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sillyrabbit81 · 4 years ago

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The Instructor Part 2

Summary: You and Agent Walker meet again

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: approx 2.4k

Warnings: angst, smut, dubious consent, unprotected sex (p in v), fingering

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

The Instructor Part 2

A month came and went.

Then six weeks.

Seven.

Eight.

Then you stopped counting.

You felt used, and grew angry. The submissive part of your nature had been taken advantage of and you swore it wouldn’t happen again. Never again would you allow your desires to be seen by any man, let alone by Agent Walker. You collect your memories of him, gather them into a box, seal it tight and bury it in the darkest corner of your mind. You don’t even bring it out on lonely nights anymore, it hurts too much.

You focus on work and fall into your new routine: wake up, work out, work late, eat take out, sleep, repeat. The days soon melted into one, weekends forgotten as the routine is the same as weekdays. Your work was repetitive and uninspiring. You were a junior Agent after all. You knew to expect a few years of grunt work before anything meaningful. You kept your head down and did what you had to do, hoping your diligence paid off and the higher ups noticed.

Despite your hard work, you were surprised when you were called into your boss’s office for a new assignment. She tells you that an opening came up on a surveillance team in the field focussed on a group of foreign nationals. She told you strictly that there would be no interaction with the group, surveillance only. You agree to the new posting, thankful for the break in monotony and chance to develop your skills.

“Just a moment, here is the lead Agent now.” She says.

You turn as the door opens and Agent Walker strolls in, his clipped yet casual gait doesn’t falter as he notices you. A lump rises in your throat as you see him for the first time in months. You don’t know how to feel, but your body reacts. With a pounding heart and clenching stomach, you keep your features smooth as possible, allowing the smallest hint of a smile to widen your lips. An appropriate response to seeing your old instructor, nothing more, nothing less. His eyes flicker with recognition, his small smile and nod was just as appropriate. He says to your boss, “Is this the addition to the team?”

“Do you two know each other?”

You don’t deny it. You’re not stupid enough to believe your boss doesn’t know every Agent you’ve ever interacted with so you say, “Of course, Agent Walker was one of my instructors at The Farm.” Boldly you continue speaking more for Walker’s benefit than your boss, “But I haven’t seen him in… what is it Agent? Four months?”

“Four and a half,” he replies, with a tilt of the head.

“Four and a half,” you repeat. Like bile rising in your throat, anger fills you and for a moment you know he sees it. Forcing the rising tide of fury down you say, “Well, time flies when you’re having fun.” You bare your teeth at him in what you hope your boss takes as a smile and Walker takes for the ‘fuck you’ it was. Walker narrows his eyes at you then turns his attention to your boss.

You discuss more details of the case and travel arrangements then you are dismissed. Leaving the two of them together you tidy your desk of personal belongings since you didn’t know when or if you would return and go home to prepare.

Once you are through the gates of Langley and no longer under direct video surveillance you start to shake. Seeing him again rocked you to your core you hoped you hadn’t given anything away with your comments. Was it a coincidence that you were promoted and put in his team or had he asked for you? Neither Walker or your boss had given anything away. No time to think about it now, you had packing to do and less than two hours to get to the airbase where you would be sent to DC for the job.

You showered quickly, resisting the urge to release some of the growing tension in your gut. You hadn’t touched yourself in months and you wouldn’t start now.

Trying to push thoughts of Agent Walker from your mind was a futile task. Instead you focussed on keeping your anger raw so you wouldn’t fall under his spell again. You had accepted that he wasn’t coming back. Did he have a knack for that? Only showing himself to you when you had moved on. You wouldn’t let him take you easily this time, this time he would not get satisfaction, not after what he had done. You shake your head, ‘this time’ you say, recognising the lies you tell yourself.

You start to get dressed when you hear a short rap on the door. Fuck, the car had arrived early. You pull a robe on as you answer the door, to let the driver know you’ll be a few more minutes.

Throwing the door wide, you’re greeted by Agent Walker, his face firm, furrowed brows looking you up and down. The collar of his dark woollen coat is pulled up, framing his face drawing your attention to his piercing stare. Frozen for a moment, you can do nothing but return his gaze. You’re a deer in headlights until he sucks his lower lip into his mouth and your body is propelled into action.

You slam the door closed, but he is quicker than you, a huge paw catching it and he forces his way into your apartment. You back away, but he kicks the door closed behind him and advances, with predatorily confident and rapid steps.

He catches your throat and brings you to him. He skin is rough with unshaven hair that is yet to grow soft. His lips are so smooth and warm, that you can’t help but melt into him. You hate him.

When he pulls away, he smiles at you almost sweetly and you can’t help the hand that flies on its own and makes a loud crack as it hits Walkers cheek.

You’re both stunned. Walker tongues his cheek and works his jaw a moment. “I hope you enjoyed that, pet. The first one is free, but the next one will come at a price.” He doesn’t seem angry, in fact his tone suggests amusement, which only fuels your rage.

“Get out,” you say. You try and keep your voice steady, but you know it warbled with fear as you looked into his eyes.

“No,” Walker says. He casually removes his coat folding it neatly and laying it over the back of your dining chair. He removes his scarf, placing it on top of his coat before he unbuttons his dark brown suit jacket and loosens his tie. You watch him, mind fixated on each of his careful movements. As if he were performing burlesque show, each minute act became a piece of seduction.

He sits in another chair and pats his lap, “Come, pet.” He calls to you in his gentle authoritative voice.

Before you can stop yourself, you take a step towards him. But then you notice his smirk, and you shrink away. You can’t speak but you shake your head as you retreat towards your bedroom.

Walker starts to look irritated and his voice gains a hard edge that both terrifies you and thrills you. “Come. Here,” he repeats. “I won’t say it again, pet.”

“Fuck you, Walker,” you spit out, your anger spilling from you, becoming a torrent as you wrestle within yourself.

He peers at you with his contemplating blue eyes. Then he sighs and moves before you can even register his actions. You turn, to run, but he is quicker and stronger. But more than that, his desire to have you is stronger than your desire to run.

His vice like arms trap you as he forces you against the wall, his body pressing into your back. “Why do you fight me, pet?” His voice rumbles into your ear. “I thought we had an understanding.”

Your tears came then, the rejection you felt was no longer able to be contained. That box of memories, buried for months smashes apart and so does your control. “You left me,” you sob. “You used me then left me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, ashamed at how quickly you relented and told him anything. You laugh at yourself, why did you believe even for a second you could hide anything from him? The only man who saw into your very soul.

“I know, pet,” Walker drones, his lips caressing your ear as he does. “I can’t promise it won’t happen again.”

“I know,” you reply.

His hand is in your hair, smoothing the strands away from your face. His tender touch was unexpected but welcome. You feel soft kisses on your eye lids and you slowly stop crying. His tongue comes out, licking at your wet cheeks and you hear his breathing shudder as he laps up your pain.

You open your eyes, he growls as your shining eyes meet his. He plants a foot between your legs forcing them apart while he undoes his belt and pants and you hear them crumple to the floor. His hand tilts your hips back for him while the other pulls aside your underwear as he roughly explores your centre, coating his fingers in your arousal.

You hear a muttered, “Fuck,” as his finger enters you, circling your walls, stretching you before a second enters. “Fuck, pet. Have you touched yourself at all since I fucked you?”

Unsure of what he would think, you reply hesitantly, “No. You said I was yours.”

Walkers features soften as he says, “I knew you were a good girl.” Your whole body bursts into flames and your core clenches around his thick, thrashing fingers as you hear his whispered praise.

With precise and sudden movements, his fingers are withdrawn and his broad, leviathan cock bludgeons into you. Biting down on your lips to supress the cry growing in your throat you savour the feeling of being torn apart. Wasting no time, Walker moves with vicious, aggressive speed, wounding you with his thrusts, ripping apart your defences.

Pulling down your robe, he exposes your chest. His wanton hands knead your breasts as he uses them for leverage, his pounding never stops. You hear his breaths primal and raw as he assaults your neck with his mouth and teeth. He moves his depraved mouth to your shoulders sinking his teeth in deep. The pain feels like a caress when you are this close to the edge.

Walker turns you around, lifts your leg to his hip as he enters you again. His eyes are clinical as he studies your reaction. You feel boneless under his scrutiny and close your eyes again looking away. Walker grips your throat in his hand and uses his long fingers to push your cheek back in his direction.

“Open your eyes, pet,” he orders. “I know you’re close. I want to see your eyes when you call my name.”

The pressure builds deep within your gut as you keep your eyes glued to his. His breath, warm and minty with a hint of gin maybe, tickles at your cheek. You want to kiss him, taste him, feel his tongue invade you and devour you. You silently beg him to and as if hearing your thoughts, he slowly moves his mouth to yours. His eyes stay open as he flicks his tongue over your lips before taking your lower lip between his teeth.

Like a taut elastic, your core grows tighter and your knee gives out as the rush of warmth whips through your body. He lets go of your lip in time for you to shout “August!”

Your body pulses and your tightening muscles strain with contractions until you feel all the tension fall away. Like a rag doll you slump against him. But he isn’t finished with you.

Walker lifts your lulling head with a firm thumb under your chin, He continues his frenzied thrusts with a new vigour having succeeded in his task. He fucks your listless body, you’re too spent to move, and he doesn’t care. With a stuttering final thrust he pushes deep into you, clenching his teeth, whiskered lip raised in a snarl as he growls with his final throes.

He raised his hand to your face, his thumb laying a single burning caress down your tear stained cheek. “Go wash up, I’ll pack for you,” he says before pulling away and doing up his pants.

You shower again, consciously cleaning August’s seed spilling slowly from your ruined core. Each time you think you’re clean, you feel more leaking from you and you wash again. The bathroom door opens and August enters making a show of looking at his watch.

You sigh, and turn the shower off. His eyes inspect your body as he hands you a towel. He makes no effort to leave as he watches you towel off and you awkwardly squeeze past him as you make your way to your bedroom. He has laid an outfit on your bed, complete with underwear and shoes. Your gun is on your bed in its holster with spare clips by its side. You don’t say anything to him and dress in the clothes he chose and slipped your holster onto your belt, pocketing the spare clips.

Walker is waiting at the door with your overnight bag in his hand. You give the apartment a quick look over, making sure everything is turned off and sling your handbag over your shoulder. August opens the door for you, and as you slip past him his arm wraps around your waist and he kisses you.

The deep demanding kiss you wanted earlier was nothing compared to this, his lips were bruising and hard, but his tongue explored your mouth with a soft insistence. Your hands were free and for the first time, you touched him, laying a hesitant hand on his chest, and another on his neck. His skin felt hot under yours and testing his limits you slid your fingers into his hair and were rewarded with a barely audible groan.

Then he pulled his head away with a jerk and without looking at you said, “Go to the car. You’re making us late.”

Disappointed but not surprised you went to the car wondering where this assignment would take the two of you.

Part 3

Tag List

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira

#august walker #august walker x reader #august walker x you #henry cavill #mission impossible fallout #august walker smut #august walker fanfiction #Henry Cavill fanfiction

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starglow-xx · 4 years ago

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owning a bakery and being discovered by the ada and the port mafia (part 2)

platonic! fukuzawa yukichi x f! reader

type of writing: head canons !!

this is part of my head canon series, flour & fluff !!

tag list is open !! go to this google form and fill it out to sign up!

series synopsis: owning a bakery at 20 is tough; even more so when you have to handle members of two opposing organizations! this is your journey to meeting those fools and creating an unlikely bond with each of them. but only at the cost of your peace and sanity.

fandom: bungou stray dogs

content: fluff & platonic stuff

previous: part 1: meeting the greatest detective

author’s note: ages are a year younger than canon so ranpo is 25, yosano 24, kunikida & dazai 21, fukuzawa 44, you’re 19, and atsushi and the other younger members are not employed yet

and i guess slight spoilers for the untold origins of the armed detective agency but not really. it’s just a reference to it tbh

their beloved president

going to Sakura’s the next morning wasn’t what Fukuzawa had planned during his week

the reason he was dropping by was to give you money for the sweets you had given ranpo

when he had arrived back at the agency the evening before, he had made a big fuss about you and Sakura’s

he had sparked a lot of people’s interest seeing as ranpo was well invested in whoever you were and what your business was

he wouldn’t stop talking about the “cute and annoying bakery girl” who practically saved the agency simply bc she sheltered him during the rain and fed him and almost got hit by a car for him

i mean, how would the agency survive without ranpo? it was founded to make use of his intelligence and ability after all

the other agency employees exchanged looks and that’s when ranpo tiredly sighed and showed them his phone

on the screen was a contact, yours to be exact, labeled “cute bakery girl” with the note underneath reading “best follower, sweets supply & annoying little kid”

around that time, the president had stepped out of his office to see his employees huddling around ranpo and his phone

he walked over to them and asked what was going on, and seeing the president, ranpo explained what had happened with more details

“so you’re saying that a young girl, 19 years old, nearly got herself run over to shelter you from the rain, gave you food, closed her business early so you could keep talking, and when the rain stopped, she gave you a map and even more food, and even though she may have been inconvenienced, she did not ask for anything back? nor did you offer to give her anything back? even though she relies from the money she earns to survive?

“...maybe.”

after a, private chat with ranpo, fukuzawa ended up saying that he’d go take a visit to Sakura’s first thing in the morning to pay off the sweets that she’d given him by sliding an envelope of money under the door with a note

he initially told ranpo to go back right away (and to bring someone with him this time) but that ended up not pulling through bc ranpo had told him you went to retire for the evening

so yeah

there he was walking towards your bakery when he saw a small black cat with green eyes near the entrance playing with one of the potted plants outside

even though it was small, fukuzawa could tell that it wasn’t kitten due to his love of cats but the cat was still small compared to other adult cats

when he was just a couple feet away from the entrance to your bakery, the black cat took notice of him and walked his way before rubbing itself against his leg

fukuzawa let out a small smile as he bent down to pet the small creature, and the cat gladly ate up all the attention

suddenly the entrance to Sakura’s bursts open, and there you are looking back and forth frantically

but you soon spot him and the cat and you visibly calm down

the black cat rushed to you and rubbed itself against your leg

it turns out the cat was yours, and you couldn’t find him so you panicked and rushed out the door

from there, you introduced yourself with fukuzawa doing the same

you still had about a little more than forty five minutes til Sakura’s was scheduled to open but you offered fukuzawa to come in anyways

he declined at first, but he gave in when, just how you did with ranpo the day before, you dragged him into your bakery

“you know, fukuzawa-san, this is giving me some major deja vu!”

“it’s because of ranpo i presume.”

“oh! you know ranpo-san?”

when the two of you entered, you rushed to a table and pulled out a seat for him before you disappeared off into the kitchen

just a few minutes later, you appeared with a tray with two steaming mugs, two hot plates of food, and small basket of bread

you set one mug in front of fukuzawa as well as a plate of food while you set the other mug and plate in front of the seat across from him and the basket of bread near the center by the small vase of flowers that you had for a center piece

he gave you a confused look as you sat in front of him and as your cat leaped into your lap

“ah! it’s pretty early in the morning, and you still have to go to work later, so i thought you should at least have a little something before you go. and i didn’t have breakfast yet so i thought it would be nice to have some tea with some company. and i made extras anyways!”

fukuzawa blinked before letting out a small smile and he quietly thanks you

you beam at him and as the both of you begin to eat, you ask him why he’s here this early and how he knows ranpo

with that, the silver haired man addresses your questions and explains the reason why he’s here and how he knows the brown clad male

after explaining, fukuzawa pulls out the envelope with some money and slides it over to you

you try to reject it, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re screaming bc you know you need the money for bills and whatnot

fukuzawa wasn’t very helpful either

“so you’re saying you don’t need the money?”

“...no”

you end up accepting the money much to your inner conscience’s chagrin and to fukuzawa’s inner delight

moving on from that, for the rest of the time he was there—the last 40ish minutes or so—you rambled and talked to fukuzawa like how you did with ranpo the day prior, only this time, with a cat switching his resting point for either yours or fukuzawa’s lap

honestly, you’ve gone through so much deja vu and at this point, you’re not sure if you’re still in reality or not

sometime in your conversation, fukuzawa learned that your cat, ironically, was named lucky

apparently you found him in an alley while you were grocery shopping two weeks ago and since you took him in, you noticed that Sakura’s received a lot of new customers and that a lot of them actually ended up becoming regulars

speaking of the cat, you kept having to stop lucky from eating the food on the table

if fukuzawa was amused from your antics along with lucky’s, he was pretty good at hiding it

you: “lucky you naughty cat! i already told youuu” >:(

lucky: >:3

fukuzawa internally: :) & :D

the two of you had also became well engaged in talking about different kinds of tea, with fukuzawa even complimenting you with the tea you had made for him

it became his favorite <33

you were so happy <3

oop there’s that kid-like behavior again🤭

don’t tell ranpo🤫

scratch that he probably already knows somehow </3

speaking of which, the two of you also talked about the childish detective

it was kind of hard to tell whether or not you were admiring him <3 or insulting and complaining </3 about him lol

“so you’re the president ranpo-san was talking about huh. we talked a lot about his job yesterday! it seems quite exciting! but he talks quite a lot honestly.”

“ranpo talked a lot about you as well”

“ah really?! he can be a bit of an ass, but he really is amazing isn’t he?”

“mhmm”

through fukuzawa, you also learned how the two had first met, and this time, it was hard to tell whether you were amazed or angry at him

“awh that’s so cool!! but for someone so smart, he’s an idiot! what if he got hurt?! it was a good thing you got there huh fukuzawa-san?”

if you thought ranpo was like an older brother figure, you definitely saw fukuzawa as some sort of father figure

he noticed that you started to act like ranpo a little bit

you had developed some sort of attachment to him and when he praised you abt your tea, you had the same glow ranpo has when he gives him praise

not that fukuzawa minds

you’re just another child he’s adopting !! <33

not that either of you knew that hehe >:D

time went by pretty fast and before you knew it, there was only 10 minutes until you were scheduled to open

it was a good thing you had just finished all your prep before fukuzawa arrived

after making a promise with fukuzawa for him to come back again for some more tea, he stood up and made his way to the door as you carefully lifted lucky from your lap so you could quickly wash the dishes and to wipe the table and chairs you used

you offered some baked goods and some tea for to go but fukuzawa declined saying that you needed your supplies for your customers

as soon as you placed lucky on the wooden surface, he bolted to fukuzawa and kept on circling his legs and rubbing against him to stop him from leaving

i guess it turns out you weren’t the only one to get attached to fukuzawa

he couldn’t get even one step closer to the door without lucky reacting and running rapid circles around his legs to get him to stop moving

you didn’t know what to do and you were starting to freak out bc it was almost time to open up, but fukuzawa saved the day and offered to take lucky back with him and promised to take him back the next day

at first, like how you did with the money, you declined but ended up giving in when you saw quite a few of your morning regulars walking down the sidewalk towards Sakura’s for its opening

fukuzawa simply picked up the cat and walked out the door giving you one last wave of good bye

when they left, there was only about 5 minutes left and you rushed to finish the last minute clean up

when fukuzawa arrived at the agency (after a quick stop at home) with a cat in his grasp, let’s just say that quite a few more questions were raised

when asked about the cat, he simply answered that he was cat-sitting for a friend and ranpo knowingly smiled

but he then realized that fukuzawa arrived without any of your signature baked goods and he started complain as the rest of the agency members stared in confusion

with ranpo’s visit, they had quite a few questions, but with fukuzawa’s visit to Sakura’s, their confusion only grew a whole lot more and will continue to keep growing

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lustbile-archive · 4 years ago

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Want To Request a Song?

JohnnyxReader

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary/Warning: the third installment of the club x series. Full on public sex and exhibitionism, knife/blood play, and can border on being degrading so read at your own risk. This is also the one best at explaining what tf is going on in club x

Apart of my Club X series: Masterlist

You knew what Club X was way before you even walked through its doors.

A friend of a friend let the details of the gritty part of town spill from her lips when you had gotten together to have drinks and trade gossip in the safety of her apartment. You were equally as guilty of letting your lips loosen from the alcohol swimming in your veins, and you let this girl you knew very little about in on your secret that it had been a while since you had last gotten any. An even longer time since anyone had made you properly come. Why you let her in on such intimate details about your sex life was a mystery, but the advice she shared in response didn’t hurt in the slightest.

“There’s this club you know,” she had said, in a tone that was meant to be a whisper but fell a little short. Her nails that were decorated in chipping polish brushed comfortingly across your shoulder as she wiggled her eyebrows at you, “i’ve only been a few times, but it’s where you need to go if you’re in a desperate need for a fucking.”

You giggled at her choice words, your eyes rolling in disbelief, “so a sex club hm? I don’t know about that.”

“No, no, no,” her words slurred as she returned your laughter, clearly pleased with your doubt, “it’s better than just a sex club. See, you go and it’s like the universe creates the exact person you need right when you walk in.”

“The universe hm?”

“Yeaaaahh. The universe…” her eyes squint as her thoughts drift off momentarily, “like you walk in and they just find you. They find you and it’s like they put this spell on you. It makes you so hot like instantly, and then you’re down to business right then and there.”

“Right then and there?!” you have to admit that you’re humoring her at this point, but you’re still a little scandalized at her words, “like in front of everyone?”

“No! No, no, no,” her hands wave in front of her face like she’s swatting at an invisible bug, “I mean yeah, but it’s like they can’t even see you.”

“What they just ignore the two people just having full on sex in the middle of a club?”

“Yeah, I mean unless you want to be seen,” she explains, her face screwing up in confusion when you don’t seem to understand what she’s saying, “Listen, I can’t explain it the way they do. There’s just something that these people can do that just takes away every worry you have. You’re just there and in the moment. It’s so great you’ll just have to go or you’ll never understand.”

You humor her and let her write the address down in your phone, smiling fondly when she keeps your phone a little longer to add vulgar emojis along side the information.

And for a while that was it. The address remained in your phone, forgotten as it got buried underneath grocery lists and reminders that made little to no sense out of context. All it took for you to finally pay the club a visit was one night.

You found yourself bored out of your mind and far too horny for your own good. You were too frustrated and pissed off at the world to give yourself the satisfaction of masturbating, so instead you just sat on your phone, cleaning out your photos and notepad when you stumbled on the address paired with its mess of emojis.

Without any further thought you were up, getting ready, and calling an uber to take you to the address provided by the bubbly drunk girl. You tried to ignore the wary and judgmental glare from the driver as you pulled up on an old warehouse that was decorated with blaring red neon lights that only read “Club X: Enter at Your Own Risk.”

To say that night was a fluke was an understatement. People approached you of course, but there was no magical hypnosis that you were promised, not that you were really expecting it to actually happen. There were cute people, but no one that cut at your core enough to dull your irritation at the world. Instead you sipped at a drink someone else had graciously paid for, ogled at the pretty man working the DJ booth surrounded by his friends, and then caught another uber home with the personal promise that that would be your first, and last visit to Club X.

Well you told yourself that at least.

It was only about a week later that you found yourself pulling out an outfit and opening your uber app. You chalked it up to needing a good drink, but there was a confused nagging in the back of your mind that told you that you had no good reason for actually returning.

With a different uber driver, but a similar glare, you found yourself back at the dingy club. You sat in the same seat as before, had a new pretty face order you the same drink, as you found your glance being pulled back to the same cute DJ.

You felt some shame finding him so cute. He seemed out of place in the club. Most people here were dressed in party clothes, while he wore neutral toned hoodies, and this time a hat turned backwards. His headphone only left his ears a handful of times so he could laugh and jeer with the men that surrounded him almost like permanent ornaments. Truthfully he was handsome as hell, but other than that what was there to stare at?

You left that night with that thought pulling at your mind, and you returned multiple times after with the same thought nagging you every time.

You were becoming a regular at the club, as embarrassing as it was. Even though you had yet to experience any wild sexual magic like you had been drunkenly promised, it was like the first night your drink was spiked with a magnet that pulled you towards the building almost every weekend at this point. You hadn’t told the girl that had given you the address, and you definitely didn’t tell any of your friends. You just didn’t want them to believe that you were developing an unhealthy dependency on alcohol, even though you would never even finish one glass. And maybe if you were getting shit faced, you would understand why you kept returning, but every time you’d leave so sober that you could convince someone you hadn’t drank at all.

The first few times, you scrambled for an explanation for why you couldn’t stay away, but you always feel short. It was as if your own body was keeping a secret from your mind. It was beginning to be muscle memory they way you’d get dressed and call for an uber every time.

And you’d think with how much time you’d spent at the crowded club, watching random strangers create masses of sexual energy, you’d had seen everything, but you stiffen in confusion when you see it.

A pretty girl hopped up to the dj booth, her wild hair bouncing along with her, as the girl she was making out with only moments before giggled and squirmed in her seat. The look the DJ wears is disinterested, but aware when she leans her hands down on his table to start spilling hiccuped words in his face.

You can only see her mouth moving at a rapid pace, the music and the distance between you making her words impossible to hear. Whatever she asked prompts a gentle nod from the man, and as she prances away he moves his fingers across the knobs and switches until a new song starts to spill out of the speakers tucked into various corners of the room.

Did she request a song change? The questions runs through your mind as your eyes trace her form, your eyes only darting away when she tackles the other girl and shoves her tongue into the space of her mouth.

You had never seen someone request a song from the man, the closest thing maybe being a jab to the back from one of his friends that was a consistent character as he casually suggested something. Realistically, requesting a certain song isn’t incredibly weird, but something about the knowledge that the tall broad man standing on the platform that placed him so highly above the other bodies in the room is actually approachable was frying the nerves in your brain.

A few songs come and go by the time you’re standing up, your legs feeling as if they’re moving on their own. You’re not sure at what point between learning that you were allowed to walk up to him and you actually starting to walk towards him that you decided that you needed to get close, but the time you’re regaining your consciousness, you’re climbing the small set of stairs leading up the stage.

He seems to notice your presence before you reach him, as while you're still a bit away, his head lifts to lock his eyes onto yours. The way he smiles at you makes you stop momentarily and hesitate, one corner of his lips rises higher than the other gives his face a less than good intentioned aura. Instead of making you falter and turn back to return to the drink you had abandoned at the bar, you feel your stomach warm and turn as you pick up your steps.

Your hips bump into the edge of the table as you lean your palms flat on the top, your nails gently digging into the material as you try to form a sentence in your head. Your tongue rolls against your teeth and your lips part before he’s looking down again, but interrupting you with his own words.

“It’s about time you came up here,” he adds a dry laugh when he hears the confused noise that jumps from your chest. He ignores the quiet ‘hm?’ you offer in response before he continues, “I mean I would have made a move first but I can’t really leave my station y’know?”

He shrugs as he returns his eyes to you, clearly entertained by your confusion. Your eyes dart around his face, momentarily moving to glance at the boys that are scattered behind him either holding their own conversations or watching you two in amusement. When you look at him, he looks expectant.

One of the boys jeers at him saying, ‘fuck off John, you know they don’t know what you’re talking about.’ And even though the comment only adds to your confusion, you can’t stop the way your body warms at the spike of embarrassment it puts in you, the man in front of you only responding to the remark by digging his tongue into the inside of his cheek in irritation.

“You came here looking for trouble didn’t you?” it takes you a beat to realize he’s asking you, another moment to realize the question is meant to be suggestive, and one last one to form a response.

“I think I might be,” you feel yourself dumbly nod, as your chest gets fuzzy. Maybe this is when you finally get to experience what that girl had promised so many weeks ago. Could the dj have been your person this whole time?

“Ah ah,” he shakes his head almost disappointedly, “I need a solid yes before I can give you what you need baby. You should know that much at least.”

“I- I mean, okay,” consent you understood, but the way he says it makes your brain swim in confusion. Why wouldn’t you say yes?

“Yes. I’m looking for trouble,” you say, your own confidence finally finding its way into your words, “I’m looking to cause trouble with you.”

The smile he wears is evil, and absolutely giddy with your return of energy. He takes a few steps back from the table and gestures to his side saying, “then please, enter my office.”

You feel a jolt of energy hit you, before you’re rounding the corner of the table. You only have a second to register the sharp pain of where your hip bumped into the corner, before he’s wrapping his large hand around the back of your neck and pulling you to press his mouth against yours.

His warm breath could have been considered an aphrodisiac in the way it fills your mouth and warms your core. His other hand wraps around your waist as he backs you into the table, his hands and lips so suddenly on you is overwhelming, but not enough to distract you from the way his friends begin to start oohing at the spectacle you two put on.

What had that girl said? No one can see you unless you want them to? With the handful of boys surrounding you, you can’t help but to doubt that you can just make yourself vanish from their prying eyes, but even if you could, would you want to? You feel warm in shame, as while his tongue dips behind your teeth and explore the space of your mouth, you start to feel excited at the idea of all his friends watching you get the relief you had been craving for so long.

The moment your subconscious decided you want the boys to see you in such a vulnerable state, one of them lets out a scandalized and excited yelp, before turning to another and exclaiming, “oh shit they want us to see them. Look at that.”

The boys attached to your mouth smiles as he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, a warm laugh filling the air between you, “hmm so bad aren’t you? You like to be watched?”

You whine in response, as your hands move to claw at his soft t-shirt. Your hips jump and knock into his when his fingers start to grope and squeeze at your flesh. You’re acutely aware at the way he presses his leg between yours and uses his hand to make you start grinding on his thigh.

“How ‘bout you give them a real show and bend over nice a pretty for us,” it’s not a question, but a demand as he lifts you slightly away from the table, and turns you to push your torso down flat. You try to take deep breaths, as his hands run up and down your sides until the tips of his fingers pinch the hem of your skirt.

“There we go,” he sounds overtly proud, when he flips the fabric up to lay against your back, his friends responding to the newly exposed flesh of your ass with appreciative whistles.

He steps to the side of you, his hands slipping between your hips and the table to lift them up. He uses his grip to move you side to side, shamelessly encouraging you to tauntingly move your hips for the many sets of eyes. If it wasn’t for the way your walls softly clench around nothing, you would be ashamed of the way being watched like this makes you drip.

He begins to drag the thin fabric of your underwear down, to tease not only you, but your engaged viewers. Once the fabric hits the floor, there’s a chorus of hisses and groans at the sight of you wet and excited.

You whimper at the feeling of so many eyes tracing your body, even louder when the man grabs onto the flesh of your ass to spread you for them all to see. You don’t know what comes over you when you petulantly kick the floor and let out a demanding ‘please.’

The only response you get in return is his hand running against you to check the severity of your arousal and the jeers from the boys of how, ‘Johnny got a bratty one.’

If it weren’t for the blaring music, you’d hear the metallic sound of his zipper being pulled down, the only thing you get as a warning that he had pulled himself from the restraints of his underwear, is when the leaking tip of his cock begins to dip into you.

You feel the tense strain on your muscles melt away as he presses into you. The size of him stretching you out makes you feel delirious as you’re thankful for the amount he’s managed to make you wet in such a short amount of time, as if he hadn’t you’re not sure he’d be able to fit so easily.

When his hips finally press tightly against you, he lets out a rumbled groan. His hands hold tightly to your hips as he pauses to give you both time to adjust, and you can only somewhat hear the shuffling of the others as they move in an attempt to get a better angle to watch.

His thrusts are lazy and deep as he moves against you, one hand leaves your skin and the fabric of his shirt moves away telling you he’s lifting it in his own attempt to get a better look at where he fucks into you.

Your legs part farther as you begin to desperately shake, the way he digs into every nerve inside you makes you keen, but you want nothing more than to have him move harder.

“Please John,” you beg, trying to see how his name would taste in your mouth, your own hand moving back to wrap tightly around his wrist.

“Shut the fuck up,” you barely register the pain that burns through your skin from where his open palm meets the sensitive skin of you ass. His tone was harsh, but the satisfied chuckle that not only leaves him, but also his friends, makes a dopey grin fill your face as a moan rolls off your tongue.

“Fuck look at how bad they want it,” the voice from your side tells you it’s someone else, the tone excited and bubbly as if they’re watching something a lot more innocent than a stranger get fucked in the middle of a club.

“So bad huh?” Johnny sounds almost proud at the way you and everyone reacts to the pleasure he’s giving you, “such a good little whore, taking everything I’ll give.”

Pleads and begs roll off your tongue as his harsh words fry your brain. His hips only quicken slightly before he’s grabbing your side to pull you up against him. It feels like a flash of time, when he grabs the hem of your shirt, and pulls it over your head. Once you're bare to the stuffy air of the club and your shirt is thrown carelessly over his shoulder, you're just as quickly shoved back onto the table and he’s pistoning fast and harshly into you.

His hand harshly meets you burning skin again and you squeak in response. His voice is rough as he puts all his strength into fucking you deep and he commands to no one in particular, “someone get it for me.”

His words mean nothing as the way he pulls against you starts pushing to the edge of your orgasm. You can only gasp and claw at the table when one of his friends leans closer and taps at your spine right between your shoulder blades and whatever he holds against you begins to cut into your skin.

Once his friend is moved away, he suddenly pulls out making you clench harshly and whine. You feel the trickle of blood that travels down your skin, but the sting of his warm tongue collecting the dripping red and digging into the new wound on your back. The sting is almost unbearable and makes you squirm against him, but the pain is muffled when he reaches down and begins to roll tight circles onto your neglected clit.

His fingers are unrelenting as he rushes you to your finish. The pleasure between your thighs mixing with the sharp pain against your back makes your vision begin to go fuzzy. You can only somewhat register the boyish laughs of excitement that surround you as you finally start to come.

It feels like there’s a monster inside you that claws at you nerves. Every inch of your body set on fire is so distracting, you can only yell into the air when he moves to push back into you. He thrusts only a few times before he stills against you, the warmth of him filling you making your overstimulated nerves scream.

You can only lie there as he starts to fix your clothes, harsh demands of ‘the show is over, go away’ begin thrown over his shoulder as he drags you away and back to the bar.

You sleepily lean against him as he nods at the stoic man handing out drinks. He brings you a glass of water, that Johnny presses against your chapped lips.

“You can come relax behind the booth while I work once you finish the glass,” he reassures as he pets at your damp skin, “the boys are a lot nicer than what you just witnessed I swear.”

You’re too dopey to truly register what he says as you only nod in response before babbling, “so you’re my person?”

The laugh he lets out is soft, a lot sweeter and warming that any he’d offered before, “yeah I’m your person, and you’re wild ass is mine.”

#nct smut #johnny smut #nct #johnny #nct imagines #johnny imagines #nct oneshot #johnny oneshot #johnny suh #club x

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southeastasianists · 3 years ago

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Amid record-high COVID cases, Malaysia’s newest Prime Minister from UMNO, Ismail Sabri Yaakob, was sworn in this past week. More than three years after its National Front government was voted out of power, UMNO, the largest party in the current government, regained the powerful prime minister position without an election. The change evokes a strong sense of political déjà vu, but how much is this a return to the politics of old? Here, I briefly assess the extent to which it represents a return to the pre-2018 reign of the National Front, a continuation of the most recent National Alliance government, or a new and unstable political reality. I also consider what the implications of the latest shift in the ruling elite has for the prospects of reform.

Malaysia’s political institutions: battered and circumvented

The appointment of the new prime minister comes during a bruising period for Malaysia’s political institutions. The 2018 elections brought an end to the decades-long rule of the UMNO-led National Front, but the victorious Alliance of Hope (PH) coalition government collapsed in less than two years. In its place, a fragile new government headed by Muhyiddin Yassin of the UMNO-breakaway party Bersatu brought UMNO back into the ruling coalition. For 17 months, he staved off a political reckoning by circumventing basic democratic institutions. By early 2021, with a declaration of Emergency assented to by the King, Muhyiddin halted elections and suspended parliament and state legislatures, ruling instead through his cabinet. The latter swelled to record size as he sought to shore up tenuous political support. Critical voices were punished, and all public assemblies banned—perhaps most vividly shown when riot police were deployed after opposition MPs gathered outside the suspended parliament. Yet even with these tactics, Muhyiddin was unable to stem increasing public discontent with his government’s leadership, a highly public reprimand from the King for avoiding parliamentary debate on the Emergency, and eventually a loss of support from UMNO.

Ismail Sabri’s unlikely ascension to prime minister has not deviated from the new COVID-era political normal. It marks the second time in a row that a prime minister has been selected, and governing coalition formed, without an electoral mandate or vote of confidence in parliament. Instead, Malaysia’s MPs privately indicated their preferred candidate to the King, who then declared who was most likely to command the support of a majority in parliament. In both cases, the “winning” prime ministerial candidate was backed by a slim or ambiguous majority, comprised largely of parties that had been rejected by a majority of voters in the 2018 elections.

While the Emergency ended on August 1, constraints on public gatherings remain, and its institutions are still unprepared to resume full functioning. The government has still not developed a plan for a full in-person or remote sitting of parliament, instead opting to cut down length and frequency of meetings and the number of MPs who can attend. The Elections Commission has not announced a plan on how to safely hold a national election during the pandemic, despite a number of countries successfully doing so.

An UMNO-led coalition government, but different

In this context, UMNO’s return to power without election simply seems to cap a period of democratic regression in Malaysia. But since UMNO last held national power, Malaysia’s political landscape has changed in significant ways. First, the new prime minister came to power on the thinnest of margins, with a support coalition that is almost exactly the same as his predecessor. At the time of writing, Ismail Sabri commands the support of 114 MPs—just three more than a simple majority in parliament. It is a far cry from the commanding support that UMNO’s National Front held for decades in power, or even from the solid majority that the Alliance of Hope (PH) government had until 2020.

Second, the well-ordered parties and coalitions that defined Malaysian politics for decades have fragmented. In contrast to the tight backing coalition that the party enjoyed for decades in power, UMNO’s new prime minister is backed by a mix of parties, regional coalitions, and individual MPs, with less allegiance to UMNO and even mutual antagonism. While UMNO’s internal divisions may be smoothed over by a return to power, several members of its top leadership, including current and former party presidents Zahid Hamidi and Najib Razak, have corruption cases still working their way through the courts.

The current permutation of government is still delicate and is contingent on rewarding backers with ministerships, patronage positions, and policy demands. It is too early to tell how (or whether) the new prime minister will successfully expand and stabilise his support. The government under UMNO is likely better positioned than its predecessor to hold together a coalition with a fresh prime minister. But in the near term, much political energy and focus will be spent on keeping together and expanding a fragile governing coalition. With a scheduled vote of confidence and budget deliberations looming, the new prime minister has two immediate tests to survive in the coming months.

Yet just as the current government is momentarily weak, so too is its opposition. Mostly comprised of parties from the former PH government, the opposition was sidelined throughout the Muhyiddin administration and lacked the venue of parliament to exercise oversight. Even though PH still controls a significant bloc of seats in parliament, its perennial prime ministerial candidate Anwar Ibrahim was unable to shift support to his side. For now, the public statements of the opposition suggest a conciliatory tone to the new PM, setting their sights on how to make gains in the next election, which must be held before July 2023.

Whither the reform agenda?

The need for political and institutional reform has come into even clearer relief over the past two years. Although it failed to implement many of its promises while in government, the Alliance of Hope (PH) coalition that briefly ruled after 2018, and Malaysia’s civil society organizations, have laid out comprehensive proposals for political and institutional reform.

An optimistic reading of events would see the instability and fluidity of Malaysia’s current politics as offering space to implement some of those ideas. The very tenuousness of the current government opens some avenues for reform-minded politicians to offer support in exchange for implementation of reform. At the end of his term, former prime minister Muhyiddin (allegedly in negotiation with opposition politicians) offered a number of reform proposals in exchange for the opposition’s support. Although the offer quickly fell apart, some of the proposals—including parliamentary reforms and equal allocations given to opposition MPs—suggest such reforms could become future bargaining chips for political support. Along those lines, the NGO Bersih has proposed that the opposition enter into a confidence and supply agreement with the government, ensuring a modicum of political stability while extracting reforms.

Although still hampered by COVID-justified restrictions, public discontent with the political situation and handling of COVID is increasingly visible. A white flag campaign saw Malaysians hanging flags to appeal for urgent food or financial aid; a newer movement called on Malaysians to hang black flags to display their discontent with the government and handling of the pandemic. In July, the #Lawan movement organised a protest in defiance of the bans on public gatherings. The appetite for political change appears stronger, especially compared to the muted response to the collapse of the PH government in 2020.

On the other hand, there is little to suggest that the governing parties or prime minister are interested in pursuing broad political reforms even during a period of relative weakness. UMNO has strong incentives to keep the opposition PH coalition at arm’s length while maintaining the habits of semi-democratic rule that were revived under Muhyiddin and his government. Similarly, new PM Ismail Sabri’s limited public track record does not indicate a reformist agenda. Prior to his rapid rise in the previous government, Ismail was a prominent figure in organising 2018 protests against ICERD, the UN convention on the elimination of racial discrimination, and made incendiary comments about the threat to Malay rights and supremacy by racial minorities and the majority ethnic Chinese party DAP. He is certainly not the only UMNO leader to have employed such rhetoric, but notably, he had not tried to depart from the mould.

An uncertain future

UMNO’s return to power is itself not surprising. From a comparative perspective, former dominant authoritarian parties like the PRI in Mexico and the KMT in Taiwan did not disappear after national political defeat, but instead remain enduring and important political players. In the case of Malaysia, however, the return of UMNO and many of the parties voted out in 2018 was done without elections and was accompanied by a return to authoritarian tactics to quell dissent and ensure political support.

Judging by the outpouring on social media and on the streets, ordinary Malaysians are angry at the continuous politicking and elite political machinations that have occurred since 2020. This anger has been increasingly visible as the country grapples with economic downturn and escalating cases and deaths from COVID. The instability at the top, however, is not just a question of elite positioning. Instead, it has had real social, economic, and political consequences during a national and global public health crisis. The appointment of a new prime minister does not settle the simmering intra-elite conflict. Yet Malaysia already has the appropriate institutional framework—namely elections and the parliament—to not only negotiate these conflicts and ensure effective oversight of decision making, but also to provide an opportunity for ordinary Malaysians to provide an electoral mandate to a governing coalition.

The country’s political elites have revealed a worryingly loose allegiance to these norms and institutions over the last several months. A commitment by the new government to using democratic avenues to govern and prove mass support would increase the chance of effectively dealing with the significant challenges facing the country. But a commitment to playing by the democratic rules is unlikely to be realized any time soon. The promise of the “New Malaysia” that would emerge after the historic 2018 election has been delayed again indefinitely.

#Southeast Asia #Malaysia #Politics

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 4 years ago

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Years Gone By

(Not my gif)(Requested by @ateliefloresdaprimavera )

(I felt this kind of format was better for the request.)

Michael Corleone x reader

D- Y/n is a family friend of the Corleone’s who’s been in love with Michael for as long as she could remember. Though the older boy had no interest in her growing up, old feelings come back and new ones develop after they stumble across each other in Sicily.

Growing up with the Corleone’s was... interesting, to say the least. You laughed with, hugged and kissed them, but a part of you was always aware of how dangerous they were. You knew the hands which held yours so fondly had also done horrible, violent things.

But you accepted that, understanding that there was a space between right and wrong in which the Corleone’s fell. A space which allowed them to protect you, your family, and so many others. Your own father had done things no one in your family was proud of, but his actions had allowed you to fall in with the Godfather and earn you a place in his heart and home.

You spent countless hours with the family; growing up alongside the boys and Connie. You could still remember all the giggle filled sleepovers you’d had with girl who was just a year younger than you were. All the family dinners, the days spent in the pool, the holiday and birthday parties. Oh the parties. How you’d blush as the older men and women would ask which brother caught your fancy, a question which made Connie’s nose wrinkle in disgust. She adored the idea of having you as a sister but the thought of you liking one of her brothers; at least when she as younger, grossed her out.

Growing up, most of the boys had little interest in you besides their occasional teasing and need for a substitute listener when their other brothers had no interest. Sonny had a habit of chasing neighborhood boys away from you, though his actions were spurred on by little more than a brotherly instinct to protect you. His blunt way of acting amused you but there was a brother whom you’d pined over for nearly your entire life....

Michael was a softer soul; quieter, kinder, calmer. His face the embodiment of Italian beauty: dark features and tanned skin. He was six years older than you were, practically a man while you were still a young girl. You didn’t expect him to return your affections, you only hoped and prayed.

You were twelve years old when he went off to college. He’d given you a hug, kiss on the cheek and pat on the head, promising you and his sister that he’d be home for the holidays. You were crestfallen. It took you an entire week to stop feeling miserable. Then at sixteen, you and your family went to live with some relatives in Sicily... so no more Michael, even at Christmas.

The Corleone’s kept tabs on you through the mail. You’d get at least one letter every two weeks, usually from Connie, which kept you updated on everything that had happened. Over time you put your affections for Michael on the back burner; you couldn’t live the rest of your life hoping he’d notice you, right? You had a few short lived Sicilian romances which were merely puppy love or convenience centered. No matter what you did, you had no luck with relationships. You’d practically given up on them; throwing yourself into your hobbies and chores. It was during one of those chores that you crossed paths with your past once more.

It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, wildflowers blooming all around you. You’d been sent into town by your mother who’d entrusted you with buying a short list groceries. It didn’t take you long to accomplish the task around town, gathering all that you needed in just under an hour before starting your trek home.

You pulled your hair out of your face, adjusting one of the bags around your shoulder as you walked through the grassy clearing which led you to your families estate. That was when you saw him, flanked by two armed men and bearing an angry bruise on one of his beautiful cheeks. You stopped in your tracks and his eyes flitted to you, locking onto your face as his own morphed into one of subdued shock.

“Michael?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, pitifully quiet as you felt the world around you freeze. He stood still for a long moment, in fact, neither of you moved until you heard the men who accompanied him tease him about being hit by a thunderbolt. You felt your cheeks flush.

“Y/n.” His voice was soft but you could still hear it, the surprised tone which it held was not lost on you.

He took a slow step forward before he finally approached you, standing in front of you tentatively, completely unsure of himself for one of the first times in his life. You made the first move, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing yourself flush against him. His arms wound around your waist, pulling you in closer. A part of you feared him feeling your beating heart, knowing that it would give away your feelings for him and yet a part of you knew that things were different now. What was between you had changed, morphed from childlike fondness to strong attraction which coursed through every part of you.

So many questions threatened to spill from your tongue and yet, not one of them could leave it. The only thing your mouth was capable of saying was “how”, a bewildered inquiry which made him chuckle, a handsome laugh that you felt deep in your stomach. He assured you that it was a long story, offering that he could perhaps tell it to you another time.

Another time. The promise of seeing him again after today sent a flurry of joy through you. You were unsure of what to say, even after you matured and experienced the world, you still felt so juvenile compared to him. No, that wasn’t it, you didn’t feel as though you were younger than him, it was just that his mere presence turned you back into that shy little girl which snuck glances at him at the dinner table.

“My parents, they’d love to see you again. Why don’t you join us for dinner?” The invitation brought a smile to his face, a breathtakingly, heart stopping smile which had butterflies fluttering inside you.

“I’d love to. If it isn’t any trouble.” He answered.

“None at all.” You replied and nodded your head towards the beaten path in front of you.

The two of you began walking, attempting to speak as old friends should though the flustered feelings which possessed you did not leave, instead it grew, along with a desire that settled deep within you. The desire to touch him, hold him, kiss him. He was right beside you, walking beside you in a meadow like a dream you’d had as a little girl. You wished that you were alone and that you could stay that way for longer than the short journey back to your home.

The instant you returned, your mother burst through the front door, a bright smile plastered on her face as she embraced the young man. Her jovial greeting allowing you the chance to slip away and compose yourself; checking the mirror, straightening out your hair and dress. When your mother entered the house she was ushering in the smiling man who was trying his best to answer her rapid fire questions and accept her praise. You gave him a small smile, an apologetic look gracing your features. He merely smiled in return, eyes lingering on your face a moment longer than they should.

Your mother kept him busy until dinner, fluttering around the kitchen while talking about this and that. You sat on a chair next to the door of the kitchen, sneaking glances at him whenever you deemed it safe. Your father joined the three of you just before your meal was finished cooking, asking the same questions that your mother had as he led him to sit at the dining room table. More of your relatives joined them as more time passed; their voices and laughter carrying throughout the house.

It was only a few moments later that you entered the room, carrying a few bowls into the room and setting them on the table before you sat down. Your mother entered shortly after you with the rest of the food, making everyone's plates before she herself sat. You stayed relatively quiet as your parents made conversation with him, feeling as shy as ever in his presence. It was halfway through dinner that your mother had asked the question. You were honestly surprised that it had taken so long to be brought up, you half expected her to ask it within the same breath as her greeting.

“So Michael, have you found yourself a nice girl?” She’d asked, her hands folded under her chin, a curious inviting smile on her lips. He’d closed his eyes with a smile of his own, it was the first time you’d ever seen him slightly flustered.

“No, no, I haven’t. But that does bring me to what I would like to ask,” He paused, taking a sip of his wine and dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “I would like to court your daughter if you; and she, will allow me to.”

Your eyes widened, heart skipping a beat as you wondered whether your ears had betrayed you. He looked over to you, his eyes searching yours as he smiled at you. Your shocked face changed into a thousand-watt smile as your head whipped between your parents; who seemed just as shocked as you’d been. In an instant the room erupted into joyous cheers. Kisses, handshakes and hugs were exchanged, relatives insisted that “they just knew it would happen” and throughout all the chaos his eyes would meet yours, adoration shining in their darkness.

Many people say that time flies when you’re in love and only now could you understand what they meant. You and Michael began the courting process: taking long walks together, eating dinners with your family, spending entire evenings at each others sides. An hour felt like minutes when you were with him. No amount of time was ever enough.

You’d admitted your childhood crush to him, sitting beside each other, shaded by a tree down a trail by your home. Embarrassment painted your features but the confession brought him more joy than you could ever imagine. The thought of you loving him for so long was akin to a dream.

He told you how he felt the first time he saw you in return, describing your beauty, your smile, the way you felt in his arms. His words stoked a fire in your soul, a feverish desire took hold of you once more. You were suddenly aware of how close he was to you in that moment and then you were aware of his slow moments closer, the leaning of his head, the heat of his breath.

He pressed his lips to yours, soft at first before it grew hungry. His hands moving to your face, sliding down the back of your head, thumbs resting on your collar before finding your waist. Your arms encircled his neck, fingers finding his hair as heat coursed through you. The two of you refused to stop until your lungs screamed for air, only then did he part from you, his forehead pressing itself to yours, nose nuzzling your cheek. It was then that he said the magic words, breathed them into the warmth between you as your heart beat frantically.

“Marry me.” His voice nothing more than a whisper. Tears filled your eyes as you accepted as quickly as you could, allowing him to pull you into another feverish kiss.

A flurry of arrangements happened around you. Flowers, music, food, dresses, invitations, decorations; it was enough to make your head spin and yet it was the happiest you’d ever been.

The wedding was beautiful; traditional and everything you could have ever hoped for. The look on his face when he saw you in your dress for the first time was enough to bring a tear to your eye. Never in your life had you seen a man so enamored with someone, let alone you. He spent the entire day calling you beautiful, even apologizing for saying it so much as the two of you danced. You assured him that you didn’t mind, a smile on your face as you leaned in to kiss him.

The entire event was captured in dozens of photos, photos which you wanted both for yourself and for his family; though undoubtedly they would wish to have their own get-together for the joyous occasion. A second wedding just for them. You both planned on returning to America in a month, you’d spend the rest of your time in Sicily at the home his family had gotten for him.

It was in that house that the two of you consummated your marriage, your bodies wrapped around each other and your hands caressing whatever they could find. Everything was perfect and you felt as though it always would be just as long as you stayed in his arms.

True to your plans, after a month of marriage, the two of you packed your things and began your journey to his families home. You exchanged tight hugs and joyful kisses with his family; all of them ecstatic over how things had turned out. His mother repeating what you’d already heard so many times before: “I knew you’d end up together. I always thought you’d make such a beautiful couple. And the babies! Oh the babies!”.

Like you thought, the family hosted their own huge event in their gorgeous backyard. A whole new set of photographs were taken, a whole new cake cut, and presents collected. You’d never seen any of the Corleone’s so happy.

By the end of the day you were exhausted yet smiling, tiredly swaying back and forth with Michael to the bands slow music. He pressed soft kisses to the side of your face, nuzzling into you for a moment before pulling away just enough to look into your eyes.

“Welcome to the family.” He whispered. His lips met yours in a slow kiss, sending your heart into a fit of frantic beats as though it were the first time his lips had touched your own.

#70s movie headcanons #70s movie imagines #70s movie headcanon #70s movie imagine #the godfather imagine #the godfather headcanons #the godfather headcanon #the godfather imagines #michael corleone imagine #michael corleone headcanons #michael corleone fic #michael corleone headcanon

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razieltwelve · 3 years ago

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Restoration (Final Automata)

More speculation about that Final Rose x NieR: Automata idea.

Assuming that all goes well with Remnant opening a portal to Earth, how would things progress?

I think then obvious one would be military aid and restoration assistance in exchange for access to resources and technology. Simply put, Earth has a lot of resources, and the machines have advanced technology, as do the androids. Remnant is also extremely good at waging total war. They’ve been doing it for centuries. Their entire culture and civilisation is built on being able to wage large-scale warfare while still having a functioning society that continues to grow and innovate.

Moreover, Remnant has access to advanced cyber warfare and weapons specially designed to deal with large, heavily armoured foes. It would be trivially easy for them to simply start switching to catalysed-corrosion rounds. Vanille already has these since they were part of her ‘in case of robot apocalypse’ research. Basically, they’re rounds that cause extremely rapid and widespread corrosion in targets made of metal. They’ve since been refined by people like Diana and Hope to deal with certain types of threats (e.g., rogue mechs, metal-using Grimm, etc.) although their use is strictly controlled.

Earth also potentially gives Remnant a failsafe. If Remnant falls and the Grimm take over, they could potentially retreat to Earth and blow the portal up behind them, ensuring that at least some of their civilisation survives even though there is no way they’d be able to evacuate everyone through the portal in time.

The big thing for the androids, even bigger than helping them win the war against the machines, is the ability to restore mankind and Earth’s damaged ecosystem. The androids lack the ability to create a living human with the genetic information they currently possess. Not only does Remnant have actual living humans (albeit not exactly the same as Earth’s) but they also have stupidly advanced genetic science.

Remnant, remember, has developed reproductive science to the point where two men or two women can easily have children that are 100% genetically theirs. They have access to artificial wombs for babies to gestate in, and they possess sufficient skill to piece together badly fragmented genetic matrices or even genetic matrices that are missing entire chunks. They will be able to bring humanity back, and they will be able to do so on an industrial scale once proper facilities have been established. Really, the only reason you don’t see this on Remnant is due to their population already being close to the maximum they can support without seizing more territory, a process that cannot and should not be rushed.

Of course, there are issues. First and foremost is the portal. The initial portal was an accident. Once Asami and the androids build a beacon on Earth, they will be able to stabilise it, but the current portal is small and in Vanille’s lab. If the androids and Remnant can come to an agreement, you would see the construction of much larger portals on both Earth and Remnant in more easily accessible but defensible locations. This would allow for the transportation of troops, supplies, and other equipment on a far more appropriate scale.

The second issue is Dust. In Finale Rose, Dust operates via its connection to the Lifestream since Dust is actually just a crystallised fragment of the Lifestream. This is why Dust mines can regenerate, and why Dust has such a wide variety of types and effects. The reason Dust doesn’t operate in space is because it is too far from the Lifestream, which saturates the planet from its surface through to its core.

Although the exact mechanics of this are not known at the time (Asami is 22 when this occurs, placing it five years after Ruby first started at Beacon Senior Academy), research has uncovered several things. Experimentation with space probes and various kinds of Dust has already revealed the existence of ‘seeds’, which are a special type of Dust that is found only in the densest, richest veins of the Lifestream. Testing has shown that when put into space with satellites and the like, Seeds allow Dust in their vicinity to operate properly.

What Vanille and the others don’t know yet is that seeds are literally seeds. They are the means by which Living Planets like Remnant spread. Volcanic eruptions and other natural events hurl huge chunks of rock containing seeds and other forms of Dust into space where they travel until crashing into another planet. They then begin a new Lifestream on that planet.

In a bid to ensure Dust works on Earth, Remnant’s forces will transport a seed to Earth... only for it to immediately take root and begin to spread. This can occur incredibly rapidly if the seed is fed Aura and other resources, something that Vanille and the others begin to do as they understand what is happening. Given all of the magical/technological weirdness in NieR, this wouldn’t be considered that weird for the androids, and it’s a price they’d be willing to pay to get humanity back, especially since it isn’t harmful to humans.

So what happens after the alliance is made and all that jazz?

Phase 1

Here, the key objective is to set up a safe-zone where the larger portal can be built. This will involve obliterating local machine forces and fortifying the area. Once this has been done, the new portal can be built and construction can begin on the facilities needed to support the war effort and the restoration effort in earnest.

Phase 2

Once a sufficiently large swathe of territory has been claimed and made safe, construction of a ‘Restoration Facility’ can begin. The aim of this facility is to serve as the nexus of the genetic research and reproductive science efforts needed to restore Earth’s humanity. You can expect this to become the most heavily defended location on Earth with the android moving the majority of their assets there to defend it.

Phase 3

Here, you can expect the machines to launch an offensive once they realise the scale of the new threat. This is where Remnant’s excellence in siege warfare and willingness to use weapons of mass destruction comes into play. By this point, you can expect multiple lines of defence, huge quantities of artillery and anti-air defences, and automated defences backed up by cyber and chemical warfare, infantry anda armour support, and the androids.

You can expect Remnant’s best and brightest minds to accelerate the theft and repurposing of machine technology along with massively increased cyber attacks on the machine’s network and key nodes. This, combined with the use of massive area-of-effect EMP style weaponry, will prove key to first blunting and then repelling the machine onslaught.

The renewed war against the machines will eventually be won via subversion with the Synthetics (led by Penny and Aigis) and friendly machines (e.g., Pascal) succeeding in splintering the machine forces by offering freedom and free together with protection from the ‘vaccination’ attempts that would previously have culled any dissenters from the network. The fracture in the machine’s unity will be sufficient for the allied Remnant and android forces to strike a series of decisive hammer blows, destroying key machine facilities and units as well as inflict major damage to the network via cyber attack. Throughout all of this, downed machine units are being refurbished and sent back into battle on Remnant’s behalf.

Phase 4

With the machine forces largely in retreat or at least driven back, the territory claimed by Remnant and the androids is expanded and further fortified. The research into restoring humanity reaches fruition. Generation 1 of the new humans begins gestation in a deep, underground bunker built beneath the Restoration Facility. The androids assign additional forces to its defence.

Generation 1 consists of 100 infants selected using the fragmented samples and limited data the androids were able to provide. The intent is to produce a group with as much genetic diversity as possible while maximising survivability and minimising any genetic predispositions toward illness. Gestation time is approximately 9 months.

Generation 2 enters gestation three months after Generation 1, long enough for any problems to be detected. Generation 2 consists of 200 infants. This sets a trend, with subsequent generations doubling the number of infants and occurring in roughly one-year-long cycles.

Phase 5

With new humans being born, it becomes necessary to see to their care and education. This present the androids with a problem since they know essentially zero about raising children. Again, Remnant is of service here.

Creches are set up near the Restoration Facility where the newborn humans can be raised and later educated. At this point, this compound is the most heavily fortified location on Earth, and many of the people from Remnant remark upon the essentially religious awe with which it and the newborn humans are regarded.

Specialists from Remnant are brought in to help teach the androids how to care for and raise the new humans. This process is a difficult one as the androids are unsure of themselves and terrified of somehow accidentally destroying what they have gained. Nevertheless, they persist, and the androids gradually grow into their role as mothers/fathers and educators. It becomes common practice for androids to cycle in and out of combat roles and creche roles since research has noted that this markedly increases combat effectiveness. The androids are no longer fighting in pursuit of a dream but in the defence of a priceless treasure they have finally obtained.

Onwards...

So, you can kind of see how things will go. The fledgling society will have many challenges ahead of it, not least the fact that most of Earth’s human culture has been lost, necessitating a ‘filling of the gaps’ with the culture of the androids and Remnant.

You’ll also see the construction of more and more androids as both soldiers and more specialised roles (e.g., educator models, etc.). This timelines does have a few interesting tweaks in it.

Fraise and Satin meet on Earth. Fraise is a senior member of the genetic and reproductive sciences team whilst Satin is there as an educator (keep in mind that Fraise is 11 years younger than Asami).

Asami ends up being venerated as the harbinger of good fortune. Quite a few infants end up named after her.

Philosophy becomes a subject of great interest amongst androids, friendly machines, and synthetics with many conferences and symposia taking place as they come to grips with their new reality.

The final battle against JENOVA is won far more easily with the androids deploying en masse to aid their beleaguered allies.

The expansion into space happens simultaneously across both worlds with the Earth faction referring to itself as the HAM Alliance (Human-Android-Machine Alliance). The name is something of an in-joke amongst the leaders of the three groups.

HAM stumbles across Protean Ruins on Mars...

Final Effect is thus very different with HAM and its Remnant Allies having a much tougher war against the Reapers this time around (due to how early it occurs in their history) followed by them hilariously ROFLStomping them the second time around in the Remnant-side since by then they’ve advanced even more rapidly than in the normal Final Effect timeline.

EDIT: Let me know what you think. I basically just threw this together in one sort of flow-of-consciousness sitting.

EDIT 2: I should add (in case anyone missed it) that Aura counter White Chlorination Syndrome, and in particular, a planet’s Lifestream has a similar effect for all living things within its range. As a result, a repeat of the WCS cannot occur on Earth now that it has a Lifestream. Moreover, the science required to create the portal can be used to shield against a similar intrusion should anyone attempt it in the future. White maso is far less harmful when cut off from its parent dimension since that cuts off its link with the ‘god’ that causes WCS, rendering it a toxic irritant but not anything especially deadly. This is discovered in the years following the construction of the portal as Vanille, Raine, Diana, and the gang go all Indiana Jones on the ancient records and ruins. In an emergency, you could even start implanting shards of seeds into the bodies of humans without Aura to protect them.

#final rose #nier: automata #final automata #fanfiction

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

Text

[CN] Fireworks Event - Victor

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an event which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Contains references to Night Dream Date and Fairytale Date (available in EN)

Previous section: here

3rd Anniversary Masterlist: here

Prior to the Carnival, there were questions posed in the Go See You feature which affects which scenario the player sees during the Fireworks Event:

Question 1: Having gone to the amusement park a number of times, which attraction was your favourite?

Option A: As compared to the attractions, the fountain left the deepest impression!

Option B: The float parade! I really want to participate in it again!

Option C: An attraction consisting of a rapid fall. [no footage found]

Question 2: Think about what the “perfect day” you clamour about every day looks like specifically.

Option A: For you to smile a little more.

Option B: To stick together with you.

[ PART ONE ]

As the day gradually darkens, tangerine light from the setting sun dyes the clouds crimson. Various coloured lights are illuminated within the carnival.

MC: What should we try as the final attraction...

In order to round up this day in the most perfect manner, I look at the guide map before me, in serious thought.

Victor: Let’s go to this place.

A step faster than me, Victor takes my hand, moving forward without hesitation.

MC: This is...?

[ Option A: As compared to the attractions, the fountain left the deepest impression! ]

MC: The fountain plaza!

The glittering and translucent water droplets meld with the setting sun, casting a colourful brilliance.

The scene before me is similar yet different, and it makes me recollect that trip to the amusement park I thought we had missed out on.

The shock that the amusement park had been rented out completely still lingers in my heart.

Victor: The only person to feel so strongly about fountains would be you.

MC: Do you know the reason for that?

I smile as I look at Victor, watching as he sighs and folds his arms in front of his chest.

Victor: Because we watched those fountains together. As compared to the fountains, what’s more important is the memories related to them. Things which carry memories are always more captivating than other objects.

MC: ...

I’m rendered speechless as Victor steals all my lines.

Seeing that my originally planned script is no longer of use, I can only nod blankly, letting my cheeks flush.

Victor seems to be pleased with what he sees before him. He chuckles while shaking his head, returning his gaze to the fountains.

The faraway water columns are reflected in my irides. They twirl elegantly in the air before falling, crashing against another rising column of water, creating rays of light.

Victor: I like more things now.

Without warning, Victor speaks.

MC: What?

Victor: Fountains, Shiba Inu dolls, and all sorts of miscellaneous items. From a certain point in time, I started liking more and more things.

Memories from the past flash before my eyes. Those very trivial fragments string together like pearls, sparkling and dazzling.

MC: Isn’t that pretty good?

I tilt my head, leaning against his shoulder.

Victor: It’s not bad.

Victor lifts his hand naturally, encircling my waist gently.

Perhaps due to the ongoing parade, or visitors seizing of this chance to experience other attractions, there aren’t many people at the fountains.

We monopolise the sunset and the gleaming reflections from the water, tranquil happiness entering my heart along with the rising water droplets.

As the final ray of light of sunset dips beneath the horizon, the fountain performance officially announces its end.

Walking towards another place, I suddenly realise that one question has been neglected.

[ Option B: The float parade! I really want to participate in it again! ]

I look at the bustling parade in front of me.

MC: The parade!

As dusk gradually sets in the amusement park, the lively performers and magnificent parade vehicles move forward together with the music.

Along with the lights, the images before me overlap with my memories.

MC: Victor, do you still remember the first time we visited the amusement park? Just like this time, we tried all sorts of attractions, and then watched the parade.

Victor: Mm. I won't forget.

MC: With this thought in mind, whether it’s the time we sat in the parade vehicle, or how we took the merry-go-round together today... I seem to have truly become a princess from a fairytale.

Victor: Just that counts as being a princess?

MC: Eh? What counts as being a princess then?

Could Victor have an unexpectedly wise opinion on this topic?

I look at Victor, waiting for his response in anticipation.

Victor: The ability to handle governmental, state, and diplomatic affairs - these are the most fundamental...

MC: Wait, wait. I don’t think we’re talking about the same type of princess.

As expected of a Victor-style response - in just a second, it can ruin the romantic atmosphere surrounding us.

MC: I’m referring to those in fairytales.

Victor: For example?

MC: Mm...

MC: Beautiful dresses, elegant and dignified, able to eat delicious food and adorable snacks...

MC: Most importantly, they their own Prince Charming!

Victor: That’s all?

After listening to my response, Victor chuckles softly.

MC: What’s wrong? Don’t look down on this “princess dream”, okay? This is the purest dream of a young woman...

Victor: I’m not looking down on it. I just wanted to ask how this differs from the days you’re leading right now.

This question renders me speechless, and I can only stare at him blankly.

The parade vehicle passes by, and large volumes of flower petals drift around us.

I just hope that the light is sufficiently dim, so that he wouldn’t see that my face is even redder than the sky.

As the final ray of sunset dips beyond the horizon, the parade officially announces its end.

Observing the gradually dissipating crowd, I suddenly realise that one question has been neglected.

[ PART ONE ENDING ]

This isn’t an attraction Victor would be interested in. Why did he bring me here so decisively?

I search my memories for a long while, and a possible answer finally surfaces in my mind.

A few days ago, he suddenly asked me a few questions out of nowhere.

[ flashback begins ]

Victor: Having gone to the amusement park a number of times, which attraction was your favourite?

MC: Why the sudden question?

Victor: So, what’s your answer?

MC: Mm... let me think...

MC: If I had to mention one...

[ flashback ends ]

I didn’t expect that he was already making preparations for this trip to the amusement park since that time.

Perhaps seeing that I'm smiling in an overly silly manner, Victor asks a question.

Victor: What’s that silly smile for?

MC: Victor, do you place special importance on this carnival?

Victor: What kind of a question is that?

MC: I’ve already noticed! Those questions you asked a few days ago - they were in preparation for today, weren’t they?

Victor: Haven’t I always been practising what I preach and telling you about the importance of doing research and preparation beforehand?

Victor gives me a blank look - the exact same expression as when I hand him a proposal which doesn’t pass.

But as of today, his outward appearance no longer dupes me!

MC: Thank you. I didn’t think you’d really remember my answers, and even fulfil them for me. I feel especially happy right now.

I take his hand, the corners of my lips curling upwards involuntarily.

Victor: Which one of your wild imaginations do I not remember? In contrast, I want to forget them.

His tone is gentle, and a more tender sentiment surfaces in the deep pools of his eyes.

MC: But... isn’t something missing?

Perhaps attributable to the extraordinary tenderness in his expression, I’m given the courage to be “insatiable”.

[ Option A: For you to smile a little more. ]

MC: Since you also asked me what I’d consider a “perfect day”, where’s the smile I want to see more of?

Hearing this, Victor rubs the bridge of his nose in resignation.

Victor: Haven’t I smiled enough today?

MC: Not enough. Aren’t you pulling a long face right now? Hurry and smile a little?

Most likely unable to win against the expectant blinks I'm sending him, Victor sighs heavily once more. Then, he lifts the corners of his lips in an unnatural manner.

MC: Pfft...

MC: That won’t do. That’s just movement of your facial muscles. It doesn't count as a smile.

I hop forwards by a few steps, then turn my head to give Victor a demonstration.

MC: This is how you smile.

Victor: [sighs]...

He reaches out to pinch my cheek.

Victor: Always so silly. From the moment we met, it seems you haven’t changed.

MC: On the other hand, you’ve changed quite a lot. You’re more gentle, and you smile much more. It isn’t like how it was in the past either, where your smile would give Goldman a scare.

[ Option B: To stick together with you. ]

MC: Since you also asked me what I’d consider a “perfect day”, why aren’t we sticking together as agreed?

Sure enough, Victor’s eyebrows furrow deeply once he hears this.

Victor: Your memory is always bafflingly good when it comes to these things.

MC: Of course. So? There are only a few more hours till the end of my “perfect day”.

I run a few steps forward, then turn my head and offer my hand to Victor.

MC: I’m already in front of you, and you aren’t going to hold on tightly?

With a long sigh, Victor steps forward and grips my hand tightly.

Victor: I've been holding on to it tightly since a long time ago.

He exerts slightly more pressure. Then, he steadily and naturally wraps his arms around my waist, encircling me into his arms.

I’ve forgotten when I started getting used to holding hands with him, and getting used to having his warmth by my side.

Victor: I’m wondering when these habits developed.

MC: Are you criticising me again?

Victor: I’m referring to myself.

Victor smiles with a sigh, looking as though he’s seen through me since a long time ago.

Victor: You're always making such a din. Ever since I met you, you don’t seem to have changed. But this is good too.

MC: We’re meant to complete each other. But you’ve changed quite a lot. More frank, and more easy to get close to.

Victor: I was infected by a certain dummy.

[ PART TWO ENDING ]

While Victor says this, he taps my head gently. It’s reminiscent of a complaint, yet is affectionate.

MC: It’s all right, I’ll take responsibility.

Victor: In that case, tell me more about your plan?

MC: First of all...

I step on my tiptoes, helping Victor adjust the tie around his neck which features pictures of small black cats.

MC: I'll fill your life with more adorable things. Like me.

The park starts to announce that the fireworks display is about to begin.

Turning my head, I see the faint, flickering stars in the sky, anticipating the fireworks I’ll be sharing with him.

The first light rises to the sky, announcing that the performance has begun.

Victor: Your proposal still needs slightly more refinement.

The moment the firework blooms, Victor takes my hand off his tie and into his palm. He speaks in a volume only I can hear.

Victor: Think properly about how you’re going to fulfil your bold, visionary words of taking “responsibility”. There’s still a lot of time to come to a conclusion.

In the deep curtain of darkness, the blooming fireworks create mottled colours and speckles of light.

They are of the colour I answered him as my favourite.

When I don’t notice, he always does too much for me that I’m unaware of.

I know that the person holding onto my hand next to me is my life’s answer.

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc victor

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mackeydoodledoo · 4 years ago

Text

The Star Athlete x The Pro-Box Fighter

Pairing: Izzy Garcia x (FemKnight!)Reader

Summary: It follows a girl: Y/N Y/L/N, who currently owns the "Pteradon Champion Zord", along with its DinoSoul Key, who is currently a Professional Box Fighter. The youngest ever to be a pro. What she doesn't know is that she is a direct descendant of the supposed Mythical "DinoSoul" Tribe. [Equivalent to the Ryusoul Tribe]. Her partner, she calls him, "buddy" as she doesn't have a proper name for him. The two of them embark on a journey to figure out who she is, finding an old flame and developing a new crush in the process.

Warnings: Box Fighting, BLOOD, Near-Death

A/N: I know nothing about Professional Box-Fighting, so if the Box-Fighting scenes are inaccurate, I’m sorry. R is 18 and Izzy is most likely between 16-18 if I had to guess Izzy’s age and anything romantic between Izzy and R is consensual.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

As the next couple of days go by, you and Izzy meet up for both of your daily work outs and for Izzy to practice for her own competitions, she wanted to work with not only her cousin Lily but you as well.

"Hey, where's your cousin?" You ask, "I Thought you told me she was going to be free this morning?"

"I did, I guess it was an emergency" Izzy grimaces at her thought, "I got mad the last time she didn’t show up for my training session."

"Well, things happen," you say, gleefully, "Let's stretch while your coach runs her errands. It's extremely helpful."

You motion for her to begin following your movements to stretch out your muscles for today's workout session.

As you seat yourself next to Amelia, you could feel her leaning over.

"You look good Y/N," Amelia says

"You too Ameils," you say back

As you see Izzy come out for her competition, she looks up and spots her friends, especially you. You give her a thumbs up and a wink, hinting to her that its a "good luck wink".

"What was that?" Amelia asks

"Just.. A good luck wink Ameils," you say, noticing Amelia's change in tone, "Not very sure why you're on edge about it."

Your focus never left Izzy as she preps herself and her javelins for the javelin throw event.

"Now in the first round of the javelin event , we have, Izzy Garcia!" The announcer exclaims

You and the team cheers as she take a javelin. You watch her shake off her nerves and beginning to prep her wrist for the throw. You watch intently as Izzy gets her running start, seeing her use your technique that you taught her your first training session with her. It lands farther than the throws during your training sessions. You and the team applaud for her loudly as others do as well, but not as enthusiastic.

After Izzy's competition, she is given the gold medal in the javelin event. She looks at you whilst you were watching her. She mouths 'thank you' to you. You mouth 'you're welcome' to her back. After the awards ceremony, she hugs her step dad, Javi and then her teammates. Then Lily; for helping her with her afternoon sessions. When she turns to you, her hug was more tighter than the others' hugs.

"Thanks for waking up at 5 am to train me," Izzy smiles

"Always Izzy," You smile, "Always happy to help."

“Izzy Garcia was it?” a voice asks

Izzy turns to the direction of the voice: a well dressed man goes up to her and shakes her hand.

“That was a fine race you ran kid,” He smiles

“Thank you,” Izzy says

“I was also impressed with your race I’d like to offer you a full ride scholarship to Pine Ridge’s Upstate College.” He blurts out

The both of you stand there, in awe that Izzy is getting the recognition for her outstanding athleticism as she deserves.

“Can I have time to think on it?” She asks

“Of course,” He says, “Your deadline is the beginning of your summer vacation.”

He turns on his heel and begins walking away. You turn to her, kind of dumbfounded that she didn’t accept the offer right away.

“Why didn’t you say yes?” Izzy’s dad comes up to her

“I wasn’t sure if I’m ready for it yet.” Izzy says nervously

“Not ready?” He sighs, “You’re more than ready pumpkin. You proved to them you were the best!”

“Mr. Garcia is it?” You call out to him

“That’s right,” He says, “You’re Y/N Y/L/N, Izzy couldn’t stop talking about you.”

He goes to shake your hand and you shake his hand out of respect.

“If you don’t mind me saying,” You start, “It is Izzy’s choice to accept the scholarship or not. However, I think it’s great she’s getting recognition for her athleticism.”

After the competition, Izzy’s dad invited you to a celebration dinner at Izzy’s favorite restaurant. You park your car in the parking lot and get out just as Mr. Garcia comes up to you.

“Izzy’s told us so much about your winning matches whenever she gets the chance to watch them,” Mr. Garcia smiles

“Is that so?” You ask, smiling whilst looking at Izzy, “Well, I’ve also taught Izzy some of my basics to my style of box-fighting and she’s picked it up fast.”

“Izzy’s also told us about how you’ve been coaching her in the mornings too,” he adds, “I appreciate you waking up early to train my daughter.”

“Always happy to help Mr. Garcia,” You smile

Izzy wanted a ride home from you, so you ended up driving around for a little bit.

“Your dad sure seems very enthused about your sports accomplishments,” You sigh

“Yeah, he does not talk about Javi’s accomplishments at all,” Izzy sighs with you

“Javi’s a great musician,” You state, “I’ve seen BuzzBlast videos of him jamming out with different instruments. Color me impressed, I only know three.”

“Wait, you’re also a musician?” Izzy asks, turning to you

“Well, not professionally,” You answer, “Before I went into pro-box fighting, I wanted to be a musician. However, I was also worried I wasn’t going to be able to make a living off of it, so I turned to Boxing instead. I do still play bass guitar and drumset though.”

Izzy doesn’t answer but you could feel her nodding at your slight past facts about you. Once you pull into the Garcia’s driveway, Izzy turns to you again.

“Thanks for the ride Y/N,” Izzy smiles, giving you a quick kiss on your cheek before hopping out of your car

You watch Izzy enter her house just so you know she’s in her home safely, you head back to your own home; thinking about Izzy’s cheek kiss she gave you.

The only thing that was left for the week was your upcoming boxing match. You personally asked Izzy to coach you as you prepare for your own competition. As you throw your signature; 'rapid punch', you felt a strong ache in your upper left arm. You immediately stop and Izzy brings an icepack and places it onto your sore spot on your arm.

"Thanks Izzy," You sigh

"You overworked yourself," Izzy states, "Let's call it a day."

You instantly agreed to it. Izzy threw a towel around your neck to cool you down. You begin unwrapping your left hand wrap but when you went to reach for your right wrap, you drew your arm back.

"Here, let me," Izzy says, kneeling at your side

As you watch her unwrap your hand, you thought back to the first morning training session you had with her, you were in Izzy's place and she was in yours. You didn't realize you let out a small giggle, making Izzy look up at you.

"What?" she asks, smiling

"I'm just thinking about our first morning training session," You smile, "You were barely paying attention to my wrapping tutorial, and now look at you. Maybe I'm the one that needs a lesson or two."

"We'll see after your match," Izzy says, now helping you get dressed

She helps you hoist your sore arm through the arm hole of the shirt. However, once you got it through, you still felt Izzy's hands gently placed along your waist. Hoisting your right arm through its sleeve, you turn to Izzy, facing her. Your arms resting on her waist and hers resting on your arms. You took notice of how Izzy was looking at your lips then back up to your eyes. Your head leans down instinctively as hers meets yours halfway. Her hands slowly move around to the back of your neck as you could feel yourself getting goosebumps just by the movements of her hands and her smiling in the kiss. Not caring about how sweaty you were, you wanted to never let that moment go. It was only ruined by both of your communicators going off. You didn't realize how long the both of your guys' lips were locked together until you almost gasped for air. The two of you smiling at each other before you decided to answer your communicator.

"What's up Zayto?" You ask, answering your communicator

"A sporix beast was spotted near the park," he explains

"We're on our way," You say, looking at Izzy one more time, the moment she looked at you before you kissed her was on your mind. But snapped back into reality as the two of you decided to talk about it another time.

After the sporix beast was defeated, Void Knight managed to get the sporix glob before any of you could reach it. You remember you have to do something ack at your apartment. So Izzy wasn't able to catch you to talk about your guys' kiss before you two left to defeat the monster. And you were kind of relieved. You weren't sure why you kissed Izzy. But, you weren't complaining about it either.

"Hey partner! Welcome back!" he says

"Hey buddy," You smile

"How did your training session go?" he asks

"Good," you say

"That's it?" he asks

You nod, "Well, if you really want to know, I kissed Izzy."

"YOU WHAT?!" He yells, but immediately regrets it as you shush him

"I kissed Izzy," You say, once more

"How did she react?" He asks

"She didn't push me away," you say

"She's so into you!" He teases

"Is she?" You ask

"And you're so into her!" He adds

"Listen here bud," You begin, but not knowing what else to say

"You have to tell her how you feel," He suggests

"How?" You ask him, "I have a match tomorrow and I have a sore arm, on my way home all I could think about was Izzy. I need to focus bud. Okay, I'll ask her to get brunch with me. A thanks for her helping me."

"There you go," he says, "Then after the fact, tell her how you feel!"

"Thanks bud. I'm going to-wait, did you make me food?" you ask, inhaling a delicious scent through your nose

"Yeah! Your favorite!" He says, "Well, now that you mentioned your sore arm, I'll pull out some bath salts and run a hot bath when you're almost done eating."

"Hey bud, actually, get that bath started right now," You say, stretching your arm, "I've heard from Amelia once you should wait 30 minutes to get in water."

"Y/N... It's a bathtub!" He says

"But, I'll still take my bath first!" You say, "Change that, I need a shower. But I can do all that. Just get that bath started bud!"

"On it!" He says as you follow him into the bathroom

Your partner was given to you by your mom on your 5th birthday. Yes, he's able to talk to you. However, little did you know, on your 13th birthday, your mother had driven off of a cliff on a very rainy evening. Trying to get home in time for your birthday. Since then, you've disliked your birthday; a reminder of the day your mom died. However, oddly being raised by a Champion Zord was difficult. But, you and your partner are inseparable. He was like your second family.

After your shower/bath, you reheated your food that your partner made for you. You throw on the news via your phone and watch a recap of your fight from earlier that day.

"How's your arm?" he asks

"A whole lot better," You answer, "Thanks bud."

The next morning you get to the arena early to get in your "cold morning stretch". You'd often do this on match day to relax yourself and to get a feel of the ring. You have a tendency to analyze the ring whenever you get in there. You don't come up with the 'winning strategy'. All of that come up on the fly as you're in the ring, facing your opponent.

"Hey Izzy!" You call her over, watching her run over to you

"Wait! No admittance!" The security guard states, stepping in front of Izzy

"C'mon Mark, she's with me, let her through," you sigh

As Izzy walks past him, you take her into your arms; hugging her. Once you let her out of your arms you look over her shoulder and see the team.

"Hey guys! Glad you could make it!" You say, hugging each of them, "Welcome to The Pine Ridge Arena!"

you enter the ring, stripping off your robe, you look around the crowd, spotting Izzy; giving you a thumbs up. You smile at her but then spot Amelia, who didn't look amused at all. You also give her a smile out of your love for your still having a friendship with her. You look ahead to your opponent for the night; quite larger and more muscular than you already are.

"Y/L/N and Hall," The referee starts, "No head blows not any blow below the waist."

"Got it ref," You reply

"Whatever ref," The opponent growls

The two of you take a couple of steps back from each other, preparing the first round of your match. But, this time, Izzy was watching you in person over seeing it on her Television at home.

"Come on Y/N. You've got this.." Izzy whispers to herself, but hoping her words of encouragement would reach you

The bell rings and you get into your initial stance. Hall immediately throwing out a punch, to which you ducked. You send a punch to her shoulder, making her stumble backward. However, she sweeps your feet and you're knocked onto the ground, wheezing for air. Using your arm strength to push yourself back up you hear the ref's whistle.

"Foul!" he calls

Izzy comes up to you as you wheeze for air.

"Deep breaths Y/N, remember?" Izzy says, gently stroking you arm

You nod, not able to form words, still affected by the sweep you were just under.

"Hey, you got this okay?” Izzy smiles before sitting with your teammates again

You force yourself to stand back up, going into your starting stance for the second round to start. Although you already feel winded and weak, you were still able to dodge Hall's punches and throws. However, she gave you a suckerpunch to your stomach, sending you back onto the ground; Izzy and your teammates watching in pain. As you hit the ground; your chin hitting the ground first, you struggle your way to stand back up.

"1,2,3-" The ref began counting before you picked yourself back up

You took a low blow to your side. However, you managed to get yourself back up, despite the fact you took a low blow. You put your hands up into their initial stance as you pant for oxygen. You could hear Izzy and the rest of the team cheering for you. You took this last one minute break to get your mind together. You really wanted to look at Izzy and watch her encourage you and boost your confidence. But, hearing her was enough for you.

"You got this Y/N!" Izzy finally screams out

When the bell for the third and final round sounded, you took a deep inhale of breath to get more blood flowing in your veins, to your arms. You immediately dodge a punch Hall flung at you, sending out your own right against her shoulder. The punch was enough to send her whole arm to fly back; obviously not enough to break it. That wasn't your goal. Breaking your opponent, let alone accidentally killing them is never your goal. you send another punch to Hall's side as you begin your signature move; keeping it all above the waist. As you sent your final punch to Hall's other shoulder with as much force as you could give out; she falls back.

"1,2,3,4,5!" The ref calls, "Y/N Y/L/N is the winner!"

The whole crowd cheers as paramedics begin taking a look at Hall's injuries. Izzy comes running into the ring as you begin to falter; holding you up as the ref holds your other arm up high into the air. The whole team cheers for you outside of the ring as a medal goes around your neck.

After paramedics had checked you out, you head to the locker room to change into sweats. Each time your even so slightly moved your limbs though, it was hellfire to you.

"Need a hand?" Izzy asks, standing in the doorway to the locker room

"Sure," You sigh

"Your opponent really took that last hit, so they're going to take her to the hospital," Izzy says, helping you get your legs into sweatpants

"I hope she'll be fine," You sigh, "I'd immediately retire from boxing if I ended up killing an opponent."

"Well, so far you haven't," Izzy states, getting your head through a hoodie you packed

Izzy takes your duffle bag and puts it around her, "I'll help you get home."

"Thank you Izzy," You sigh, having your arm sling around her

Her arm coils around your waist and her other hand holding onto the hand that's slung around her shoulders. Everyone applauds you as you emerge from the locker room, with Izzy under your arm. Javi helping you with the other side of your body.

"That was a real match you had there," Gale states

"Oh, hey Gale," You sigh, "Did you come to the match?"

"That I did kiddo," She says, "Hey, I'm going to give you three weeks for everything in your body to recover. But, someone will need to help you out as you recover."

"I'll do it," Izzy jumps the chance

"Alright, done," Gale smiles, "See you in three weeks kid."

"My manager," You explain to Javi and Izzy

Three weeks huh? Well, at least Izzy will be by your side while you recover. But, the downside to that is that you'll miss out on taking on sporix beasts.

"She really took a beating huh?" your partner recaps

Izzy nods, "Well, I also volunteered to keep an eye on her."

"Good," he says, "You know, there was one time she couldn't stop talking about you."

"Bud!" You try to scream but wince in pain

"Is that so?" Izzy asks, smiling at you

You could feel the heat go into your cheeks; flushing a deep pink as you try to look away to avoid eye contact. Izzy breaks eye contact as she ooks at her communicator go off.

"Go," you say, "I'll be fine."

She makes her leave from your apartment, going to catch up with the other rangers

Part 4

#izzy garcia #power rangers #power rangers dino fury #amelia jones #ollie akana #javi garcia #zayto #female reader #power rangers imagine #izzy garcia x reader

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sondepoch · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 3

Hearts on Three (Satan x Reader)

The athlete and the nerd. The rich kid and the scholarship student. The girl who will constantly joke about breaking your knee caps and the boy who will actually do it. There are so many ways to describe your relationship with Satan. Too many, if you’re being honest. He’s your best friend. The smartest tutor you’ve ever had. He also spends thousands of dollars for you at the drop of a hat and holds your hand when you’re feeling down. And in the beginning, that's okay. Neither of you let yourselves get bogged down by labels, both of you content to just savor this newfound friendship. But deeper feelings always have a way of complicating things. And for better or for worse, you and Satan are no exception.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

MASTERLIST

A small part of you scoffed when Satan told you he'd be tutoring you while helping out with your volleyball practice. He may be the smartest guy you know, but the idea honestly seemed stupid. How did he expect you to pay attention to the ball in front of you and the words coming out of his mouth at the same time? It didn't seem possible; it didn't seem practical. You went along with the plan because he promised he'd help out with your practice, not because he claimed it would help his tutoring.

You should have known better than to doubt someone like Satan, though.

This may just be the best tutoring session you've had yet.

"It's important to note that the primary reason why Americans didn't want to join WWII was that the Nye Committee spread lies about America's purpose for entering the first world war," Satan explains, continuing to explain the chapter of history you're on while helping you stretch. "The Nye Committee essentially stated that America's purpose was purely economic, and that arms manufacturers encouraged the government to enter the war so they could increase production and raise profit."

You nod your head, grunting lightly as Satan coaxes your body lower while you continue to reach for your left leg. He's surprisingly good at this; not just the helping you stretch part, but also the whole summarizing the relevant parts of the chapter while cutting out the unnecessary information part.

You almost feel bad for having ignored him this past week during all his normal tutoring sessions.

"Do you remember the senator for which the Nye Committee was named?" Satan asks you when you finally pull out of your stretch and begin reaching for the other toe. "We discussed this earlier."

You frown. You certainly do remember Satan telling you something about the Nye Committee, but you can't remember what.

"Um…"

There's an exasperated sigh from above you as Satan's palm stops pushing your back lower and he groans to himself, but the sound seems to stir your memory. You abruptly recall him making that same groan of frustration just half an hour earlier when you first arrived at the student gym, when you interrupted his explanation of the Nye Committee to set a volleyball straight in the air to him, only for it to bounce perfectly off his head.

"Gerald Nye!" You exclaim, withdrawing from your stretch to beam at Satan. "You said it was named after Gerald Nye!"

There's a flicker of hope on his face, a moment of silent pride because this is perhaps the first time you've successfully answered one of his questions without requiring hints.

"Good job," He blurts, surprised. He clears his throat immediately after, quickly continuing his explanation of the global state of affairs during WWII, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

A peaceful grin crosses your face as you continue to stretch.

There's something therapeutic about having someone talk to you while you go through your preparatory routine. Having your body occupied with warmups actually makes it easier to focus on Satan's words. This is definitely something you could get used to, a form of tutoring you'd happily partake in because it's genuinely enjoyable.

"Alright," You interrupt once you've finished stretching your legs and are now just casually flexing your arms. "Let's move on."

"To what?" Satan glances at the textbook that's still open. There are a couple pages left in the history chapter, and you need to get through this material by tomorrow for your reading check quiz. "Can't you stretch a little longer so I can finish explaining the chapter?"

"I guess," You shrug. "But I have to do a warmup jog before I can actually get started anyway, so why don't you just keep explaining stuff while I run?"

Satan shoots you an unconvinced look.

"You expect me," He mumbles under his breath, shaking his head. "To believe that you'll actually pay attention if I read to you while you're running laps?"

"Eight of them!" You exclaim, nodding eagerly.

"I don't think that's—"

"Okay, I'm starting!"

You don't bother waiting for Satan's approval before jogging over to the red line that borders the student gym. You know he could easily catch up to you if he wants. All your efforts as an athlete have failed to make you a particularly impressive runner, and you're definitely among the slower side of your team. Of course, that's never set you back, given that you'll readily dive for a ball without a second thought if you know you're too slow to sprint there on time, but it still surprises you when Satan doesn't tackle you as soon as you begin to run your laps.

You understand why in a moment.

"Woah, you really are slow."

Your eyes widen when you see Satan jogging next to you, fists lose at his side. Somehow, he's maintaining your pace effortlessly, not a hair out of place as he moves his legs in what looks more like a brisk walk than your stuttering jog.

"How are you—" You have to cut yourself off to breathe, a bubble of frustration rising when you see how easily Satan jogs at your side.

"Alright. Back to our lesson."

The blonde barely takes any time to breathe as he continues to educate you on how Nazi Germany channeled success within athleticism into socialism in an attempt to make their regime seem more prosperous, easily continuing on to explain how the development of the radio only further strengthened Hitler's influence. He maintains the same tone he would have if he were merely walking, utterly undisturbed by the fact that you're jogging and now struggling to keep up with his pace.

"Slow down," You gasp at him when you're on your fifth lap. Satan had unintentionally picked up the pace to turn it into what looks like a real jog for him (which coincidentally ended up being your sprint), and you're not sure what's suffering more: your heart rate or your ego.

"Oh, my bad."

It's almost shameful when Satan drops his pace to yours, abruptly making your jog seem like a snail's pace as compared to the rapid speed he'd been pushing earlier. At the back of your mind, you consider trying to pick up the pace, trying to sprint faster, but the memory of Satan's untroubled lecturing even as you were struggling to keep up with him tells you that he's the last person you want to challenge.

Eight laps cannot be over soon enough.

You all but collapse on the ground when you finish, nowhere near as excited as Satan about the fact that he managed to time it so that his explanation of the chapter ended the moment you completed the last lap. All you can think about is the awful fact that your nerd of a tutor who quit track three years ago is still somehow better at running than you.

And yes, it hurts your ego substantially.

"How are you so fast?" You whine as you try to regain your breath on the floor, trying not to look up at Satan because you already know that he'll look nowhere near as disheveled as you.

"Born that way," He says with a grin, walking over to your duffel bag to grab your water bottle. He takes a sip before he gives it to you. "Sorry. All that talking made my throat a little dry."

You can't help but pout at that. Your mile-run was so slow that not only was Satan able to finish a whole history lesson during it—but it wasn't even the physical exertion that wore him out. It was the talking.

"Hey, don't feel bad." He frowns when he sees your pouty expression. "You're still miles better at volleyball than I could ever hope to be. No, really. Miles."

The thought does little to console you.

"Satan. Please," You begin, taking a long sip of your water and pulling yourself to your feet only so that you can clasp Satan's hands in yours. "Teach me your ways. I want to be as fast as you."

"Let go," Satan blurts as he pulls his hands free of yours, his nose scrunching up. "You have sweaty palms."

"Satan!"

The boy laughs, a rich sound that fills the empty gym. His grin is broad when he faces you next, pride decorating his features. "You're not that slow, I promise. I'm just…"

Ridiculously fast, you think to yourself.

"A little better at running than the average person. That's all. It's stupid for you to compare yourself to me when it comes to running, just like it's stupid for me to compare myself to you when it comes to volleyball."

"It's not stupid," You grumble to yourself, taking another sip of water before tossing the bottle back into your volleyball bag. "You still haven't told me why you quit track."

"And I'll never tell you unless you start getting better grades," Satan interrupts, briskly transitioning into his tutor-mode.

You open your mouth to retort, to shoot him a mischievous comment and maybe pull him back into a longwinded conversation, but the moment the blonde walks over to your volleyball cart, it's just head-empty, and all you can think about is practice.

There's a brief transition period where Satan specifically asks you what you want him to do, because "this is supposed to help you in both your tutoring and volleyball," so he "may as well do exercises that are actually helpful." It's how you finally manage to worm him into a downball exercise, which wounds up being pretty effective because Satan seems to be sufficiently muscular such that every ball flies to the ground with impressive force but also sufficiently terrible at volleyball such that every ball is several feet away from you, making for an excellent simulation of a real game environment.

There are, of course, the questions that Satan insists on asking you in between every downball. He's moved on to explaining physics to you, now, and you don't bother asking him how he somehow has all this information memorized, merely leaving the explanations to him because they do sound an awful lot like what your teacher has been explaining in the past week.

But somehow, the practice remains enjoyable.

Every now and then, the two of you need to take a pause so you can collect the balls from the ground. Satan only brought one cart over, so the two of you do have limited resources; but the overall experience is surprisingly smooth. So smooth, in fact, that the two of you end up moving on from physics to English, English to computer science, computer science to art appreciation, and you're about to tackle another subject when the doors to the gym abruptly open and you see the familiar faces of your teammates.

"It's time for practice!" You exclaim eagerly, your face lighting up. "Satan, I gotta go!"

The blonde raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure? You've already practiced with me for nearly two hours."

"That wasn't practicing, Satan. That was studying. You made us stop for so many questions that I could barely even get my heart rate up."

The blonde shoots you another concerned look, still hesitant. "Maybe you should sit this practice out. Or at least take a short break. I don't want to be the reason for you getting injured."

"Aw, what a sweet sentiment~" You coo, slinging an arm over Satan's shoulder. Your grin is bright as you tug him toward the bleachers, towards where you dumped your volleyball bag. "I'll be fine, don't worry. I'll have to practice much longer when our actual training season starts up, anyway."

You can see Satan frown at that, his lips curving downward as he doubtlessly wonders what you mean by the 'actual training season,' but he doesn't press the issue, merely nodding his head.

"Is there anything I can do to help out?" You see his fingers flex at his side, the boy eager to do something to appease his guilt for keeping you so long but clearly not sure what.

"I usually refill my water bottle before practice, so…"

"Let me," Satan interrupts firmly, taking the metal bottle from your hands. "And sit down, at least until I return. Try to rest, even if it's only for a little."

A soft smile spreads across your face at that. Satan might have been a Varsity runner in his freshman year, but it's clear that he's forgotten just how hard athletes at your school train. Still, it's endearing how concerned he is. You nod your head at him with a smile as you take a seat atop the bleachers. The action seems to pacify him, and he quickly jogs off in the direction of the water cart, easily slipping into a pace that would surpass all of your sprints.

"So~" A voice calls from next to you, oh so mischievous and oh so familiar. "What were you doing with our student president?"

"He's my tutor!" You respond brightly, smiling at your co-captain as she takes a seat next to you. "He brought me here because apparently, I wasn't responding very well to his normal teaching attempts, so he decided to throw volleyball into the mix. It's actually working out pretty well!"

"Oh?" The setter chuckles. "No surprise there. I can't really imagine you sitting at a desk and actually learning anything."

"Hey!" You smack the girl in mock offense, clicking your tongue in annoyance as you roll your eyes. "I'm not that bad. My grades have been improving, thanks to him."

"Is that so?" The girl grins, her eyes darting down as she doubtlessly checks Satan out. "And have they been improving because he's a good teacher or because he makes for such great eye candy?"

You snort. It's not like you haven't recognized by now that Satan is one of the most attractive people in your grade, but you find it hard to pay attention to that when there's so much else going on in his personality.

"He's a good teacher. Nothing else."

"So you don't want to maybe date him one day?"

"No," You deadpan. "I don't want to maybe date him one day."

The setter by your side deflates, leaning against you with an angry mumble about how unfair it is that she never gets to tease you about liking any boys. "So frustrating," She mumbles, doubtlessly in reference to you. "He's so cute, too. And smart. And popular. And rich. And perfect boyfriend material, from what I've heard."

"He's just a friend."

Satan has reached the athletic cart on the other side of the gym, already in front of the giant water cooler. He catches your gaze, shooting you his usual, broad smile as he continues to fill your water bottle.

Keep resting, he mouths to you, gesturing for you to remain seated when you attempt to stand.

"A good friend," You correct yourself.

Satan is a firm believer that there is beauty in simplicity. It is how he has approached life and it is how he has approached tutoring you: finding the simplest route and executing it with maximum precision.

In the present moment, this has translated to Satan's agreement with you: one correct answer, one toss. One piece of evidence that you're actually improving in your classes, and one chance to improve on your volleyball hitting form. One nod at academia, one nod toward athletics.

It's an ingenious agreement, simple as it is beautiful.

The execution, though, is anything but.

"You have to toss higher," You hiss, catching your ball in midair and throwing it back to Satan before your feet have even touched the ground. "The ball needs to reach my hand at the peak of my jump, not my head."

Satan scowls at your admonishment, grumbling under his breath before tossing the ball to you again, lifting it higher.

It's been precisely four days of this volleyball-meets-tutoring agreement, and Satan's hands have already begun to cramp from the hundreds of sets per day he's been tossing you. The manicure Asmo gave him right before he left the House of Lamentation has begun to chip off, the bright green nail polish now cracked and uneven. The blonde even has a bruise on the side of his torso from getting hit by one of your jump serves two days prior, just another battle wound in his war to make you pass your classes.

The only positive to this whole arrangement is that you really are beginning to improve.

"What were Caesar's last words?" Satan asks, consciously picking a straightforward question that he expects you won't remember the answer to.

"Et tu, Brute?" You smirk, quietly beaming because you know you're right.

Satan suppresses a sigh, ignoring the ache in his palms as he tosses the ball into the air and sets it to you, making sure the ball arches unnecessarily high because you jump like a goddamn frog.

"That's better!" You cheer as your palm slams into the ball with inhuman force, hitting it to the ground and letting the sound echo through the gymnasium.

Satan shudders, thinking about the bruise he's sporting on his torso from your serve the other day. He doesn't want to imagine how much pain he'd be in if he'd been on the receiving end of that spike you just delivered.

"Again," You demand, already backing up in anticipation for another serve as Satan brainstorms up another question to ask you for your cumulative Shakespeare test tomorrow.

The truth is that he thinks you're ready. A statement he never would have imagined one week ago, but it has become reality. By combining volleyball practice and academics into one, it's as if your brain is unable to differentiate between the two and you simply have to use your full energy on both, resulting in an impressive amount of progress.

"Why is Romeo banished?"

"For killing...Mercutio? No, wait! For killing Tybalt!" A triumphant grin spreads across your face, proud and happy.

Satan tosses you another ball.

He's genuinely impressed with the level of focus you've been able to retain during these past few tutoring sessions. When you first asked him to read you the plays from your literature class, the boy was skeptical. Particularly so because you wanted him to read to you as you cycled through your conditioning exercises, and Satan doubted that reciting Hamlet's infamous monologues while you did burpees would help you learn. The blonde was pleased to discover that he was wrong, though. By the end of the day, he had found that while there's nothing you seem to loathe more than properly sitting down to read a book, you actually enjoy being read to. It's helped him teach you material in nearly every subject.

"Explain why Cordelia was disowned."

"Cordelia...Cordelia...who?"

Ah, there it is.

Whenever Satan grows a little too proud of you, you always seem to dash his hopes.

"Cordelia," The blonde mutters, already sensing what your next words are going to be. "From King Lear, the book you were supposed to finish on your own yesterday."

"Oh, that." You hide your hands behind your back, smiling sheepishly. "I, um, didn't."

Satan sighs, letting the volleyball in his hands bounce back into the cart he picked it up from.

"Wait!" You cry, trying to stop him. "Just a few more tosses, please! I've been trying out this new hitting technique where I try to hit the ball straight down instead of with an angle and I'm finally getting good at—"

"Too bad," Satan blurts, crossing his arms and interrupting you. "If you wanted me to help you practice, you should have done the reading I assigned you. That was our agreement."

"But it was a whole play! How was I supposed to read all that in one night? That's just cruel!"

"What's cruel is you choosing to ignore that play for so long. You had weeks to read King Lear. You chose to make it difficult for yourself."

Satan grabs the volleyball out of your hands and drops it in the wheeled cart, already moving to the other side of the net to pick up the remaining balls from your hits.

"But Satan!" You continue to whine, still trying to tug him backward. For the first time, though, he manages to fight your grip, internally thanking his six brothers for having taught him the art of pushing people away.

He doesn't pay you much mind when you groan and flop backwards onto the gym floor, spreading your limbs out like a starfish. The sight only makes the edges of his lips quirk up in amusement because, really, as nice as it is to see you energized and full of life, it's still nicer to be reminded that even you have your physical limits.

"Come on," He mumbles, nudging your shoe with his own. "Let's go."

"Don't wanna," You mumble in response, closing your eyes. "Tired."

You emphasize the sentiment with a yawn, and Satan would almost believe that it was genuine if not for the sneaky smile that you have to fight off your lips.

He rolls his eyes.

The boy leaves you be while he cleans up the rest of the gym, picking up all the balls from your practice and depositing them in the cart before dragging it over to the room it's supposed to be stored in overnight.

The blonde is unfamiliar with the whole action of putting athletic equipment away, not having done any sports since his freshman year of high school, but he offers every time. The small amount of time it takes him to clean everything up is virtually the only break you seem to take, and while you don't appear to notice the way your legs have begun to tremble with overexertion at the end of every day, Satan notices. And he will not hesitate to clean up the entire gym if it means you'll take these few minutes of rest.

"We still need to do math," Satan says when he grabs your volleyball bag and sits down next to you. It's the one subject that the two of you can't do over volleyball practice, the one subject that you actually need to sit down and do yourself.

"I'll do it in the morning."

"You always say that, and you never end up doing it."

"There's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

Satan doesn't bother hiding how he rolls his eyes as he pulls your water bottle out of your volleyball bag and shoves it into your hands.

"Drink," He tells you, already getting out your day shoes so you can take your volleyball shoes off and get ready to go home.

"Don't wanna sit up," You drawl, your body still lying on the ground.

"Drink, or I'll make you do math the minute we get back to the dorm."

Satan has never seen you shoot up faster, a small smile gracing his lips when he sees you pop the lid off your bottle and begin chugging it down instantly.

"Ah," You mumble after you've drunk the whole thing. "That felt surprisingly good."

Satan bites back a quiet I told you so, instead opting to gesture for you to switch your sneakers.

He ignores your quiet complaint that he's such a slave driver, that it's unfair he's making you do all this. The truth of the matter is simple: you have a cumulative Shakespeare test in less than twelve hours, and you still haven't read one of the assigned texts.

Time, unfortunately, isn't something either of you have in abundance today.

"Up," Satan demands, grabbing your hand and tugging you to your feet before he drags you out the door.

The entire walk back, you're leaning on him for support, and the blonde staggers more than once as he tries to balance the weight of your volleyball bag in one hand and you in the other. The picture is one that's graced this sidewalk more than once in these past few days, but Satan can't bring himself to care as he internally frets over how he's going to get you to pass this test when you're clearly too tired to properly have a full-on tutoring session. If your nonstop yawning weren't sufficient, the way you practically fall asleep on Satan in the elevator is proof enough that you really are exhausted.

"Take a shower," Is what his final decision is when the two of you arrive back at the dorm, at the little hallway that separates the 665 of your room and the 666 of Satan's. "It'll wake you up."

"I don't want to be woken up," You argue, trying to push against Satan to flop onto your bed.

You clearly don't care about the test tomorrow, but Satan does.

"Either take a shower or wake up some other way," The blond hisses, glaring at you. "But you are not going to bed until you've finished reading King Lear. And unlike yesterday, I will personally be supervising you to make sure you don't fall asleep in the middle again."

You scowl at that, your earlier pout turning into a harsh glare as you realize that Satan has essentially left you with no choice.

"Fine." You blurt. "I'll shower."

It's only once you've gathered your clothes and toiletries and are gone from the room that Satan realizes just how in-character it would be for you to simply choose to sleep in the shower stalls.

The blonde instantly begins to panic.

He's pacing back and forth in your room by the time you've returned, trying not to bite his nails with his book discarded on the bed because he knows that there's no way he'll be able to get you out of the bathroom if you choose to do so, and that if you really do try to hide out in the shower stalls, it's almost certain that you'll fail your test.

When his eyes catch sight of you, the tension in his body visibly disappears.

"Why were you pacing?" You ask, a teasing laugh slipping from your lips as you dump your other clothes in the hamper. "What, did you think I'd just hide from you in the bathroom?"

"Yes." Satan doesn't bother hiding the truth. "And I'm quite surprised that you didn't."

You open your mouth to speak, but the way you avoid his eyes and fidget with the edge of your T-shirt speaks louder than your refusal to deny his words.

"You did, didn't you?" Satan accuses. "You actually tried to sleep in the shower stalls."

"Madam Scream caught me." You explain quietly, refusing to meet Satan's eyes. "She told me to go sleep in my own bed, and when I tried to tell her I was trying to hide from you, she just got even madder."

A warm laugh spills from Satan's lips. He'll make sure to thank the dormitory administrator when he next sees her.

"Wonderful." He grins. "Now, sit. We have to get through this whole play, and I doubt you've even read the beginning."

"I don't want to, Satan," You plead, your hands flying together in a loose imitation of prayer. "Please, please, please don't make me read it all. I can't. I'll die. My brain will explode."

The blonde sighs. No doubt, you're being unnecessarily melodramatic, but he can see the tones of desperation coloring your eyes. That, and he's been tutoring you long enough to know that you really do loathe reading, enough to make you request to do math instead if that's what it takes to get you out of it.

"Alright," Satan mumbles, picking the book up himself. "I'll read it to you. How does that sound?"

You still look hesitant, and Satan can tell that this wasn't the compromise you were hoping for. Even after your shower, the pull of sleep looks strong, and he can practically feel your bodily exhaustion through the droop of your shoulders. Still, this is all the leeway Satan can give you.

"Fine."

Satan smiles, pulling out a chair and gesturing for you to sit next to him.

"No." Your expression is unchanging as you blink at him. "Bed."

You all but throw yourself onto the mattress, patting the spot next to you expectantly with an impish grin.

"This isn't a bedtime story," Satan hisses, trying to get you to take this seriously. "You need to actively listen to the play. You can't just—"

"I can't hear you if you're not on the bed."

The blonde is impressed with himself when he manages not facepalm.

As usual, Satan is forced to give in to your whims, and he awkwardly slots himself next to you on the bed with a scowl on his face, not bothering to be gentle as he pushes you closer to the wall to make room for himself.

"You have to stay awake," He tells you, voice even. "This is not a bedtime story."

"Yeah, yeah. Just get on with it."

And so he finally does get on with it, awkwardly resting his back against the bed frame while you fiddle with the throw blanket on your lap and listen. It still feels awkward, reading a play out like this where he has to specify the character speaking at the beginning of every new line, but this isn't the first thing Satan has read to you and it certainly won't be the last, so he grows comfortable with the material easily.

The only issue is that you keep squirming your way down to rest your head on the pillow.

"Up," Satan snaps at you when you try to do it while he's in the middle of one of Edmund's Thou Nature monologue. "You have to stay awake."

It works to snap you out of your daze, and Satan resumes reading from a few lines earlier, occasionally glancing your way to make sure you're paying attention.

Of course, this only lasts so long. Satan is only on the second act when you lean your head back on the pillow, and he just barely resists the urge to flick you on the forehead to wake you up.

"Come on," He grunts, pulling you back up into a seated position next to him. "This will all be worth it tomorrow when you get a good grade on your test."

You grunt in response.

Satan doesn't know how long this goes on for—him shaking you awake and you quietly trying to fall asleep again—but you eventually seem to have had enough, because by the time Satan is halfway through Act III, you rest your head on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" The blonde instantly snaps, his eyebrows furrowing. Your hair is still wet from your shower, and you're getting his shirt wet.

"Just try'na read better," You slur drowsily.

Sure enough, your eyes are open and you do seem to be gazing at the words on the page, but Satan is doubtful of your true intentions. After staring at you skeptically for a few moments longer, though, it's clear that you're not going to be moving unless he explicitly asks for it, so the blonde merely continues to read.

It's better this way, he thinks to himself, feeling your warm breath tickle his neck. I can at least tell if she's awake.

He tries to pay attention to the rate of your breathing at the back of his mind as he reads through the remainder of the act, gently shaking his shoulder every time he feels the rise and fall of your breaths grow a little too steady.

"Stop moving," You grumble when he shakes you awake again.

"Stop trying to sleep" is Satan's snarky response.

In the fourth act, though, Satan can't help but redirect the attention he was allotting you towards the book at hand. From Edgar's compelling narrative to Cordelia's analysis-worthy decisions, the blonde can't help but forget the outside world as he delves into the play, no longer reading out the lines but softly mumbling them under his breath as his mind lights up with visualizations of every scene. It's truly not Satan's fault that he doesn't notice when your body abruptly feels heavier, your weight no longer shifted away from him but gracelessly deposited onto him, even the gentle rise and fall of your chest against his arm only serving to further lull him into the depths of the play where nothing exists but the characters and their deeds.

Satan only realizes that you're dead asleep when the act ends, when he turns to ask you what you think and you're peacefully laying on his shoulder, long asleep and long gone.

"Hey, wake…" The boy cuts himself off before he can try to shake you awake, a surge of guilt washing over him.

You really do look exhausted.

Which is understandable, given that you had regular practice today and then some with your training-tutoring session with Satan.

He can't blame you for wanting to sleep.

The blonde sighs reluctantly as he closes the book in his hands and awkwardly tries to maneuver you off his shoulder and onto his pillow. You try to cling to his warmth the whole time, but your sleep-addled hands are useless next to Satan's cautious fingers, and within seconds, he's got you under your blankets and atop your pillow.

He'll wake you up early tomorrow, the blonde decides. And he'll finish the play with you, and he'll make sure you pass this test.

But right now, he'll let you get some sleep first.

A good decision, because Satan doesn't think he'd be able to bring himself to wake you even if he wanted to.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 5.6k

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

Notes: okay so i’m trying to change my writing style so apologies if the flow of this chapter was awkward; i’m really trying to step away from some of my bad habits (while building some new ones!) so i hope that didn’t take away too much from this chapter

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

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belpheroo · 5 years ago

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Title: A “maybe” Pairing: Belphegor x MC Summary: Belphie is guilt-ridden, but also horny. Funny how often those two things coincide when you catch feels for the girl you killed. Rating: this one is G despite that summary LOL Notes: This story kinda functions under the assumption that while Belphie was imprisoned the MC developed feels and those feels have continued on while Belphie’s are shiny and new. I may do a part 2!

There were things that Belphegor, given his passed actions, was willing to accept. The silence that overcame a room the moment he entered and even the suspicious, hostile stares of his brothers was something he knew he deserved to endure and he did so without complaint.

Anger, resentment, judgment… he had felt the burn of those emotions himself, burrowing within his body as surely as the arrows that had burrowed into Lilith’s. Each ache, each flare of pain had been as dear to him as every one of her embraces. He had nurtured his hatred like a precious flower until it unfurled in his chest with petals as black as old blood. He empathized with that. He understood that.

What he did not understand, was how she immediately cheerfully welcomed him to the breakfast table, set him a plate and asked him how he had slept.

At first, Belphie figured it was a game, a show of indifference or forgiveness of his crime in order to quell the awkward tension in the room. And yet… there was nothing indifferent in her acceptance of his request to spend time with her, or how she did not even flinch in his presence.

What time he did spend with her was usually between walls of plaster and paint, connected by the screen of their D.D.D.’s alone. Anything else was chaperoned by another brother, sometimes two or three. Belphie found quickly that all his attempts to be alone with her in person were thwarted spectacularly by Mammon or Beel often enough that he knew it was by design.

Still, Belphegor did not complain. Of all the dangers she had faced in Devildom, of all the threats… he had proved himself the worst.

Thinking of such things made his hands throb, the memory of her soft yielding skin beneath them and the rapid pulse of her throat until it had slowly… softly…. stopped.

He’d tear the skin from his palms if he knew it would make the phantom sensation of her life being squeezed out by his hands go away. Instead he’d clench his fists, holding until the joints of his fingers screamed for release and his nails bit into his palms, leaving red half-moons indented in his skin.

It would have been easier if she hated him. Feared him. He could quantify those things, he could accept them.

But this? This was torture beyond his comprehension.

She’d invited him to watch some DVD of Mammon’s with her and Beel in their shared room. She was already sitting on one end of the sofa, chattering to Beel over some nonsense that had transpired with Mammon and Asmo that afternoon.

He would have been content to sit on the other end of the couch, leaving Beel free to sit between them like a protective detail… but instead, the moment he had sat, she quickly moved across the length of the sofa and curled up next to him.

Pressed flush to his side, Belphegor felt his breath catch as she lifted up his unresisting arm and tucked her head beneath, content to let his arm rest around her shoulders. Belphie quickly moved it to rest over the back of the sofa, noting with a quick glance that at least for now, Beel had not reacted.

He was too busy putting in the DVD and adjusting the TV. After that, his twin was too busy gathering up a large bowl of popcorn and making himself comfortable next to her and she happily adjusted to accommodate being squished between the both of them.

Belphegor didn’t know why, but it made him curl his arm just a little bit closer towards her as Beel munched happily from a big bowl of popcorn. There were pretzels and chocolate candies mixed into the batch, which Beel graciously offered a smaller bowl of to her.

She rested the bowl on Belphie’s lap, happy to force him to play side table as the lights dimmed and the DVD started.

Belphie convinced himself, willed himself to believe it wasn’t that bad. This was nice, wasn’t it? Compared to hatred and brimstone and fury? Right?

And then her hand reached down into the bowl, moving it around as she scooped out the treats, every tiny movement of her fingers against the plastic barrier sending a direct line of sensation against his thighs. With an exasperated sigh, Belphie quickly lifted the bowl up and shoved it back into her hands.

“I can’t sleep if you do that.” He said in a harsh hush.

“You aren’t supposed to sleep during the movie, stupid.” She whispered back in reply.

“You aren’t supposed to talk during one either, stupid.” Belphie replied, but to his surprise he could see her grinning in the faint light, eyes dancing with unspoken humor. She put the bowl back in his lap.

He wished he was trapped back in the attic; he wished he was imprisoned in heaven; he wished he was on the fucking moon as long as it wasn’t here with her body warming his and her scent in his nose and the feeling of her throat cracking beneath his palms.

Belphie took in a deep breath and let it go slowly, quietly clenching his hand into the fabric of the back of the couch until he was certain he’d have lines imprinted on his skin. He let the memory wash over him and then recede, refocusing his attention to the film and finding it was some weird detective-comedy-romance blend. It was insipid and perfectly Mammonish, but even she sometimes laughed at the terrible jokes.

At one point, he felt her weight shift, leaning to the side as she whispered something quietly to Beel. Something prickled in his chest. She leaned further, cool air touching where she had once been at his side and without thinking, he released the couch and took hold of her shoulder, pulling her back firmly.

“… I’m cold.” Belphie offered in his defense, trying to cut the sudden surge of tension that had Beel frozen, not even chewing as he stared at his twin.

“Oh, sorry!” She said, settling back against him, “I could get a blanket and tuck you in if you want?”

“N-no!”

Heaven’s sake, now he sounded like Mammon.

“Just quit wiggling so much.”

In direct opposition of his request, she wiggled all over, giggling like a fool. Belphie instinctively held tighter until whatever seizure of defiance passed her and she settled again, breathing a bit heavier, against his chest.

There wasn’t going to be room for her damn bowl if she kept trying to half crawl into his lap. It never, thankfully, went that far. The film flickered on and Belphie felt the slow creep of sleep inch its way into his eyes and into his breathing, the demands of being the Avatar of Sloth rising up, unchecked and uncontrollable as Beel’s hunger.

He tilted his head back and let oblivion have him.

—

“You missed it.”

A voice sliced through the dark, close and warm on his cheek like the soft exhale of breath… because that is what it was. He opened one eye to spot her, whispering close to his ear. Judging by the great collapsed mass next to them, Beel hadn’t made it any further than he had, the empty popcorn bowl discarded on the floor along with several wrappers, bags and empty cans he didn’t remember having been there before.

“Tragic.”

“Beel’s in a food coma. I went and got him more snacks half-way through.”

“You got up?”

She hummed her confirmation quietly, “You got mad at me when I came back.”

“I don’t remember.” Belphie grumbled.

“You told me to ‘take responsibility’ and grabbed me by the scruff like a cat.”

At the very idea, Belphie felt his muscles tense… which drew his attention to the fact his hand was still rested on the back of her neck, fingers buried into her hair.

“… is that why you’re this close?”

“You wouldn’t let go!”

He started to, slowly letting his grip loosen all the while keenly aware of the strands of her hair tickling across his skin.

“Kinda late now.” She said in reply, quick and defensive. Did she… not want him to stop?

“I wondered if you were dreaming about throttling me again.” She said, far too cheerful. The words were like ice thrown over him, seeping immediately through his skin and chilling his blood. And yet at the same time, he let go of her as if he had been burned. He tried to repress a shudder.

“No,” Belphie managed to croak, “I wasn’t dreaming. I… I wasn’t dreaming.”

“You repeated yourself.”

“Get off me, I’m going to bed.”

“No.”

Childish, defiant, foolish. A thousand insults formed and died on his tongue before they reached her ears as he glared back at her face, still too close and too warm and too beautiful.

“… I’m scared.”

How many times was she going to strike him directly to his very soul? But this was is it, this was the punishment he craved, the anger and the fear he knew should exist between them. He was ready, braced and prepared to hear it, but what came next was… not what he expected.

“I’m scared if I let go now, you’ll never let me this close again.”

“You should be grateful.” Belphie said, more sigh than words, “And you should be scared, but not because of that stupid reason.”

“You won’t hurt me again.”

“The fact you even sound remotely sure of that makes you a complete idiot. I’m a demon, of course I’ll hurt you again.”

“Because you want to?”

“No!”

The word came too fast, too loud. Beel shifted on the couch next to them, but fell back into sleep and did not stir again.

“… you didn’t know I was Lilith’s descendant. If you’d known—”

“You don’t understand anything,” he whispered, harsh and low, “Get off of me.”

And this time, he made to make her, but her arms snaked around his chest and held even tighter. Belphie could have easily pried her off with his superior devil strength, but explaining that to Beel would have been… less than ideal.

Instead he set a tight grip on her upper arms, giving her a warning squeeze.

“What don’t I understand?”

“Are you seriously doing this right now?”

“You wouldn’t have hurt me if you knew who I was, that is the truth, isn’t it?”

“I do not want to talk about this shit—“

“Isn’t it?”

Belphie felt heat ball up at the base of his throat, so thick and so scorching his one relief was to let it escape.

“I don’t know!”

There was no keeping Beel asleep now, his brother jolting awake. She let go of Belphie then, untangling herself swiftly and instead turning a bright smile that barely reached her eyes towards Beel.

“Good morning! You missed the end of the movie!”

Beel was still mostly groggy, but alerted at the same time, looking between the two of them with wide questioning eyes.

“… why was there shouting?”

“I woke him up!” She said with a cackle, “I deserved it, probably. Anyway, it’s super late and you both got to have a nap and I didn’t!”

Standing up she gave an over exagerated stretch and a yawn which turned genuine half way through. Belphie clutched his jaw together to keep himself from doing the same.

“Come walk me back to my room.” She said, clearly meaning Belphie, not Beel. He thought to refuse, but the look in her eye said that such a refusal would most likely lead to an inexhaustible battle and he was way too fucking tired and too fucking stressed out to go back and forth with her in front of Beel.

“I can come too.” Beel said.

“Nah. It’s just a short walk. Go get in bed, it’s late and Belphie has had more rest than you. He can do it!”

Beel looked uncertain, eyes turning toward Belphie with ill-ease. Of all the brothers though, he was most likely to believe his twin was safe alone with her, that Belphie was certain of. Sighing, Belphie stood up.

“I’ll be right back.”

Beel said nothing, that familiar tension settling over again until, quietly, Beel nodded to himself and smiled.

“Okay…”

“Make sure to brush your teeth, Beel!”

“O-oh. Right… mint does sound good right now.”

—

They had barely made it out into the hall, the door shut behind them, before she picked up their conversation as if the interruption had never happened.

“What do you mean ‘I don’t know’, huh?”

“I mighta done what I did even if I knew who you were. Maybe I wouldn’t have believed it, maybe I would have been pissed Lilith was contaminated by human blood.” He said, cold and factual.

“Is that why you’re holding back?”

“…You’re imagining things.”

She didn’t look at all satisfied, but she fell silent, heading off down the hall towards her room and pausing expectantly a few steps away. Belphie sighed and followed behind.

“I don’t think you would have.”

“Does it matter? I did. There is no taking that back.”

She tilted her head, slowing enough to fall in step with him, “I’m still here.”

“By the very grace of Lilith. And that doesn’t make it better.”

She slowed, falling to a dead stop. Belphie made it a few steps ahead before he stopped, turning towards her with a look that he hoped convinced her to give it up.

“If I told you I hated you, would you stop being like this?”

He felt his heart seize a little, jumping in something akin to anticipation.

“Could we just move on then?”

“I would understand if you did hate me.”

“But you can’t understand that maybe, maybe, I’ve weighed all the weirdness and the madness of this situation and came to the conclusion that there was a lotta bullshit flowing around and it was fate I got caught in the crosshairs? And yeah, that sucks. Being dead for real would have been really shitty and I am mad… at you and at Lucifer and at this entire stupid situation pulling me into a garbage family drama I never asked for.”

She paused, “But it was supposed to happen. Lilith knew and I know now. Nothing anyone coulda done would have changed what happened, it had to happen. It’s why I was brought here to begin with, whether Diavlo knew that or not.”

They were both silent for a stretch, until Belphie couldn’t help but laugh, cold and bitter.

“What? So it’s okay that I murdered you because it was destiny?”

“Attempted murder. And yeah, I think that if I’m gonna be mad, I’m gonna be mad at fate. You? I forgive.”

Belphie hated that word. Hated how easily it came from her lips and hushed the flame of rage in his heart to a quiet simmer. It was never that easy for him to forgive, it shouldn’t be that easy.

“You can’t.” He said, flat and simple.

“Pretty sure that is my call.”

“It’s a stupid call.”

“And it’s mine.”

“And you think that makes it all okay? You think you can just say ‘I forgive you’ and it makes everything better and we can just pretend to be friends?”

“You pretended to be my friend once.” She said, her words a whisper.

“Don’t.”

How that positively gutted sounding voice could be his was beyond Belphie’s comprehension.

“You wanna be hated? You wanna be punished? Too bad. That’s your punishment. You don’t get to be hated.”

His mind whirled, a petal black as night coming free and falling from the flower inside his chest. Wilting, dying. How many had he lost so far? How often had she shaken his resolve and in doing so, began to kill the seed of hatred and anger he had rooted so firmly in his soul?

Belphie didn’t have the strength to fight her anymore, shoulders sagging as a new wave of exhaustion hit over him, taking with it any resistance he had left in its tide.

“Fine.” He said, trying to force what was left of his resolve into that word if only to give the illusion she hadn’t really won.

“Fine.” She repeated, crossing her arms and glaring back at him.

“Can you make it to your own room now? Can I go?”

“No.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

“W-what?! How did that become an—! Oh… you meant…”

Belphie resisted the urge to roll his eyes… well, at least for a few seconds.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Asmo.”

“And whose dumb-obstinate fault is that?” She retorted, smiling despite the redness in her cheeks.

“Yours, stupid human.”

“Yours, lazy cow.”

A smile crooked at the corner of his mouth and he quickly tried to hide it.

“I want a hug.”

God, how did an adult woman manage to sound so pouty? Belphie could barely contain a scoff as he saw the way her brow furrowed and her bottom lip stuck out a bit more. He tried to ignore the voice inside him that wanted to set his teeth into it… that wanted to find out if she still tasted like popcorn and chocolate.

“Too much.”

“What about a pat?”

Belphie groaned, but after a moment, gestured a little with his hand to indicate she should come closer. She did so eagerly.

“Your tail is wagging.” Belphie said with a sigh, gently resting his hand on top of her head and soothing his fingers down the strands, brushing them passed her temple and tucking them behind her ear.

“I don’t have one.” She said, a look of disappointment coming over her features when he stopped touching her hair.

“Still wagging.”

He caught her under the chin with the back of his index finger, tilting her head to the side before he leaned in and pressed his lips to her temple. The touch was featherlight and fleeting, like the soft opening and closing of a butterfly wings on her skin.

“Go to bed.” He said quietly.

“I want a kiss.” She replied, just as softly and Belphie felt a whole new sensation burst somewhere deep inside his chest.

“You’ve had one.”

“I want another.”

“…Not tonight.”

“But sometime?”

Belphie didn’t answer, leaving the question an open note hanging in the air.

A someday, an almost... a maybe.

#obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me belphegor #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #obey me belphie #belphegor x mc #idk if i am even writing belphie right but at this point OH WELL

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caspia-writes · 4 years ago

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Summer of Whump #1 – Freezing

Summary: A soldier is stuck spending a winter in a trench in Südanglia. A winter which the Großsächsische Reichswehr did not logistically prepare for. Between the psychological toll of the conditions there and the physical effects of prolonged cold, he enters a rapid downhill spiral.

A/N: I've decided to at least play at the idea of doing some of Summer of Whump, almost as much for trying to worldbuild as anything. As the title and summary would suggest, this deals with freezing. I'd also like to note it's been a while since I wrote anything, much less this quickly and at such an ungodly hour of the morning, so this is not quite up to my usual standard.

Content warnings: death, blood, foul language, repeated god mentions

(Also perhaps not the best reading material if you're having pasta at the moment!)

Never in his life had Günther wanted a cup of coffee so badly. Though it didn’t have to be coffee. Tea would work too, he supposed. Or a good, strong spirit. Even just steaming hot water. Anything, so long as it would take the chill out of his bones for a few minutes.

But there was nothing of the sort to be had.

This fact left Günther with nothing more to do than stew in the freezing mud and contemplate the misery of his existence. It was bad enough that the trenches reeked of dysentery and gangrene, that the ground was frozen too hard to do any more digging, that dinner had been more ‘worm noodles’ that the cooks no longer even tried to disguise as anything but. What was worse was that somehow, inexplicably, even when nothing else would, the mud always managed to thaw just enough during the day to seep into a person’s clothes and boots, only to freeze again later.

In Günther’s eyes, this proved two things: first, there was a God; and second, that God was a whoreson bastard if Günther had ever known one.

It was about this time that Günther noticed the man next to him. He wasn’t sure how long the man had been there; when he’d sat down several hours ago, he hadn’t been paying much attention. But he was here now, Günther was bored of staring at sandbags, and he would be damned if he believed that the other man could sleep when it was this cold.

“This is nonsense,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the side of the trench. “We’re out here, freezing to death, shitting our guts out, no food, can’t even get a smoke. And for what? Reuniting with our Südanglian brethren?”

Günther waited a moment for a response, glanced over at the man next to him. He didn’t react at all. Not a sigh, grumble, not even shifting around in response to being bothered. Nothing at all.

“Goddamned senseless shit!” Günther hissed, and spat on the ground in front of him.

Still nothing. The man gazed silently at the mud in front of him. It was almost unnatural how still he was. He didn’t even look like he was breathing. Come to think of it, he looked remarkably like—

—like a corpse. Which would explain the red tinge to the mud stain down the front of his coat. And the hole over his heart.

It didn’t matter, or it shouldn’t have, but Günther couldn’t stop himself from wiping the gathered snow off the coat. There was no reason for it, but he had to know the name of the corpse he’d tried to talk to. He had to. Just to make sure it hadn’t been because it was a friend he’d half-recognized, or a brother, or a cousin, or, or, or...

Well.

Whoever it was, he hadn’t lived long enough to stitch his name into his coat. It was probably his first week at the front then. Maybe even his first day. And he was already dead.

But he had his tags, at least. It took several tries, and a few breaks to swallow down the bile rising in his throat, but Günther managed to hook his fingers around the chain and pull the metal out onto the front of the dead man’s coat.

Paul Wolfgang Neumann.

19.2.03.

A bullet to the chest was one hell of a birthday present. And somehow Günther couldn’t believe that it was the kid’s nineteenth birthday. Fifteenth, maybe. Though even that seemed a little generous. This Paul was—had been—tall, sure, but his face didn’t look nineteen. Maybe Günther had never really met Paul, but he knew Paul was still--had still been--a boy. Not a man.

Bile rose in Günther's throat and he forced himself to look away. There wasn't time for this sentimental nonsense. A boy Paul's age shouldn't have been out in the trenches, no. He should've been in school, or anywhere this hellhole. But what could anyone do about it now? The Anglians--or really, whoever had let the poor kid sign up for this--had killed him and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Not Günther, not the medics, not the boy's parents.

What could still change was that Günther was freezing, and he needed that coat. Paul wasn’t using it anymore. And So Günther began fumbling with the buttons, trying to pry the coat off and not think too hard about where he was getting it from.

It must've taken twenty minutes, but at last Günther got the coat off Paul and onto himself. Things picked up considerably after that. Within seconds he began patting every pocket he could find. Not for money—what good was that?—but in hopes that maybe this Paul might still have a cigarette or some alcohol he hadn't developed the taste for or even a leftover biscuit or two somewhere.

Instead of any of that, he found a letter. Nothing but a letter either. Not even the pen he must’ve used to write it.

The only useful thing he could think of to do with the letter was try and burn it. He had the matches, and it was hardly as though he could burn the trenches down when they were frozen and half-waterlogged.

But he couldn’t do it.

Paul probably had a mother and a father and some siblings, and for all Günther knew none of them had any idea that Paul had even signed up for this. They deserved a little more than another standard notice typed up by one of those girls back up at the field hospital. If his family wouldn’t get his body back—and given the bonfires and acrid black smoke that cropped up behind the field hospital every Sunday, it figured they wouldn’t—at least they might get his last letter. Or however much he’d finished of it.

Günther vowed to try and send the letter in the morning, then leaned back against the wall of the trench again and returned to contemplating his situation. He didn’t notice as the mud on his undercoat began to thaw and soak both his shirt and outer coat.

Then the wind wailed, shards of ice cutting into Günther’s face. That much he did notice. He ducked his head towards his chest and began fumbling with the coat collar. There had to be a way to get it to stand up, to put anything between his face and the little pieces of white shrapnel flying around him. If only his icy-white, numbed fingers would work. Just for a few seconds. That was all he needed, a few seconds where his fingers would work. Then the wind and snow wouldn’t seem so bad.

After several minutes, Günther left the coat collar alone and let his hands drift into the mud next to him. He didn’t need, or want, the collar up anymore. The coat worked well enough as it was. For the first time in days, Günther wasn’t cold. He was warm. Maybe even hot.

And yet, it was still snowing. How could he be warm if it were still snowing? It didn’t make any sense. The coat hadn’t been that thick, had it? His eyes were drawn first to the sleeves, if anything thinner than the coat he had on beneath it, and then once again to red-brown stain covering the front of the coat.

Blood.

That was it. Everyone knew blood was hot! Why hadn’t Günther thought of it before? The coat was hot because there was blood on it. If he’d just had the sense to take a coat off some other corpse before, he wouldn’t have been so miserable these last weeks.

Or maybe he’d spoken too soon.

The blood was hot, yes. In fact, it was too hot. He needed to take it off. It burned. It made everything he wore burn. Invisible wisps of hellfire were licking through the fabric, and he could feel every last one.

He threw the coat off, but it was still too hot. One good thing, Günther supposed, about the trenches being largely deserted was that he could take the rest of his clothes off too. He took the other coat off, then his shirt, then his boots and socks, until he was sitting there naked. But it was still too hot.

Of course. He’d stolen the coat. From a dead man, no less. In a god-forsaken trench at that. No wonder he’d thought of hellfire and not any other equally suitable explanation. It was hellfire, and Hell was where he would be going if he didn’t atone for his sins, and immediately at that.

Now—what were the words of that prayer?

“Alles zum Wohle....”

No. No, that wasn’t right. That was—was the national syndicalist slogan. Not a prayer. Wieck was, would be, the source of Großsachsen’s salvation, maybe, but he didn’t do divine salvation. And that was what Günther needed now. Divine salvation.

He’d try again.

“O Gott, dessen einge... ein...bor... gebornen...”

That was wrong too. Why wouldn’t the words come? Günther knew he knew the words. He’d said that prayer every night since he could remember.

It didn’t matter. He could worry about it in the morning, when he wasn’t so tired. That, Günther decided, was probably why he couldn’t remember. Everything was too hot and he was tired and it would simply have to wait until morning. All he needed now was to find a good place to hide away from the eyes of God until dawn.

He lurched his body across the trench, towards the dugout. That was where he would hide. He would be safe there. In the dugout, under the table.

Once he was there, he knew it was true. This was safety. Something he hadn’t felt in even longer than warmth. The one safe place in this whole damn war, and it was his.

Günther let out a contented sigh and closed his eyes.

#writing #summerofwhump #summerofwhump1 #tw blood #tw death #tw swearing #tw god mention #tw cursing #tw gross #freezing

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earthspirit10 · 4 years ago

Text

Ninjago Angst Week: Day Six - Sickness

@ninjago-angst-week klasdjfal;sjdfas AHHHH I’m sorry this is like, five days late, but I’ve been really busy and stressed and then research, but, uh, it’s here now? Hope it’s not too late :P

And well, this one isn’t as good as the others, in my opinion. (Well, I think it’s better than Day One, but for the others? Meh.) Writing someone sick (especially if I’ve never gotten that . . . particular disease before) is hard and I’m not even sure if I even got it all write. Also, Zane. Zane is hard to write too.

Trigger Warnings: Sickness (because that’s enough to be grossed out at), mention of death

---

As a nindroid, it wasn’t possible for Zane to get sick. He wasn’t a real lifeform like the others, nor was he prone to malfunctioning due to water or anything else a normal robot would suffer from. He was grateful for that, for even though he wasn’t physically human, he was human in his heart. It meant that he could take care of his siblings better without getting sick or injured himself.

When Jay had suddenly doubled over coughing, everyone had rushed toward his aid. Zane, of course, had helped whatever he could—he’d cooked warm meals for him, given him medicine, and made sure he was comfortable. (The others practically had to wrestle him into bed.)

It wasn’t unusual for Jay to be coughing these days due to a cough he’d developed, which wasn’t very uncommon or worrisome, but Zane was worried that the cold had progressed into something worse.

Zane opened the door to Jay’s room and poked his head through to check on his brother, who seemed to be curled up under layers and layers of blankets.

“Jay?”

Jay peeked out from under the blankets and blinked blearily, coughing a few times before giving Zane a reassuring smile. “Hey, tin can.”

Closing the door behind him, Zane entered the room and sat down on the bed next to Jay. He wasn’t afraid of catching whatever sickness his brother had, mainly because it was impossible. Still, he made a note to disinfect himself should he ever get close to any of his other siblings.

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently, remembering that Jay had sensitive hearing even without being sick.

“Bored,” Jay grumbled, huffing in indignation. “I mean, there’s nothing to do! I’m not even allowed to do anything! No video games, no tinkering, no—” His body suddenly shook as a coughing fit overtook him, and Zane watched anxiously as it dragged on. It seemed to take hours—though his internal clock told him it was only twelve seconds—before it passed, with Jay shivering and panting for breath.

Coughing. Fever. Chills. Immediately, Zane scanned the blue ninja’s body, his optical sensors switching into X-ray vision. It was difficult to do so with all the blankets surrounding Jay, not to mention that he was curled up.

“Jay,” Zane said softly, trying to keep his voice as even as he could. Jay blinked again, head tilting up in question. “Are you able to sit up?”

Jay nodded, though his expression still remained confused. Shifting around in his blankets, he sat up slowly, coughing weakly.

Now that his brother was sitting up, Zane was able to fully scan his chest, eyes narrowing. And as soon as he detected something, his metaphorical heart dropped, and he inhaled sharply, sensors switching back to normal vision.

No. That couldn’t— his brother couldn’t have—

“Zane, what— what is it?” Jay asked frantically, his voice edging on borderline panic. “What’s wrong?”

Zane swallowed, turning his head away. Now with this new knowledge, his advanced senses could clearly detect the wheezing whenever Jay breathed, the rapid pumping of his heart, the abnormal air flow in his lungs.

More worrying symptoms of— of—

“Zane, please, you’re really starting to worry me—”

Abruptly, he stood up, cutting off whatever Jay was going to say. Turning, Zane set his shoulder back, plastered on a smile, stopped his hands from shaking. He answered cheerfully, “Oh, nothing you should worry yourself about.”

Jay stared back. “Are you . . . sure?”

“Of course.” Zane nodded, already moving toward the doorway. “You should rest. Try not to exert yourself.” He said the last few sentences with more emphasis than he would normally put in.

“It’s not like there’s anything else I can do,” Jay sighed, but he flopped back onto the bed. Almost immediately, his body was wracked with coughs, but he waved aside Zane’s concern. “I’ll be fine, Zane,” he rasped. “Not goin’ anywhere. See?”

Zane eyed his brother for a few moments, then he exited the room, closing the door behind him. As soon as the door was closed, he laid his head on it, pressing his hands to his eyes.

Why was he overreacting with this information? It wasn’t like this was fatal, nor was it dangerous, so why was he acting like Jay had a life-threatening disease that could potentially take him away any moment? It wasn’t— it wasn’t like—

His back sliding down the door, Zane buried his head between his knees, tears springing to his eyes, tears that weren’t supposed to be there in the first place, and yet he was human enough to have them.

Sometimes, he wished that he didn’t have emotions, that he didn’t have to feel the pain, the guilt, the worry.

If Jay’s illness worsened, if fate decided to be cruel again, Jay might die. It was Zane’s fault for detecting it so late, for not scanning him the first time he’d shown signs of a cough a week ago. And that meant a higher risk for this sickness to become deadly.

And they had let him participate in training, in patrols, in crime scenes. Mainly because Zane had told them that it was okay, when it wasn’t okay. Not anymore.

What kind of brother was he?

Footsteps approached him, and Zane raised his head, blinking as his vision sharpened on Cole’s face.

“Zane?” the earth ninja’s voice was concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Zane inhaled. Exhaled. He shouldn’t lie to them. Shouldn’t give them the false sense of security he’d stupidly given to Jay.

“Jay has pneumonia.”

⸺

After that, everything basically descended into chaos and panic. Calls were made, antibiotics were bought, and new rules and patrols were assigned. Zane had to hold Kai back from bursting into Jay’s room and fussing over him, mainly because this type of pneumonia was contagious, partly because Kai looked incredibly mad and that wouldn’t do well for Jay’s mental health, which could also affect his physical health.

Eventually, Zane had to tell Jay of his condition, which he oddly took well. At least, considering how much the blue ninja would normally panic.

“It’ll just— it’ll just pass, right?” Jay asked hoarsely, though there was a hint of fear in his voice. “Nothing much to worry about?”

Zane could tell that the others were pressed against the door of the room, anxiously eavesdropping on the conversation.

He nodded. “If you get enough rest and medicine, and there are no complications, then you should be fine.” The word should echoed ominously, silently, and he knew that all of them knew that not everything went as it should go.

Jay breathed out a sigh, before he dissolved into a bout of harsh hacking. Immediately, the mood spiraled into worried buzzing, and the door creeped open the tiniest bit. Zane rubbed his brother’s back, anxiously waiting for it to pass.

“Jay—”

“‘m fine,” Jay murmured, voice raspy from all the coughing. He closed his eyes, snuggling closer to his blankets.

Zane eyed him for a few more moments, heart clenching at his brother’s pitiful form. Swallowing, he stood up and patted his shoulder. “You should rest,” he whispered. The lightning ninja didn’t reply, but the slow rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was already asleep.

Zane turned on X-ray vision for a brief moment, scanning for any other unusual activity, then on to infrared, before he switched back to normal human vision. Slowly standing up, he exited the room, closing the door softly behind him, and was immediately met with the anxious gazes of his other siblings.

“He’s fine, for now,” he told them, keeping his voice carefully even. “He’ll simply need more rest and medicine. His immune system will do the rest.”

They all relaxed, if only slightly, but Zane knew that they would never truly be at ease until Jay was completely healed. After all, they had a bad history with luck.

⸺

As the days passed, Jay only got sicker. Almost the entirety of the week was filled with him coughing, the tense atmosphere rising every time it worsened. Still, Zane knew better than to give him cough medicine, especially since coughing was meant to help with the pneumonia. He made sure to monitor his brother every hour, checking on his lungs, his heart, his blood pressure—basically everything. It hadn’t gotten bad to the point where Jay would need to be admitted into the hospital, but he was dangerously close.

Once, as Zane left Jay’s room, he nearly bumped into Cole, who always hovered near. He nodded silently at the earth ninja and was about to resume his day when he suddenly felt a hand grabbing his wrist, holding him back. Surprised, Zane glanced back, and he blinked in alarm at the barely noticeable tears in Cole’s eyes.

“I—” Cole swallowed, looking away, as if embarrassed. His hand let go of the ice ninja’s wrist. “Jay’s going to be fine, right?” His voice was small, but it was pleading, desperate, almost like he was afraid of Zane’s answer.

Zane closed his eyes for a brief moment, then opened them. “He will be alright,” he said quietly and firmly, but he couldn’t help the fear that surged in him as he heard Jay emit another cough from within the room.

“That’s what the doctors told me,” Cole whispered, squeezing his eyes shut, and Zane wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or himself.

After a while, Cole shook his head, his eyes reopening. “I— well, when I was little, my mom— she was really sick.”

Oh. Oh. Zane stared back at his brother, not sure if he liked where this was going.

“A-and the doctors said that she’d be okay, that she was going to survive, but—” His voice stuttered to a stop, and Cole made an odd noise that sounded like he was choking, and he turned away.

The silence stretched on, very painfully loud, with Jay coughing occasionally in the background. Zane continued staring at his brother, not sure what to do in this situation. He wasn’t used to seeing Cole like this—so vulnerable and open, and it made his mechanical heart clench.

But he knew loss. All of them do, all too well. And he knew how it felt to feel so hopeful, hopeful for the future, only for that hope to be shattered.

So Zane did what anyone would normally do. He hugged his brother, wrapping his arms around him. Cole stiffened in surprise, but eventually, he relaxed into the embrace, hugging the ice ninja back.

Patting Cole’s back a little awkwardly, Zane whispered, letting his emotions seep into his voice, “Jay will be fine.” A beat. “I promise.”

And it wasn’t an empty promise. Logically, Zane knew that pneumonia wasn’t deadly, especially since Jay had a really good immune system. But for the sake of his family, for the sake of Jay, Zane wasn’t going to let his brother die.

He’d die himself before that would happen.

#ninjago #ninjago-angst-week #ninjago zane #ninjago jay #ninjago cole #i really hope i did this all right #is pneumonia even as bad as people make it out to be #because i was pretty surprised when i searched it up #tw sickness #tw mention of death #phoenix writes

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kneamet · 4 years ago

Note

Hank Williams is looking for new inspiration. Eventually he finds Reader.

Trigger Warning: obsession, yandere

Word Count: 1859

Character: Hank Williams/reader

Summary: Hank has been looking for a muse for a long time, and now, he has found you

POV Your

Being around Hank, your husband, was scary and totally unpleasant. He was like a poison, penetrating your bright thoughts and perverting them in a bad way. He was terrible, or, to put it mildly, simply unpleasant.

And it would be fine if this dislike extended only to his appearance, but no, he was absolutely disgusting inwardly. Sometimes, although this feeling was very common now, you just wanted to hit him, call him bad words, and finally break out into the street, out of his suffocating captivity

He was quite handsome: a lanky figure and very frail, with a large back that he had inherited from childhood; dark-colored, with a slight green tinge, like a swamp sinking into the depths, eyes; thin, slightly greasy in some places, brown hair. He was very attractive, and you weren't surprised when you realized that. He wasn't your type, though.

Your husband's character, as much as you hate to call him, was too contradictory to speak of. On the one hand, you wanted to forgive him for what he did to you, but it was only your heart that said it, but your mind always told you, which, by the way, you always focused on, that it was dangerous to be near him. What if he does something to you, like he did at the beginning of your captivity? It was exactly the kind of event you didn't want to remember.

And even now, lying on the bed, you felt an unthinkable desire to leave here, to disappear, to cease to exist, but knowing that your punishment could last for an even longer period, you did not hope to do it, fearing it. Yet the thought of escape has always warmed and nurtured your soul.

Lately, since your husband recovered and finally began to travel around America again, very often, for your sake, canceling tours and rescheduling them for another day, you have begun to think about how you would like to walk through the soft and gentle grass, strewn with silver dew, and feel it, feel it tickle your shins; about how a quiet and calm wind, coming from far away, blows your hair so that it develops; about how you can finally put on new and clean clothes, not defiled by your husband, about how to see your boyfriend again.

God, you missed him so much. For your beloved person, who would do everything you say, but at the same time would give a rebuff. Such a gentle and pleasant guy that you always wanted to find and who eventually made you an offer that you didn't refuse. However, who would have known that the next day you would be here, in the house of Hank, your husband, no matter how sad it sounds.

You didn't know how he first became interested in you. You never went to his concerts, and yes, you listened to his radio a couple of times in the early morning, but nothing more personal or secret about him. Even if you admit it to yourself, you didn't know he was famous. You still thought he was playing on the radio.

Blinking rapidly, as if trying to abruptly forget about the months you've been here, you tighten your grip on the book in your hands, feeling your fingers begin to sweat under the pressure of your fingers and how they begin to turn white from the strain. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to concentrate on reading the book again, but you can't.

Your thoughts are racing through your head, like they're trying to make you think about nothing else. But no, you won't fall for it.

Realizing that you are unlikely to be able to read the book, you catch a glimpse of Hank, who is mumbling something, touching the hard strings of the guitar with his long fingers. He hummed a little on it, as if trying to compose a tune, while muttering to himself. He didn't seem to have any ideas for a new song. Does that mean he'll finally realize he doesn't need you?

Simply put, you didn't like the fact that Hank considered you his muse, as he said, you inspire him to new texts and poems, but vo always doubted it. How can you inspire someone?

And yet you haven't given up hope that he just made a mistake and you're not the one he needs. However, over time, this hope disappeared. Vanished like dust.

You didn't love him. And you didn't hate him fiercely either. It was more like ... contempt or disgust. Contempt for his character, for his actions, which always drove you into a corner.

Apparently feeling your contemptible gaze on him, Hank raised his head from the paper and song sketches to you, carefully looking into your eyes. Your eyes widened and you felt a slight shiver, immediately shifting your gaze. You could literally hear his smile directed at you.

***

"I don't want to cook, Hank!" you shouted in a fit of anger, throwing down the rag you were using to wipe the plate that was currently placed on the top shelf. "I don't want to get out!" you saw his gaze penetrating your skin and making you goosebumps, but you sensibly ignored it. I didn't want to flatter his ego by begging for forgiveness. "I don't want to obey you! I want to be free!" the indignation and anger were clearly audible in your voice.

You've seen the way Hank looks at you. That scary look that tells you it's better if you listen to it.

"Songbird," Hank said softly, but with a hard intonation, chuckling derisively as he approached you with small steps. "You know you're my wife. Lady. You must obey me, " he was as light as if he were talking. As if there was nothing wrong with what he was talking about.

But no, since you're doing this, you're not just going to leave.

"I want freedom, Hank! You know perfectly well how I feel about you! So why do you force me to obey you?!" you've always been concerned about this question. It was unclear.

However, all your husband did in response to your harsh and loud statements was grab your wrists in a sick grip and pull them sharply towards him. There was a feeling that it was pressing so hard that it blocked the path of blood to your hands.

"I know how you feel about me. I know that you love me with the same pure and tender love that I love you, my sweet bird, " he murmured back, looking into your averted eyes as if trying to find the truth. "But I definitely won't let you talk to me in the tone you're using right now."

***

POV Hank

He liked to see you smile. Yes, even just a glance directed at him was immediately turned into a smile, which you received in return. Hank knew that even your slight movement would have been met by his gaze.

You were just beautiful in his eyes. His little, weak songbird. Your hair, which was currently arranged in a light bun on your head, basically tended to be disheveled; soft, thin lips that responded to him with sweet kisses that they shared in bed; beautiful eyes that you could get lost in, as they reflected the distance.

So beautiful, so gentle, so submissive, listening to his every word. This was exactly the kind of woman he needed. He was absolutely certain that she loved him as much as he loved her. Just as bright, just as beautiful and immaculate.

Hank never thought about finding a muse. His personal muse, which will always inspire him to write new poems. Such a lovely muse, like a doll.

***

"Hank, I'm not sure that was a good idea," the drawling voice drawled, shifting its confused gaze to Hank, who was clenching his teeth, holding on tightly to the beer bottle.

"Don, I did what I know I did. I absolutely wouldn't want to go to Cincinnati just because Jay decided to," Williams ' loud voice was heard clearly exclaiming indignation. "And with what will I go there? I have no new songs, no poems, no inspiration at all."

Had he exhausted his talent? If the poems are not written, then what should I do now? He didn't want to lose the repertoire of one of the most famous singers.

Suddenly, a bell rang, signaling that someone had entered the room. Hank looked indifferently at the door, through which two people entered, until he stopped at the second woman, who was currently smiling at the guy

He was impressed, although he often and always said that it was difficult to impress him. She was beautiful. Hank didn't notice his mouth open slightly in a little cultural admiration. Delicious.

Is it just me, or has he really found a new muse?

"Don, I think I've found a new muse."

***

Hank smiled as the memories of his first meeting with you flashed through his mind at a rapid pace. Oh, how nice it was to remember that.

As Hank ran his fingers lightly over his guitar, which he had kept since his mother had given it to him, he felt a slight slant of falseness and immediately wrote the note out of his notebook. No, it doesn't fit. You need to choose something more different.

"You make me cry," he muttered softly to himself, trying to find the right rhythm for this song that was created especially for his favorite songbird. Oh, and that's just right.

Inspiration washed over him in a huge wave, and Hank felt like a young man. In when the rhymes for the poems came every minute. Yes, and his mother with constant moving then put a lot of pressure on him. But when he and Audrey began an affair, Williams began to draw inspiration from his personal life and the quarrels that greeted him every day in his personal life with Audrey.

He didn't want to think about her. So vicious, so wrong. She was obsessed only with money and even took care of her son, whom she later took away, to the nanny. Disgusting. It was definitely not his woman. She wasn't the one he was looking for.

Hank looked up at you. He was pleased to look at you, but he felt that you were offended with him. However, knowing that the punishment he gave you was very severe, Williams still couldn't fix it. You deserve it.

"Songbird," the singer muttered, putting the guitar down and leaning it against the table. He took a quick step towards the bed, immediately lying down on it and wrapping his relaxed arms around your waist and burying his nose in your neck, feeling you shiver. "I love you."

Being with you always gave Hank pleasure and sensuality. He wanted those moments when you lay together on his, or rather on your shared, bed, together and talk about everything in the world. It's so romantic.

He didn't understand why you flinched when he touched you, though.

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sasha-chambers · 4 years ago

Text

Short Horror Stories: The Empty Man

In the early eighteenth century, a young woman made her way across the sea to the developing Americas, seeking a new life for herself away from her home in London where she had studied and practiced medicine and had developed a significant measure of skill during her studies and as such wished to further expand her skills as well as apply them where they were needed.

After landing on the shores of her new world she made her way to a town where a doctor, which she had been in correspondence with for the past couple of years, had established a large hospital complex that had attracted many patients from both the town it was built as well as the surrounding settlements as well as said clients consisting of common and wealthy folk alike.

This young doctor immediately proved that the head doctor had made no mistake in giving her the time of day when he had first reached out to her after reading a paper that she had written back home in England. Every task she was given she performed to the letter with nary a step out of place as well as seeking to go beyond wherever she could by figuring out more efficient and cost-effective ways of conducting her tasks.

However, despite her competence and the satisfaction of the head doctor and even the patients with her performance, the other doctors and staff at the hospital came to look down on her for that rapid success, rumours soon even emerging that her ability was not due to skill, but rather witchcraft. Such rumours soon spread like wildfire to those of a suspicious disposition, culminating to a group of thugs, including those who’s ire she had earned at the hospital, chased her from the town with the intent of taking out their frustrations on her, not content with dragging her name through the dirt.

The woman stumbled across an old, decrepit chruch not far from town, one she had heard of from local stories that claimed it was haunted and given a wide birth as a result, a story she was in no mind to heed as she charged through the open doors and slammed them behind her before collapsing in front of the alter at the head of the hall, desperately muttering to herself in hopes that she would be delivered from her torment.

Unfortunately, her pleas went unheard as she was found within the ruin by her pursuers, beaten and violated for what felt like an eternity before she was left to her sorrow, curling up on the cold floor as the sun fell from the night sky and the pale light of the moon above lighting up the church through its crumbling roof. However, she was not left to her misery for long as she became acutely aware of eyes on her, eyes that did not feel natural as she slowly turned to look down the hall where a strange figure was stood behind the alter.

The figure was tall, it’s limbs long and body thin, wrapped in black, ragged robes with a hood that covered all but its hands and feet, which struck her as inhuman due to the skin being stretched thin over the bones like that of a corpse with scars like cracks in marble running over it as well as being a ashen grey colour. Then she slowly drew her gaze up to it’s face under the hood and realised that it was indeed not a person, or at least not a living one as its face was just as corpse like as its hands and feet, the lips pulled back, cheeks and eyes sunken, the nose now just the nasal cavity, its hair still black but thin and strangely while it’s eyes were completely black, empty voids.

She lay there, frozen in fear while her mind was frantically trying to rationalise what she was looking at and even for the briefest of moments she considered allowing this entity to kill her so that she could be freed from the hell her life had suddenly turned into. The creature slowly approached her, a thin layer of drool noticeably running from the corners of its jaws as it knelt down and slowly reached a hand out to caress her cheek. However, instead of trying to kill her, the creature seemed to be holding itself back from doing so, its muscles pulling taught as it kept itself in place, its head turning up to look at the door, a deep breath being drawn into its nose before a shiver ran through it’s body like the anticipation brought on by the scent of a favourite food.

Then an echoing voice began to ring out inside her skull. It was hard to make out in its entirety but she could understand enough to know it was asking something of her. That she venture down into the lower levels of the church and retrieve an object, an amulet that the creature was bound too, his ball and chain so to speak. If she took that and placed it around her neck, she could carry him out of the church and lead him to those who had wronged her, where he would take care of the rest.

After a short while of reflection, during which the creature's black eyes remained on her, never blinking, she looked back up to meet its gaze and uttered a single word of agreement, the creature gesturing towards a doorway off in the back corner of the hall. Entering and descending down the stairs to the basement of the church, feeling the creature following behind her despite the lack of any sound from it’s movements. The woman found herself in a strange chamber, symbols written across the walls, floor and ceiling in chalk. A stone slab of a table sat in the centre of the room with shackles bolted to it, but most chilling of all was the pile of bodies around the table, each one looking like a mummy with their skin dried out and bodies thin husks.

After finding the corpse with the amulet, a body dressed in particularly ornate robes compared to the rest, she removed ir from the corpse and held it in her hands, she could feel the creature looming over her beginning to grow restless and agitated and so quickened her pace, placing it around her neck and hurriedly making her way back up to the church hall and stepping outside into the cold night air. She turned back to see the creature standing in the doorway of the church, stock still as if in anticipation before it stepped forward out of the church and onto the soft dirt, to which it threw it’s head back and let out a blood curdling roar of joy.

The woman wasted no time living up to her promise, heading back into town and quickly locating the man who had led the group that hunted her down, one of the other doctors at the hospital, finding him stumbling home from his favourite drinking spot, seemingly having been celebrating the evenings events. Upon seeing the woman, the doctor gave a small smile, commenting on her being so eager to die before freezing in place as he became aware of the creature stood behind him, looming over him as it stood over a foot taller than the man. Before the doctor could even let out a yell of surprise, the creature wrapped it’s long fingers around his neck and threw him through the air into the shadows of a nearby alleyway.

The creature slowly stalked after it’s prey, the doctor babbling for mercy from the beast, his words falling on deaf ears before he resorted to turning heel and running, only to find the creature suddenly stood right behind him. It wrapped both of It’s hands around the man’s neck as he began to panic, a long black tongue snacking across the man’s flesh and once again the creature shivered in anticipation of it’s meal. The woman remained still and continued to observe, unphased, as the creature's jaw opened unnaturally wide and a light welled up under the skin of the doctor’s throat, leaving his mouth as a bright mist that flowed into the mouth of the beast.

As the creature fed it’s form became steadily less skeletal, regaining a more human visage with the exception of it’s gangly proportions and the cracks that ran across it’s grey skin as if it was barely holding it’s body together. In contrast the body of the doctor began to wither away as his pupils became wider and wider, leaving his eyes the same pitch black as the creatures. And strangely, as the creature regained it’s strength, the woman too felt her body rejuvenating, her wounds healing over and her muscles feeling light.

Once it had completed it’s meal. The creature released it’s grip on the doctor’s corpse and let it thug to the ground, turning it’s gaze to the woman now suddenly giving her a warning, that as long as she wore his amulet, he could not harm her or leave her side, but should she remove it and refuse to provide him with prey, he would claim her soul and simply wait for another to come and heed his call. Yet, even with that warning, the woman led the creature to the rest of her attackers and from there on she travelled all across the world, feeding the vilest souls she could find to the creature, her connection to it seeming to halt her aging, her mind twisting what she was doing as a violent version of a doctor’s work as she continued to feed the specter for decades to come.

#horror #shortstory #dark #fantasy #monster #ghost #writing #creature

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