threat, or if you are peaceful, and act accordingly.

I came to a realization about wasps: when they dart at your head so you hear them buzzing close by your ears, they're announcing their presence. The proper response is to freeze and duck down a bit. It seems like wasps can recognize if you're being polite; for what it's worth, I've never been stung by a wasp.

As night falls, bats emerge and start looping and darting around in the sky above. If the yard seems full of bugs in the day, it is nothing compared to the night.

I'm aware that what I'm about to describe, to an entomophobe, sounds like a horror movie: when i walk to the back yard, the trees are audibly crackling and whirring with the activity of insects. Beetles hover among the branches of the trees. When we look up at the sky, moths of all sizes are flying hither and thither across it. A large, very striking white moth flies past low to the ground.

Last year, seeing a moth against the darkening sky was only occasional. Now there's so many of them.

I consider it in my mind:

When roads and houses are built and land is turned over to various human uses, potentially hundreds of native plant species are extirpated from that small area. But all of the Eastern USA has been heavily altered and destroyed.

Some plants come back easily, like wild blackberry, daisy fleabane, and common violets. But many of them do not. Some plants need fire to sprout, some need Bison or large birds to spread them, some need humans to harvest and care for them, some live in habitats that are frequently treated with contempt, some cannot bear to be grazed by cattle, some are suffocated beneath invasive Tall Fescue, Kentucky bluegrass, honeysuckle or Bradford pears, and some don't like being mowed or bushhogged.

Look at the landscape...hundreds and hundreds of acres of suburbs, pastures, corn fields, pavement, mowed verges and edges of roads.

Yes, you see milkweed now and then, a few plants on the edge of the road, but when you consider the total area of space covered by milkweed, it is so little it is nearly negligible. Imagine how many milkweed plants could grow in a single acre that was caretaken for their prosperity—enough to equal fifty roadsides put together!

Then I consider how many bugs are specialists, that can only feed upon a particular plant. Every kind of plant has its own bugs. When plant diversity is replaced by Plant Sameness, the bug population decreases dramatically.

Plant sameness has taken over the world, and the insect apocalypse is a result.

But in this one small spot, nature is healing...

[hedgehog-moss]

Last spring my neighbour asked if I could let Pirlouit mow the grass around his barn from time to time, which Pirou was happy to do at first but if I left him there several days in a row he got pretty sad about being alone (lots of wistful, melancholy braying). So this year when my donkey was hired for this job again, I went for a different formula: for the past few weeks I've been bringing all the animals to the neighbour's barn for an hour of landscaping services now and then at apéritif time.

The fence is extremely not Pampe-proof so I have to have my apéritif while sitting on the road in a strategic position from which I can toss a stick in her direction if she tries to escape, but other than that I've been really enjoying this peaceful evening ritual, just sitting there reading and watching the animals while feeling like I'm doing my neighbour a favour. Pirlouit doesn't get all the grass to himself anymore but I've learnt that he prefers to be rich in friends than in food.

You'll notice that Merricat is present in every photo, looking alert. She too has been hired, but for the thankless job of Thought Police. She may look like she's just napping on the warm asphalt with not a care in the world...

... but she is working! Keeping an eye on the llamas, always.

I've discovered that in a specific context my three cats can act as precogs and warn me of Pampe's future crimes. My theory is that they developed this skill because of Poldine, who loves cats. Any cat who enters the pasture will soon be noticed and (lovingly) chased by Poldine, who wants kisses. Cats not only do not want llama kisses, they don't differentiate between individual llamas. They are all potential kissers. So even if it looks like she's all relaxed, Merricat is constantly monitoring where the llamas are and what they seem to be planning. If we are on the other side of a fence and Pampe approaches it a bit too slyly, Merricat will jump to her feet, ready to flee (and I will toss one of my anti-Pampe sticks, and say NON.)

Merricat and I are a very good team! We've foiled several of Pampe's plots, but we need to be on the road for Merricat to remain wary (if we were in the pen Pampe's escape attempts would involve getting away from us and the cat wouldn't care.) Cars are rare so it's okay (plus it's so quiet you can always hear them coming), and on the few occasions when someone showed up and asked why I was having apéritif on the road, I pointed at Pampe and they were like, "Ah! Didn't see her here. Good luck!"

"Hedgehog-moss, you're exaggerating. Pampe can't be that—"

She is! She is. And she always seems to notice when Merricat is on a bathroom break and I'm absorbed in a book.

There was one evening though, when she got distracted by a fascinating new idea. I don't claim to know what's going on in this llama's head (except when she's looking at a fence, then it's easy) but as you can see, once I brought the animals to the barn Poldine started eating flowers, Pirlouit started eating grass, and Pampe started eating the wall.

After a moment she slowly circled the barn, then stopped and lay down right next to it, settling down in a comfortable position but with focused ears and her head still turned towards the wall. It was suspicious behaviour, but on the other hand she now looked so uninterested in the road that I decided to take a risk and run home to bring back some dinner—and she didn't move while I was away! I even brought Pandolf, who is usually banned from these soirées because he would disturb my Merricat alarm system. He was happy to be finally included.

It's unclear if Pampe was eating the wall, talking to the wall, or carefully examining various parts of the wall as Step 1 of 27 of a complex plan only she understands, but she stuck close to the barn all evening instead of lying in wait by the fence so I was able to have a picnic in the grass rather than on the road, which felt more bucolic. I know that "Pampérigouste has a new, mysterious project" is a worrying sentence but at this early stage (feasibility study) it felt to me and Merricat like a little holiday!

[plutotheplum]

The First Fall of Snow

emperor!zayne x concubine!reader - read part 2!

summary: the emperor isn't interested in his concubines, but an encounter with you is enough to change his mind.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, p in v, oral sex, praise kink, breast play, masturbation, thigh riding, mentions of exhibitionism, virginity loss

wc: 7.7k

a/n: i did imagine long-haired zayne for this (like his master of fate card!) and he just gives off emperor vibes soooo

also on ao3!

The Emperor was a peculiar man. 

He was not a man who fancied company. When the years for marriage had passed, his royal advisors had grown increasingly anxious. All potential candidates were refused, princesses from far lands given profuse apologies and lavish gifts in hopes of quelling their anger after they had traveled such vast distances, only for the Emperor to turn them away. 

In an effort to try and draw out the Emperor’s romantic and sexual nature, several concubines were gathered. The Emperor had never overseen this, the affair carried out in veiled whispers as his advisors had sought to dispel their desperation by pooling their efforts into securing an heir for the dynasty. 

That was what you were told when you arrived in the palace anyways. It had been a year since you were hand-picked as a concubine, along with a few other girls who had been eager to accept when the opportunity had been provided to them.

You had only met the Emperor a handful of times, when you first been brought to the palace and during private meetings that had been scheduled. He had never touched you or any of the other girls, had never sought after pleasure or secured an heir, much to the chagrin of Imperial staff. Like any other person, you thought it was odd. 

Part of you felt as though you were wasting away in this palace, days spent outside by the pretty gardens and overlooking the fish in the ponds, entertaining stray cats or inside, like you were now.

You stare down at the steaming water in the teapot, watching as the tea leaves stain the water. The blurry reflection of your face looks back up at you and there’s a soft sigh escaping you, wondering what might’ve been if you hadn’t been chosen.

Such thoughts are lost when a short, stout man comes hobbling in. He grabs at your arm, teacup filled with hot tea tipping to the side. You wince when the hot liquid lands against your skin, burning you.

“The Emperor needs tea,” the eunuch hisses, pulling another set of teaware from the shelves as he tugs you closer.

“Why does that involve me?,” you ask, trying to free yourself so you can soothe your irritated skin under cool water.

“You will deliver it to him,” he says, fiddling with your robes and straightening out the fabric to make you look more presentable.

“Have another one of the girls-” you begin to complain, shrinking away when he sends you a glare.

You huff out a breath, making sure the pin in your hair is in place. There’s no time to tend to the burn on your forearm, the reddened skin hidden by the sleeves of your robes as the eunuch passes you the tray. 

Sending him a glare of your own, you don’t stay behind to be chastised. Feet padding against the floor, you pass through the courtyard and hallway. Imperial guards stand outside the Emperor’s quarters and you bow your head, stating your business. 

One of the guards opens the doors and you suck in a sharp breath, gathering your confidence as you step inside the Emperor’s quarters. 

It’s a familiar place. The room is large, scrolls stacked upon shelves tucked against the walls, decorative screens partitioning the entrance to where his bed was placed. You swallow nervously, eyes blinking about. You can’t seem to find the Emperor. Deciding to step forward, you’re pushing your luck, sticking your head outside the open doors at the other end of his quarters. It opens into a private courtyard, greenery pruned to perfection.

There’s a frown pulling at your lips when you can’t see him. Perhaps he had left? Just as you’re about to give up, a man clears his throat. You jolt in place, tea sloshing as you struggle to keep a hold on the tray. Whirling around, you find the Emperor standing there, his arms crossed over his chest. There’s a curse entering your mind, placing the tea tray down on a table nearby before your knees are bending, meeting the floor as you bow in a seated position.

“Please forgive me, your majesty” you breathe out, eyes squeezing shut. 

You would rather not feel the wrath of the Emperor.

“I did not ask for tea,” he says bluntly.

“The- the eunuch insisted,” you supply lamely.

The Emperor only sighs and your eyes are peeking open, head tilting slightly as you try to get a glimpse of his expression. 

“You may stand,” he murmurs, waving his hand. You do as he says, stumbling to your feet, teeth gritting together when the cloth of your robes rubs against the still fresh burn on your forearm.

He takes a seat on a cushioned mat and you’re standing awkwardly, trying to taper down your fidgeting as the pain flares up again.

“Is something the matter?” the Emperor asks when he sees your inability to stand still. 

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. The Emperor only stares at you, unimpressed. His gaze drags over you and your cheeks are flushing in embarrassment. 

“Sit,” he says suddenly, pointing to the space across from him.

“I-” you begin to refuse, restless to get out of this stifling place and tend to the burn that was currently beginning to sting.

“Sit, or will you refuse an Imperial command?”

To refuse an Imperial command is to forfeit one’s life. It’s why you’re sitting down in a flurry and looking everywhere at everything except him. 

“Arm,” he murmurs, holding his hand out.

You extend your arm towards his hand without question. He hums when he brushes the sleeves away, moving your arm closer to his eyes so he can examine the burn. The Emperor’s lithe fingers prod at the edges of your reddened skin, and a whimper slips out of you, the tender skin sensitive.

He pulls away from you and your eyes are darting towards the doors, wondering whether it would be worth it to make a break for it. The Emperor returns soon after, a small pot in his hand, containing some sort of salve.

“Your majesty, it is beneath you to tend to such a matter,” you remind him, feeling his cool fingers wrap around your arm again.

“Perhaps so, but I happen to take interest in the ailments of the body,” he replies, spreading the salve against your skin.

So the rumors were true then. Many spoke of the Emperor’s affinity for the study of medicine. You had assumed he would’ve taken more interest in other pursuits such as hunting, but it appeared the Emperor valued intellect above all else. 

As the salve soothes your skin, you find your gaze slipping over him. Pale skin, intelligent eyes framed by dark eyelashes, a strong nose and long hair tied back neatly, there was no doubt that the Emperor was a handsome man. 

His eyes flick up to meet yours, his own gaze dipping over you once again. You feel as though you’re being scrutinized, so you’re sitting up straighter, trying to not present yourself as a mess.

“He sent you here to entice me,” the Emperor explains, beginning to wrap your wound using a thin, silken cloth.

“Oh. Is- is it working?” you ask tentatively.

“If you consider making a fool of yourself enticing, then maybe so,” he says, the side of his mouth curling up as amusement flashes through his eyes.

There’s a sharp scoff leaving you, arm tugging free from his grasp. The bandages are tight around your arm and you send him a frown, placing your hands in your lap.

“You take liberties that others do not,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I apologize, your majesty,” you whisper, head hanging low. He was right, you were taking liberties. 

“Zayne,” he says, opening a scroll.

“Your- your majesty?” you reply, confusion flitting across your face.

“Zayne,” he repeats, not bothering to even spare you a glance “you may address me by my name.”

You hold your tongue in return, eyes narrowing as you stare at the Emperor. It must be a trick of some sort, you think, a ploy to make you slip up, and just like the traitors of the Empire, your head would be severed from your neck. 

“You would distrust my own command?” he asks, sensing your hesitation. “I never said such a thing!” you protest, exasperation spreading across your face.

Sitting in place, you pout to yourself, tracing random shapes onto the cushioned mat. Zayne ignores your presence and it has you fidgeting even more, a huff of air leaving you. 

The Emperor only continues to read the scroll in his hands. Pouring out some tea, you decide to indulge yourself. Your face contorts when you taste the now lukewarm liquid. It’s hardly enjoyable. Letting out another deep sigh, your body sags. There’s nothing for you to do here, the Emperor won’t carry a conversation and you only find that you’re making a fool of yourself even more.

“Shall I leave?” you ask him, feeling hopeful that you might be able to escape.

Zayne shakes his head. 

“Stay a little while. It would do good for my advisors to think they have succeeded.”

“Succeeded?” you echo, brows furrowing.

“They expect an heir,” he sighs, setting down the scroll to give you his full attention, “surely you are aware of my… aversion to the entire matter.”

“I cannot say I understand,” you murmur, “you need an heir, and an illegitimate heir is an heir nonetheless.”

“The duty will be fulfilled when I am ready,” he says firmly.

Your head tilts at that, eyes narrowing. When he was ready? There would be no reason for the Emperor to not be ready.

“Other noblemen take pleasure in using women’s bodies,” you mutter, peering over at him, “it is strange that you have not yet touched any one of us.”

“You wish for me to use you?” Zayne asks, raising his brows. 

“N- no! I just meant, it is odd that an Emperor whose rule has granted him anything he may possibly desire chooses not to engage in anything,” the words come out of you in a rush, your cheeks flushing. 

“And have you engaged in anything?” he shoots back, his eyes sharp.

Admitting your own virginity wasn’t on your plan of things to do today. Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment, eyes averted to the side. Your silence is answer enough, and Zayne sighs, his fingers rubbing at his temples.

“I did not ask for concubines,” he says quietly, “and so, I do not expect you to serve me in such a fashion.”

“You may leave,” he says after a few moments, standing up with you.

Your head tilts, teeth worrying into your lower lip as he stares down at you.

“It appears you care for me,” he murmurs, his hand lifting to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your heart flutters at the unexpected action, eyes widening when he touches you.

“Only for the dynasty,” you breathe out.

Zayne lets out a low laugh at that. He gives you a faint smile and your heart stutters in your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man look so ethereal, but such is the favor of the gods.

It’s probably why you’re leaning forward, hands reaching to fix the crumpled collar of his silk robes. He stiffens under your touch and you pretend as though you don’t notice. Your fingers graze his skin and his hand curls around your wrist, stopping your movements.

“I shall expect you here in a week’s time,” he says.

“A week’s time,” you nod, feeling his fingers touch the cloth wrapped around your burn.

The Emperor lowers his head, his fingers gripping your chin gently so he can stare into your eyes more intently. He seems lost in thought as he swipes his thumb over your chin, his head nearing until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. 

It’s almost too much for your racing heart. Your already half-lidded eyes are slipping shut, lips parting as you lean in closer, waiting for him to kiss you. But it never comes and your eyes flutter open to see Zayne staring down at you with a hint of mirth in his eyes. He was making a fool of you yet again. 

To preserve whatever dignity you have left, you’re pulling away, freeing yourself from his suffocating grasp. Bowing in deference, you don’t look back to see his expression, pushing past the doors as you leave his quarters.

Almost immediately, you’re met with the eunuch from earlier.

“Well?” he asks, his cheeks puffed with exertion as he tries to keep up with the pace you’ve set in an attempt to escape questioning.

“Nothing happened,” you reply curtly, looking back to see the short man totter after you.

“Nothing?” he repeats, voice laced with irritation, “not even-“ his voice lowers, mindful of the other staff working in the palace, “he did not even touch you?” 

You shake your head. He doesn’t need to know that the Emperor had indeed touched you; tended to your burn even, that you were hoping the Emperor would hold you close and kiss you, and he most certainly didn’t need to know about your little displays of insolence. 

The eunuch soon loses interest in you, grumbling curses under his breath as you retire to your own chambers shared with the other girls. It’s no secret that many of them have become bored with the Emperor’s apathetic outlook, some turning their charms to try and garner the affections of noblemen at court.

-

It’s raining the day you’re meant to meet the Emperor. 

You step inside his chambers when the guards permit you, your hands clasped in front of you.

“Your majesty” you bend at the waist, bowing.

Zayne hums in response, striding closer to you. His fingers lift your arm, undoing the gauze to uncover your injury. The salve he had applied to your skin had soothed the burn, and it had begun to heal nicely. 

“I told you to address me by my name,” he reminds you, his brows furrowed in concentration as he examines your skin, “must I remind you again, or will phrasing it as an Imperial command suffice?”

Your mouth opens automatically to retort sharply. He looks at you, brows raised. Spending more time in his presence has only vexed you, irritation making you almost forget who you were with. Mouth clamping shut, you send him a tight-lipped smile. 

“Forgive me,” you say begrudgingly, “Zayne.”

“Better,” he murmurs.

You don’t know whether he’s referring to your obedience or the state of your wound. 

“It will scar,” Zayne continues, turning your arm so that he can see your skin in better light.

“Badly?” you ask, a frown tugging at your lips.

“More salve will lessen the effect,” he says, finally letting go of your arm.

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The Emperor stares at you, his gaze unwavering. It has you wishing that you hadn’t listened to his request at all. The palace physician would have more than likely provided you with the necessary treatment, and yet here you were, being tended to by the Emperor of all people.

“Do you wish for me to repay you?” the words are out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“Did we not already have this conversation?” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I had assumed-”

“Do not assume anything.”

Zayne’s voice has hardened, the slight softness in his eyes no longer present. You’ve overstepped. He pulls away from you, turning his back to you as he walks towards the open doors of his quarters. Rain wets the inside, the mats on the floor darkening but the Emperor doesn’t seem to care.

Feeling like a scolded child, you trail after him.

“Forgive me,” you whisper, keeping your gaze trained on the floor.

It seems to be all that you’re doing now. Apology after apology after apology. It’s a miracle you haven’t yet been executed for your impertinence. 

He turns to face you, his hand lifting. For a moment you think he’s about to slap you, a grimace settling on your face as you await the stinging punishment. Instead, all you feel is his hand on your head, petting you like you were some sort of unruly cat.

Zayne’s fingers begin to slip and you can feel the soft tips of his fingers graze the side of your face, traveling lower as he traces your jawline. You hold still, eyes wide with anticipation. He doesn’t stop, his fingers dragging down the length of your neck, parting your robes until you feel his fingers swipe across your collarbone. 

“You are stubborn,” he says softly, “steadfast and oddly endearing. Perhaps I should keep you by my side.”

You stare up at him, jaw slackening, baffled. 

“I thought you would appreciate it,” he murmurs, the sharpness in his eyes returning, “just moments ago you were offering yourself to me.”

It’s a struggle to bite back the whimper that so eagerly wants to escape when his fingers drag lower, skimming across the soft skin of the tops of your breasts. His other hand plays with the knot tied at the side, nimble fingers untying the only thing keeping your robes together. The soft fabric slips from your shoulders and you find yourself in front of the Emperor, breasts bared.

He lets out a low hum, both of his hands coming to cup your breasts. Your teeth have been biting into your lip so hard that you can taste the tang of blood on your tongue. Zayne swipes his thumbs over your nipples and you find yourself unable to rip free from his wandering touch. 

“Should you not tell me to stop?” the Emperor asks, his face nearing yours.

There’s no will left in you to answer, a sharp gasp escaping you when he pinches your nipples to punctuate his question. The sensation only adds to the wetness pooling between your thighs.

“Please,” you whimper, the desperation clear in your eyes, “please, Zayne.”

“I may have the favor of the gods, but I cannot foresee your desires,” he whispers, the tip of his nose brushing yours, “tell me. What is it you want?”

“Kiss,” you manage out, “kiss me, please.”

The Emperor’s hands haven’t stopped their exploration, squeezing and groping at your breasts. Zayne lowers his head, forehead pressing against yours as you mewl and whimper under the onslaught of his caressing touches. The ache between your thighs has become unbearable with the way he plays with your nipples. He tugs and pinches, thumbs swiping over your areolas to grant you reprieve before rolling your nipples between his fingers again. 

“Wantonness has made you far more polite,” he whispers, lips brushing against yours.

It’s not a kiss, and you’re squirming in frustration with the way the Emperor is stringing you along, driving you to the edge of pleasure and yet refusing to grant you what you desire the most. 

“I- I can be even more polite,” you mumble pathetically, hands curling into his robes.

You chase after his lips, brows furrowing when he draws up to his full height, smiling down at you. Lips jutting out into a pout, you stand on the tips of your toes, trying to tug him back down so you can kiss him. It’s a futile endeavor, the Emperor only manages to evade all of your attempts to draw him into a kiss. 

“I shall look forward to it,” Zayne murmurs, his lips pressing against your forehead gently.

There’s no way to discern what exactly is going through the Emperor’s mind. He no longer continues with his lustful touches, pulling away with a final caress of your breasts as he pulls your loosened robes over your shoulders again. You can only watch with dazed eyes, frozen in place as he helps redo the knot holding your robes together, covering you up properly so that unnecessary slivers of skin aren’t showing anymore. 

“Do you do this with the others?” you ask, eyes finding his.

“Does the thought make you jealous?”

You frown at his retort, sending him a glare, “the Emperor may do as he wishes,” you grumble.

It’s hard to hide the jealousy that underlies your words. You want to be the only person he touches, to be the object of his affections. It’s a selfish desire to want the Emperor to need you only, but you can’t help yourself, envy flaring up inside of you at the thought of him touching another woman the way he touches you. 

“You are the first to elicit such a reaction from me,” Zayne says, his fingers tilting your head so he can stare into your eyes more directly.

Letting out an irritated huff, you feel irked by his subtle way of trying to please you. He doesn’t reply to your display of irritation, nudging his forehead against yours as though trying to convey his affection. 

“Go now,” he whispers, petting your hair again before he’s moving away, turning his back to you as he returns to peer out at the rain that falls outside.

You have half the mind to call him out on his behavior, but the reminder of your position is the stifling reality in which you live in. Despite his gaze elsewhere, you bow to him, turning on your heel to leave.

Thankfully, there are no lurking eunuchs to question your brief stay in the Emperor’s quarters. The palace staff don’t pay you any mind as you return to your chambers, and you explain to the other girls that you feel sick. 

The whimpers that spill from your mouth are muffled by the pillow that you’ve pressed your face into, the fingers of one hand rubbing at your clit and the other hand pinching at your nipples as you try to mimic the way the Emperor had touched you. With the image of Zayne’s face ingrained into your mind, it doesn’t take long, a soft moan escaping into the quiet of your chambers as you come apart on your fingers. 

-

You’re spying on the Emperor. 

The past year had been plenty of time to explore the palace and figure out the little passageways that weren’t well known. Perhaps you were just as bad as his advisors that were intent on prying into Zayne’s private life, but you just couldn’t help yourself. 

It’s why you’re here now, hovering outside his quarters, pretending to take great interest in the portraits that line the halls. Every now and then, your eyes flick over to where the guards stand, trying to discern whether anyone was entering or leaving his chambers. 

You almost feel pathetic for acting in such a way, but he was the only thing you could think about. Visiting the gardens had grown dull, despite the leaves turning into pretty shades of orange and red in the autumn air, thoughts of the Emperor taking root in the crevices of your mind instead. 

“My grandfather,” a deep voice breaks through your thoughts. You don’t have to look to know who it is.

“Handsome,” you mutter, taking a step closer to examine the portrait genuinely this time.

“My guards have complained about a woman hiding in the hallways,” Zayne says, his hand falling onto your shoulder. “I did not realize it was an offense to admire fine art,” you shoot back.

“There are far finer things in this palace,” he murmurs, stepping forward until you’ve been backed up against the wall.

It’s becoming more and more apparent to you that the Emperor must be suffering some sort of illness to the mind. You struggle to come up with a reason as to why his arm curls around your waist, whilst he presses himself closer. 

You try and push at his firm chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“People will see,” you whisper heatedly, eyes darting to the sides despite Zayne being so close that you can hardly see anything but him.

“So let them.”

Zayne reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek. You stiffen under the sudden touch, eyes widening when his thumb brushes over your skin.

“Why are you doing this?” you whisper, frowning.

“Is my mind not allowed to change?” he asks in return, head lowering until his forehead is pressed against yours.

“I am far more concerned that you have lost your mind.”

The Emperor lets out a deep chuckle and you think the air around you both has somehow grown thicker with how lightheaded you’re feeling.

“I assure you, I am still of sound mind.”

His nose brushes against yours, and you rise to meet the challenge, nose nudging against his gently. The heat of his body is intoxicating, his arm tightening around your waist as he exhales. Your eyes flutter shut, anticipating the feeling of his lips against yours.

It’s not to be, not when an Imperial guard insists on interrupting your moment with the Emperor.

“Is this woman bothering you?” the guard asks, his gaze dragging over you with obvious disregard. 

The utter nerve. Eye twitching, you ready yourself to snap back but Zayne’s squeeze to your waist has you staying silent.

“She was feeling ill,” Zayne lies steadily. 

The Emperor’s mask of cool indifference slips over him easily, his lips pulled thin as he speaks to the guard. 

“I shall escort her to the physician,” the guard offers, his hand reaching for you.

Zayne pulls you out of reach before the guard can touch you, tucking you against his side.

“No need,” Zayne says, “I shall take her myself.”

You can almost hear the nervous gulp that the guard takes, his face paling at the Emperor’s stony disposition. Unfortunately, you don’t get long to revel in the satisfaction that spreads through your body when Zayne reprimands the guard. Zayne tugs you along, his hand wrapped around your wrist. It appears the Emperor knows of the passages as well, and a few twists and turns later you find yourself back in the Emperor’s quarters, having bypassed the Imperial guards.

“Did you see his face?” you snicker, looking over at Zayne.

Your smile fades when he doesn’t reply, the grip on your wrist almost painful without how firmly his hand is still holding onto you.

“Zayne? Are you-”

You nearly trip over your own feet when he suddenly pulls you closer. Zayne’s lips are slotting over yours, his large hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you. There’s a small noise of surprise coming from you, eyes widening before they flutter shut, your body lulled into submission with the feverish kisses Zayne gives you.

He groans into your mouth and you cling to his robes, rising up on the tips of your toes to meet his kisses better. The Emperor might’ve been starved with the way he’s kissing you, his lips firm and insistent against yours whilst he holds you in place. 

Zayne pulls away after a while, and you’re completely and utterly dazed, chest heaving as soft pants fill the space between you both.

“Will you have me?” he whispers, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek.

No man has ever spoken such words to you. Your breath catches in your throat, heart clenching uncomfortably in your chest. As the Emperor, he shouldn’t say such a thing. 

“It is beneath you to ask,” you murmur, averting your gaze.

“And yet, I am asking,” Zayne replies, his hands maneuvering your head until you have no choice but to look into his eyes.

Letting out an irritated huff, as though he had somehow inconvenienced you, you lean forward and press a chaste kiss against his lips. You can’t bring yourself to say the words out loud, feeling uncharacteristically shy as you shift on the spot.

“I see.”

Zayne’s surging towards you again, lips crashing onto yours. You whimper, hands scrabbling at his shoulders as you press yourself closer. His arms are wrapping around your waist, keeping you flush against him as he ravages your mouth. His tongue is teasing your lower lip, coaxing it open. You have no choice but to obey, letting out a muffled moan when his tongue slides deeper into your mouth, his hand pulling at the pin holding your hair together. 

You squeak when he picks you up, his lips trailing burning kisses down your neck as he nudges the partition blocking his way to his bed. Zayne undoes the knot holding your robes together before long, your thighs straddling his hips as you sit perched on his lap once he sits down on his bed.

“Have you really never given yourself to anyone?” Zayne asks quietly, his fingers tracing across the soft skin of your shoulders.

You nod, body leaning forward to chase after his touch as his fingers find their way back down to your nipples, rolling the pebbled buds between the pads of his fingers.

“H- have you?” you ask, biting your lip as he presses heated kisses against your collarbone.

He shakes his head, lips drifting lower and lower, until your body twitches as his lips enclose around your nipple. A whimper leaves you, and Zayne grows bolder with his movements, sucking harshly as his tongue swirls around your nipple, flicking the little bud in his mouth.

Your hands have drifted into his hair, pulling free the band that holds his long locks together. His dark hair runs past his shoulders, the strands soft under your touch as you pull at his hair, moaning as he continues his exploration across your chest.

Zayne looks up at you with half-lidded eyes, spit-slick lips dragging across your chest to pepper kisses against your other breast, his mouth enveloping your nipple yet again. He lets out a low groan and you whine, pulling at his robes desperately to pull them off.

“Oh,” you breathe out when he lets you, biting your lip at the sight of his bare chest and abdomen. Your fingers spread across his chest eagerly, mapping out the expanse of his skin. There’s a sly smile spreading across your face when you see his cheeks flush pink as your fingers drag lower, past his navel.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asks hoarsely, his head tipping back.

“Should I not?” you whisper, fingers delving lower until you can feel his hardness through his robes.

You rub your hand against the bulge experimentally, eyes lighting up when he lets out a grunt. Face tucking into the crook of his neck, your breasts squished against his chest, you place hungry kisses against his neck, palming at his bulge.

The Emperor tugs at your hair, pulling your head back. You stare up at him, meeting him in the middle when he leans forward, sharing a sloppy kiss. His hands squeeze at your waist and you shift in his lap, letting him undress you completely.

Nervousness flits across your face as he stares at your bare body, hands leaving him to cover yourself up. He grabs your hands before you can, placing a soft kiss to your jaw.

“You are beautiful,” he whispers, lips drifting to kiss the shell of your ear.

A shy smile pulls at your lips and he squeezes your waist again. Your brows furrow when he jostles you, making you straddle his thigh instead.

“I want to watch,” Zayne says, his fingers dimpling into the fat of your thighs.

“Watch?” you echo, head tilting in question.

“I want to watch you come undone,” he clarifies, gripping your hips as he guides you into grinding against his thigh.

A strangled noise leaves you and he pats your hip, satisfied. You’re so aroused that your slick has begun to wet his silken robes, the fabric darkening as you roll your hips, dragging your pussy against his thigh.

“I- I want to watch you too,” you gasp out.

Zayne obliges and you watch as he pulls his cock free. The sight is almost enough to have you coming on his covered thigh. His fingers wrap around his cock and you whine, hips rolling faster. “Is it to your satisfaction?” he murmurs.

You nod rapidly. It is. You’ve never seen one before, but you just know Zayne’s is pretty compared to the others. His cock is thick, flushed prettily at the tip to match the blush on his cheeks and you lick your lips, wondering what it might feel like in your mouth. 

“Another time,” Zayne says, smiling when he sees the expression on your face.

It’s entrancing to watch the way his hand drags up and down his cock, his long fingers wrapped around himself. Globs of pre-cum bead at the tip, wetting his hands and his cock, creating a sinful sound. Unable to help yourself, you tilt your head, tongue lolling out as you let your own spit drip down onto his cock. You hum in delight when his thighs twitch, your eyes peering into his as you drag your cunt against his thigh, clit catching on the fabric of his robes just right. 

“I did not know my concubine was so depraved,” he murmurs, his hand kneading the flesh at your hip roughly.

You give him a dopey smile, eyes slipping back down to watch his hand move around his cock whilst you rock your hips. Head falling against his shoulder, your lips drag across his chest, landing soft kisses against his skin before nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, nipping his skin lightly.

Airy sounds fill the air, his quiet moans and your soft whimpers emanating in his quarters. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you press yourself closer, guiding his head into another kiss. It’s messy, his tongue licking into your mouth with no hesitation. Zayne’s pulling apart suddenly, his previous desire of watching you come undone on your thigh forgotten as he manhandles your body, making you lay down against his bed.

The Emperor kisses you over and over, and your head is swirling, trying to keep up whilst his fingers have found their way down to your pussy, rubbing your wetness across the sensitive flesh before he finds your clit. All it takes is one firm press of his thumb, your thighs twitching violently as you grasp at the sheets, moaning loudly as you come. He smiles against your lips, granting you one last kiss before he directs his attention elsewhere, his face disappearing between your thighs.

“Z-Zayne!” you squeal, pushing at his head, trying to get him to stop as the overstimulation becomes too much.

The Emperor ignores you in favor of thumbing apart your folds, his eyes trained on your clit.

“Pretty” he whispers, the pads of his fingers stroking over your clit gently, “and so, so swollen.”

It has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and he kisses the inside of your thighs, edging closer to your pussy, letting out a low breath, the air hitting your exposed pussy.

He groans when you tug at his hair, and you writhe, trying to somehow free yourself from the onslaught of his tongue as he laves over your pussy, pressing sloppy kisses against your skin, his lips latching onto your swollen clit. Zayne’s tongue flicks against the sensitive bud, teasing you.

Something between a moan and a scream climbs its way out your throat, the sound ringing in through his chambers as you come again, thighs firmly squeezing his head. Your eyes widen when you realize the guards are still outside the doors, panic flaring through your body as you scramble to sit up.

Zayne’s hand slides over your mouth before you can get anything out, the stern look in his eyes making you go still. The rapping of the guard’s knuckles against the door has you rigid, eyes widening in alarm as he begins to move his tongue yet again. 

You glare at Zayne, tugging at his hair roughly to make it hurt as you attempt to get his mouth off of you. Zayne only gives you a hazy look, looking utterly gone as he presses his face deeper into your cunt. It’s a struggle to keep the noises in, your body shaking as his nose rubs into your clit and his tongue fucks in and out of your aching hole. 

“Your majesty?” An urgent voice calls out from behind the door, and you can hear the faint scuffling noises of the guards’ boots. 

“Someone get this door open!” another voice hisses, the sliding doors rattling soon after.

The Emperor grunts into your cunt, raising up finally. The sight of him is nearly enough to make you come for a third time. Zayne is utterly disheveled, his cheeks pink and the lower half of his face glistening with your slick. 

You watch as he runs his hand through his hair, biting your lip as you let your gaze wander, catching on his cock once again. He looks painfully hard, cum smeared across his skin and drool is pooling in your mouth. Getting onto your knees, you crawl forward eager to envelop it in your mouth.

The tip makes its way into your mouth for a brief moment and you can barely suck when Zayne is yanking you off of his cock, his hand curled into your hair. 

“Everything is fine,” the Emperor snaps, narrowing his eyes when you pout.

“We heard-”

“I said,” Zayne’s voice grows louder, “everything is fine.”

You think he might take out his wrath on you with the way he grips your cheeks roughly, planting another kiss to your lips. He’s manhandling you yet again, pushing at your shoulders to make you lie down as he settles his hips between your thighs.

Zayne’s cum smears against your skin and you whimper when the fat tip of his cock nudges against your clit. He lands a gentler kiss to your cheek, his hand cupping your cheek as you squirm under him, whimpering as he grinds his cock against your cunt.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his face pressing into the crook of your neck as he lets his cock slide up and down against your folds, “my good girl.”

“Yours,” you agree, cheek squishing against the pillow, “all yours.”

“I want to see you like this all the time,” Zayne confesses, his hand grasping his cock to press it firmly against your cunt, coating it with your arousal, “all flustered and needy… perhaps I am losing my sanity.”

You need him inside of you. The emptiness in your pussy has made you all too aware, hips bucking with every drag of his heavy cock.

“More,” you whisper, voice slurring, “Zayne, I want more.”

Zayne draws back slightly and you watch as he squeezes his cock, pre-cum dripping steadily onto your thigh. He reaches for your hand, fingers lacing with yours.

“Ready?” he murmurs.

You nod, swallowing down your nervousness. He presses his cock into your hole and the stretch is uncomfortable, a pained whimper leaving you as Zayne guides his cock into you. 

“A little more,” he coaxes, kissing your forehead to try and distract you from the initial stretch.

He finally pushes his entire cock in, and you feel as though the air has been punched out of your lungs. Zayne fills you up so perfectly, his cock snug inside your cunt, the emptiness from earlier disappearing almost immediately.

It appears you have affected him just as much, his eyes squeezed shut as he pants into the crook of your neck, trying to get used to the wet heat of your cunt. 

“Perfect,” he mutters mindlessly, and you can feel the twitch of his cock from inside of you, “so- so perfect and warm and tight.”

A hazy smile drifts across your face, legs locking tighter around his hips as your pussy clenches around him.

Zayne lets out a ragged gasp, and you know he can feel it. His eyes bore into yours, brows pulled together in annoyance at your little tease.

“Little minx,” he hisses.

It’s you that gasping this time when he draws his hips back, nails clawing at his back as he thrusts into you. His cock is stretching you out, over and over, as he tries to press it in deeper, trying to carve a path from your pussy to your heart.

“Too- too much!” you wail, arms wrapping around his neck to cling onto him.

“Do you want the guards to hear?” Zayne murmurs against your ear, his hips slowing slightly.

Through the haze of it all, your head turns, eyes finding his. The truth is, you wouldn’t exactly be opposed to the idea. Zayne can see the flash of interest in your eyes and he lets out a hoarse laugh, shaking his head.

“I should have taken you sooner,” he mutters, his fingers squeezing at your hips, “kept you close to me from the beginning.”

You preen at the thought, pressing sloppy kisses against his jaw, feeling his cock drag in and out of you.

“Next time, I shall take you on my throne.”

Your movements pause, eyes widening as he whispers those words, his lips brushing across yours.

“Not like that-” you begin to say, cheeks flushing deeper as you imagine him taking you on his throne, his hips rutting into yours like they were now.

“Why not?” he asks, “Shall I command it? Have-” Zayne lets out a shuddering breath “have my entire court watch as my pretty, little concubine loses her mind, drunk on my cock as I claim her atop my throne?”

You moan unabashedly, cunt clenching around him tightly. Zayne grunts, his hips stuttering when at the feeling of your walls tightening before he’s gripping your thigh, his chest flush against yours as he picks up the pace. It’s no secret that the guards must have heard what was happening inside, your loud moans most likely drifting through the wood of the doors. Both you and the Emperor don’t seem to care, lost in the blur of lust that swirls between you both.

“Deeper,” you mumble, pouting up at him, “need- need you closer, Zayne.”

“You are going to be the death of me,” Zayne mutters, dropping his weight on top of you.

You mewl in delight, the feeling of his body against yours deliciously warm. He hikes your thighs up a little higher, hips pressing deeper until you gasp. You can feel his balls pressed snugly against your ass, his cock as deep inside of you as it could go.

“Take it,” he whispers, his hand beginning to stroke your hair as he moves his hips. Short, sharp thrusts that serve to bury his cock into your cunt the way you want, “take it, my love.”

My love. Skin against skin. His hand stroking your hair gently. Girthy cock filling you up perfectly.

The sensations mixed with his affection are too much, pulling at your heart uncomfortably until you let out a sniffle, staring up at him with glassy eyes.

Concern passes through his eyes when he hears you sniffle, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb swipes away a stray tear that beads at the corner of your eye.

“Am I hurting you?” Zayne asks softly.

You shake your head, lips trembling even more at his display of concern. 

“I just like you a lot is all,” you whisper, sniffling quietly.

“I like you too,” Zayne replies in kind, his lips pressing soft kisses against your cheek, “and I take care of what’s mine.”

He leans down, lips pressing against yours in a tender kiss. Your tears wet his cheeks as he keeps you there, kissing you gently whilst his hips roll into you.

“Let go for me, my love” he murmurs, and you’re clenching around him again, feeling his hand sneak its way between your bodies as his thumb rubs against your clit.

You whimper, head pressing back as you arch your back, the sensation of his cock and his fingers driving you further and further to the edge until he latches his mouth onto your breast, catching your nipple between his teeth. He bites down and a broken moan fills the air, body shuddering as you come on his cock.

“Oh fuck,” Zayne grits out when he feels the harsh clench of your cunt around his cock.

You can feel him bury his face into your chest and you reach up weakly, running your fingers through his hair. It’s enough to have him letting out a guttural noise against your chest, his fat cock twitching as his thick cum floods your pussy.

The Emperor lays on top of you, both of your bodies loosened completely. You whimper when he pulls out of you, his cum beginning to leak out from your cunt. Zayne stares at the sight for a moment, entranced, before pulling you closer, letting you press your face into his chest as he kisses your forehead. 

“Everyone will know by now,” you whisper.

“They will,” he agrees, his fingers prying your face away from where it hides.

Zayne peers down into your eyes, a faint smile playing across his lips as he swipes his thumbs against your skin.

“Stay here with me,” he says quietly, “by my side.”

You laugh softly at his proposition.

“I am your concubine,” you murmur, reaching up to curl your hand around his wrist, “nothing more.”

“You will be more,” Zayne insists, his voice hardening,  “I will have you.”

“Your advisors would not allow it!” you protest, eyes turning glassy again.

“Desperation will make them vulnerable to acceptance,” he retorts, his body pressing closer as though to keep you tethered to him, hands tightening around your cheeks.

“I am the Emperor,” he continues, forehead pressing against yours as his eyes bore into yours, “you said it yourself. I may do as I wish, and what I wish for is for you to be by my side.”

You swallow harshly, blinking up at him when you hear the sternness of his voice. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, kissing you desperately.

“Stay with me, my love” he whispers again, stealing kiss after kiss from you.

“Okay,” you relent, sinking into his embrace and returning his kisses just as desperately, “okay.”

The Emperor holds you close to his chest, his arms wrapped around you tightly. The heat of his body has your eyes drooping shut, his lips brushing over your forehead as he whispers sweet promises of his love.

Outside, far away from the warmth of love’s embrace, the first fall of snow has begun to drift from the sky.

[countlessimagines]

Your World [ Wolverine x Reader ]

Summary: your Wolverine was your whole world.

A/N: I like writing angsty stuff and this movie provided me with the best possible scenarios <3 hehehe I love wolverine

Warnings: Cussing, mentions of blood

Marvel MASTERLIST Link here

SPOILERS BELOW

-

It wasn’t an ideal love story that brought you back to Logan.

Being a mutant with incredible healing abilities and a broken heart made it so easy for Stryker to capture you. Your Wolverine had been the one to rescue you from the clutches of Stryker and the horrible fate that loomed over your head. All the days of experiments and cold rooms where you’d be injected with who knows what, it all lead to him.

But you always had to remind yourself that Logan had gotten you out, made you a X-Men, but found the brutal truth of how dangerous it was to be loved by you.

You loved deeply and endlessly, like a void waiting for eternity to be loved and to love. Logan was exactly what your heart desired for years.

Someone who could never die, never leave you.

Fighting alongside each other became a beautiful symphony. And God protect anyone who caused you harm, because Logan would only see red and slice them to pieces. It was a miracle none of the X-men had been torn to shreds, but Scott always came close.

The team would always joke about your relationship, saying how could an innocent soul be in love with such a brute like Wolverine.

But Logan knew the only way he could breathe was to be with you, to hold you, to kiss and love you.

He would always find his way to you no matter the circumstance.

Beast was holding you in the infirmary because he wanted to run tests? Logan was there.

Storm and Jean wanted to have a girls night? Logan was sitting outside the room in case anything happened.

Scott was training you in hand to hand combat? Logan was definitely there.

Your world consisted of him and him only.

And maybe that is why it hurt so much when he let your entire team die, because you had not made them your whole world.

You had been away on a mission by yourself when you received the news of their passing. You returned to a bloodied home, no sign of Wolverine to be found.

Life began to blur after what happened. You had to go into hiding, because people blamed you for what happened, too. And there was no one there to stop you from spiraling into a flurry of self hatred.

Hatred for what you had become. A love sick puppy so consumed with Logan only. Maybe if you had been there, maybe if you hadn’t put so much trust in him, maybe if you could have taken the hits for your team.

And the thought that stuck with you the most, if you had been there, screaming for help - would Logan had only saved you and left the rest to die?

Because the love you shared was slowly becoming so obvious to you that it was not pure or natural, but rather so simple it would have made you and Logan public enemy number one.

But you supposed that had already happened, too.

Your mutant abilities were the only thing you had left, so you consumed yourself in underground work. Becoming exactly what the X-men had fought against.

Shedding your uniform, you had to separate yourself from the X-men because people recognized you too easily. It was hard to find any work where people wanted a tainted mutant.

You tried your hardest to not let every moment be consumed by the thought of Logan. He had never reached out to you after the event, despite the grief between you so overwhelmingly strong. He couldn’t face you and love someone who would have stepped through hell and back for him.

He felt as if he didn’t deserve it.

So time continued to pass as the bond between the two of you was severed so deeply that it was suffocating to be apart.

But it wasn’t until Deadpool showed up to your apartment that you were finally addressing your past.

“Leave, now. I’m not hearing any of your bullshit.” You tried to close your door but he stopped it.

“Please, c’mon. I need you! Wolverine needs you!”

You tensed at the mere mention of him. “If he needed me so desperately, it is far too late for him to come back.”

“But you’re his one and only, for fuck’s sake! Every variant I’ve met of him has had a you stalking around like a lap dog. You know how many of you’s have beaten the shit out of me?” He rambled on, and you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t care to understand what you’re saying, so goodbye, Wade!”

Deadpool sighed before kicking the door in and stabbing you through the chest with one of his blades. You stared at him in shock and couldn’t register anything as he flung you over his shoulder into an orange portal.

You landed on a hard ground that pushed the blade out of you. “Wade, you’re a dead man.”

He stepped through the portal and leaned over your body. “Sorry about that, but I can’t die so you’re stuck with not only me, but Wolverine!”

Deadpool giggled and ran off, making sure to rip the blade out of your stomach. You winced but felt your regeneration cells working to stitch you back together.

Slowly sitting up, you spat out blood.

“I tried to tell him not to bring you into this.”

You froze at the voice you fought to forget, willing calm into your fast beating heart.

Sitting up fully only made your legs wobble and your head spin. But you had to look up into the eyes of the man you still loved.

Logan looked different, healthier and happier. It only made you feel sick.

“I’ve been busy.” He said it so casually that it made you want to slap his chest for the lack of greeting. “Wade gave me a second chance. I helped save his world.”

“You haven’t seen me in years and you choose to brag?” You scoffed, removing your shirt to assess the damage Wade had done to your shirt.

Logan sucked in a breath as he took in your battle worn scars. Despite your healing factor, you still kept every scar from every wound you had endured.

He remembered the last time he saw you, you only adorned a few on your chest and stomach.

Now it was littered with them.

“You’ve been busy too, I gather?” Logan said with a hint of sarcasm.

You glared at him. “Why am I here?”

“Wade thought that I needed you.” He admitted it with such ease, like he knew it to be true in his heart.

“And? Do you need me?”

He hesitated before answering. “I’ve always needed you… and I think that’s why I let myself go for so many years. Because I knew that no matter what I did or said to you, you would never forgive me. I would always be the one who let our team die… let you go.”

“Well you’re right, because I never would forgive you. Not after abandoning all of us,” you choked out, the tears beginning to creep into the corners of your eyes. “I loved you fiercely, Logan. All it would have taken was one call during those first few days and I would have been there for you. We could’ve been healing together. But you chose this life of despair for both of us, Logan.”

“I know.” He said, his own eyes watering.

“I despise you.” You said, but your heart was breaking, letting out the true feelings. It was bleeding for him and for him only.

Logan stepped closer and you did not stop him.

“I want nothing to do with you.” You said, your voice cracking.

“I understand.” He said, five feet away from you now.

“I hate you.” You began to weep, the blood in your heart revealing what you wanted truly.

“I don’t blame you.” Logan closed the gap between the two of you, holding you close to his chest. You cried into his shoulder, holding on for dear life. “I’m never leaving you again.”

All you could muster was a small nod, your tears staining his shirt. His own were dripping onto the top of your head.

And in the empty apartment, you and Logan stood, holding onto each other.

Holding your world together.