#cruel intentions type beat

[coryosbaby]

Sub!stepbro!rafe please 😩

Summary: You steal coke from your stepbrother/fuck buddy, and he’s absolutely pussy whipped.

Warning: drug use, stepcest (stepbrother x stepsister), Rafe is in love, mommy kink, edging, spanking (m recieving 😇), oral (m receiving), ball sucking, p n v, body worship, mild mentions of feet kissing, doing Coke off his dick and ass oops, ball sucking, squirting, creampie, sub! Rafe, dom! Reader, literally not canon at all but idc I wanna dominate him

“I know you took it!”

Rafe’s voice screams out throughout the incredibly large Cameron estate as you walk down the stairs, his fists clenched at his sides as he watches your retreating form. You roll your eyes, used to his tantrums and spoiled personality from the many months of living with him. You’re both alone, the house echoing your words and otherwise being completely empty.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Rafe.” You reach the end of the staircase to grab your jacket and slip it on. But before you can, Rafe’s hands grab your wrists harshly. He yanks you to him, his breath heavy and uneven.

“Give me my fucking coke back.”

So maybe you do know what he’s talking about. But so what? Rafe isn’t like you. Whereas coke makes him violent and corrupted, it makes you… well, an average coke addict. It isn’t a surprise for anyone to learn that what’s wrong with Rafe’s brain goes far beyond addiction. So, stealing it isn’t necessarily wrong.

It’s definitely not something anyone with half the balls you have would do, though.

Rafe’s voice on the edge of threatening,, but you merely bat an eyelash at the boy. His face is flushed, mouth mere inches away from your face as he looks down at you with a hesitant angered expression. Your eyes avert to the incredibly long fingers wrapped around your wrist, and then back up to him again with a clenched jaw.

“Let go of me, Rafe.” You demand. He hesitates, and the nervous softening of his grip doesn’t go unnoticed. You move closer, getting on your tip toes to reach his tall height. “Let go of me…now.”

He doesn’t remove his fingers from your wrists at first, but after a moment his hands drop from yours.

Rafe isn’t one to be told what to do, but when it’s you… it’s like he can’t do anything but follow your orders. The other times before this, the times when you had fucked him up in secret, in so many more ways than one, doesn’t help the situation. And as messed up as it is, you’re the only woman who can make him fall to his knees.

Even if you’re the daughter of his dad’s wife.

A small smirk forms on your face, eyes wild, and you’re taking another step towards him. He stumbles back into the wall. You laugh at the look in his eyes. One at first glance would say it’s annoyance, but you know better.

It’s fear.

“I don’t like boys who don’t do what they’re told the first time.”

Rafe scoffs, body moving to walk backwards up the stairs as you follow him with slow steps.

“I don’t like thieves.”

“Don’t be greedy and I won’t have to steal it.”

He chuckles nervously, reaching the top of the staircase.

“‘M not greedy. Just wished you would’ve asked first.”

You pause. You’re both off the steps now, eyes following each others as you beckon him towards your room.

“If you want it so bad, maybe you should come in my room and get it.”

The insinuation doesn’t go unnoticed. Rafe’s face flushes a deep crimson.

“Yeah?” He replies. He reaches for your doorknob, right across from his. “Guess I have to find it, then. Right?”

You don’t say anything, but a smile quirks your lips as he brings himself inside. When his knees hit the edge of your bed you push him down harshly. He gasps, his body hitting the mattress underneath him with a loud thud. He lifts himself up onto his elbows as you approach your bookshelf. Seated on the highest shelf is a golden jewelry box. You pull out the third drawer. You grab the packet of white powder sitting inside and turn around to show the boy.

“This what you want?”

You can tell by the way his mood changes, excitement glazing his features as he looks at the drug. “Yeah.”

“Gonna have to earn it.” You say, coldly.

“I’ll do anything.”

And you know he means it. So you walk over to the bed and grab him by his ankles. His jeans are still on, and your fingers begin to undo his belt. He looks at you with a desperate gaze; you know he could take his clothes off himself, but where’s the fun in that? And so, once the belt is through the loops, you unbutton his jeans and push them down. Dior briefs are exposed to you, and you snicker.

“I didn’t even know dior made underwear. Preparing for something, Cameron?”

The boy huffs. “I just- I know it’s your favorite brand, that’s all.”

“So you wore them for me?” Your fingers ghost over the large bulge accompanying the fabric. He lets out a low groan. “That’s so cute. But it sounds like you came to me looking for a fight. Just so I’d put you in your place.”

“Maybe I did. So what?” He snarks. You narrow your eyes, and your palm lands harshly on his thigh. He whines.

“Don’t be a fucking brat. Now take your shirt off and turn over.”

Of course, he obeys; hands going to the hem of his striped top, he pulls it over his head and exposes his naked chest and torso to you. He’s gorgeous, perfectly chiseled and tense with arousal. He uses his legs to turn himself around onto his stomach.

“Like this?” He asks. Faux innocence drips off of every honeyed syllable.

“Yes, baby. Just like that.”

You sit down on your pink sheets next to Rafe’s pliant body. He’s breathing shallowly, waiting for you next move. You grab his ankles once again and maneuver his body so he’s laying across your lap. His brows furrow in confusion, but they quickly lift into pleasure as his mouth falls open. Your palm comes down on his left cheek. A teasing slap, one that isn’t meant to cause pain, but enough to present the idea of spanking to the boy’s mind.

“Yeah…” It’s all Rafe’s brain can muster, the feeling of being bent over his stepsister’s knee making blood rush to his cock a lot more than it should. “Thas’ good, momma…”

“Jesus...” You pull down his briefs, exposing his pretty round globes to the room. You grab the bag of coke and quickly poor a line down onto his right cheek. Rafe tries to look back at what you’re doing, but you’re other hand grabs his hair and yanks him back down to look at the bed.

“Don’t. Stay fucking still.”

You pull and adjust Rafe’s thighs so he’s a bit lifted. Careful not to spill the coke, you bring your nose down to his cheek and snort up the white powder. He knows what you’re doing, and his legs clench together as he tries to relieve his arousal and the urge to snatch the bag out of your hands. Your eyes roll back when the drug hits your system, a low groan leaving your lips.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

Rafe just moans, bare cock pressing against your thigh as he tries to rut against it. He’s dripping, you can feel him making a wet spot form on your skirt. Your palm goes down to his ass again; not to hit him, just to feel him under your fingertips.

“It’s okay, Rafe.” you coo. “You’ll get your share. Just be patient.”

“Don’t wanna,” he whines. “Wanna do a line off your tits… wanna fuck your pussy. Want ‘em both so bad.”

“You’ll get to soon. But I think you need a punishment for your smart mouth, first. Don’t you?”

He doesn’t say anything, just rocks his ass back into your hands as confirmation: yes, momma. I do need a punishment. I’ve been a bad boy.

Rafe has always been shy with words. So you don’t scold when he doesn’t reply. You just tilt your hand back, and spank him harshly. He mewls, hands gripping the sheets below him as his cheeks redden from your abuse. Another slap comes down, and after a few more you can feel tears dripping on your thigh. You smile at the sight of his reddened cheeks, the way he squirms when you rub your fingers over him. And after five more hits, the boy is sobbing into your leg.

“Such a sweet boy,” you praise. He shakes when you press a kiss to his shoulder blade. “Taking your punishment so well. I think you deserve a reward.”

“Please, mommy.” He pleads.

“Get up, honey. Sit up on your knees for a minute.”

He obeys, a small sniffle sounding from him as he does so. The sight of Rafe Cameron, your stepbrother, crying for you like this shouldn’t make you so wet. But it does.

When he’s on his knees you make sure to put a pillow down on the mattress before getting him to lay down on his back; he’s a strong boy, and he can handle a lot, so his sore ass is the last thing he’s thinking of when you ask if he’s okay. He just nods, cushioned underneath the pillow and looking up at you with heavy eyes and a large, hardened cock. You pick up the coke bag again, and teasingly hold it in front of your clothed pussy. And when Rafe sees it, he’s like one of Pavlov’s dogs: The two of his favorite things right in front of each other. He looks at you with longing.

“Can I have them? Please?”

“Not yet.”

He goes to whine, but you shush him with the threat of spanking him again.

“Just stay down, Rafe.” You demand. He nods, although he wants to protest.

You grip his cock, and his eyes flutter shut in surprise and pleasure. But it’s all in stride; you’re only holding it right now. Rafe’s bottom lip gets caught between his teeth when he feels your spit pool along his shaft. And then, you pour the coke onto his cock. It’s an odd feeling, and it tingles a bit. But when Rafe looks down, he wonders why he’s never done it before. Your nose is pressed against him, trying to snort up most of the coke. It’s just messy, though. His pre cum just made the coke stick to him, so you’re practically rubbing your face in his arousal.

And Jesus, that makes Rafe’s cock kick.

“Can’t get it?” He teases.

You just reply, “Fuck you, Cameron.” And then move your tongue along his cock. And he gasps, low and throaty, as he feels your tongue lick along the base of his length and then down to his balls. He’s hairless there (of course he is), so it’s easy and makes it all worthwhile. As you suckle the heavy sacks into your mouth, your pussy drips with wetness.

“Oh my god, that’s good, shit—“ Rafe fucks up into your mouth, and you press his hips back down so he can’t. You look up at him and watch as his face scrunches up in pleasure when your teeth graze his balls. You pull off of him with a pop as he continues to beg for his release.

“I’m gonna give you what you want now.” You state.

“Really? Thank you—“ he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead and cheeks. It shouldn’t be as affectionate as it is. “—thank you so much, momma.”

And he means it. Which isn’t common for Rafe fucking Cameron. But he does a lot of things he usually doesn’t do when he’s with you.

You lay down on your back with the coke in your hand. When Rafe tries to reach for it, you just tsk.

“No, baby. You have to fuck me first.”

He frowns, but he’s also giddy from the thought of being able to stick himself inside you. So he does what he’s told, and lifts up your skirt. The smell of your arousal hits him, and he keens.

“You smell so fuckin’ good.” He mumbles. And he can’t wait any longer, so he pushes your thong to the side and slides right into your soaked entrance. You smile, head tilting back and exposing your neck. Rafe doesn’t hesitate to leave bite marks along the expanse of the skin there. You’re the perfect amount of heat and wetness to make his cock throb in its place.

“Good?” You ask. You know the answer, but you want him to talk to you more.

“Really, really good.” He groans. “You’re always so tight— best pussy I’ve ever had, fuck!”

He’s trying to hold his resolve, but with all the edging you’ve been doing he going to cum quick. He sobs as he bucks up into you, as you drip around his girthy length. And then your arms are wrapping around his back as you start to unzip the bag of coke once again. You pull your top down and expose your breasts to Rafe, and pour the substance in between the valley of skin there. His mouth opens wide, and he just… shoves his face into it. It’s so filthy, and so vulgar, as he snorts the drug up into his nose and licks it off of you. He starts to lick your nipples ferociously, muttering thank yous over and over again. His fingers reach down to rub your clit and you cry out at the pleasure.

“Good boy- good Fuckin’ boy, Rafe!” You moan out. “God.. ‘m gonna cum! Gonna cum all over your cock—“

And that’s exactly what you do. Your high crashes over you in powerful waves, and Rafe lets out a small laugh as he watches you squirt all over him.

“Yeah. That’s it, momma.” He looks genuinely happy, genuinely excited and content. “I’m- I’m so proud of you, holy shit.”

“Yeah?” You try to tease calmly, but the force of your orgasm has you stuttering and shaky. “You have to come for me, too.”

And that brings Rafe back to his cock inside of you, to his unfinished orgasm, and he begins to pummel you with no remorse. His thighs slap against yours aggressively as you scream from the overstimulation. He catches sight of the bracelet you have wrapped around your ankle. It’s made of solid gold, one he had gotten you for your nineteenth birthday, that has Cameron engraved on it in thick letters. Ward and your mom had found it endearing.

‘Your brother got your last name on it!’ Your mother had gushed. ‘How sweet!’

Little did she know that it was a sign of his possession. His possession over his stepsister, his baby sis, as he called you around his family. But although Rafe owns you, he knows you’ll always be the one in control: in control of his thoughts, his mind, his body, his feelings. You’re everything.

He presses kisses to your toes. Not in a weird way.. at least he hopes it’s not in a weird way. His tongue runs along the ridges of your ankle, a little bit up your calf. His strong arms grab ahold of your thighs and push them up, up. Eventually they’re over your head, and you’re crying out for another orgasm. His nose buries itself into your neck, and he can smell you— perfume, sweat, skin, cocaine, and fuck, Rafe doesn’t think he’s ever been with someone this perfect. And when you cry out his name on your lips, when you clench around him just right, he’s filling your cunt up with thick ropes of his cum. He eats you out afterwards, of course. He’s yours, after all, and whatever you want you get. And it’s perfect, even after that: when you’re laying there while he’s on top of you, snorting that last bit of drug that you had stolen from him, his high buzzing through his brain. When your hands run through his hair and offer to put lotion on the spots where you had spanked him. It’s perfect.

Almost. Because how in the fuck are you going to explain this to your parents?

[shakingparadigm]

Seeing all those analysis posts about how Till liked Mizi because she was gentle while not giving the same attention to Ivan because he wasn't... how Ivan might have made Till uncomfortable because he expressed his admiration for Till through violence because he liked how Till had the courage to fight back...

I was wandering if Ivan ever realized that the way he went about showing his feelings wasn't positive for Till and he fucking did. "I wish I had been kinder" he fucking regrets dude, fuck me man.

(This veered wildly off-topic I am so sorry.)

Coming back to this ask after the most recent R6 update is interesting.

I've always wondered why they chose the title Cure in particular. I was expecting a song title along the lines of Star or something abyssal. Then I thought about Till's affiliation with experiments and drugs and the various ways he was hurt. Cure... It also brings to mind how the content for Ivan highlights his "oddness", how he's framed as someone different, almost wrong in a sense. There's something that he lacks, something that he feels the need to fix, to cure.

In the recent ROUND 6 production post, the true meaning is revealed. You're right on a certain level, but as always, it's complicated.

Both Ivan and Till seek a certain type of "healing", maybe to compensate for their pain, their oddness and their loneliness. They wish to be cured of their suffering somehow and they seek the solution in other people.

QMENG states that Till desires a type of healing that Ivan cannot provide, and vice versa.

It goes without saying, pretty common knowledge at this point, but Till is a lot softer under his rebellious front. As someone who's been beat and abused his whole life, it makes sense that that type of love he'd want is something gentler, something stable. It's incredibly obvious in the way he acts towards Mizi. She's so genuine, so bright, untainted by the cruel reality of the world. Till softens around her, since she has only showed him kindness he in turn shows her the sweetest side of himself. He's had nothing stable to cling onto before, so he immediately becomes attached to this idealized version of Mizi. He believes she's the only person who can provide him with what he needs, the only one who can "heal" him.

It's outright stated that Ivan cannot provide that type of "healing" that Till is looking for. Ivan does try, of course. Unfortunately, he lacks something fundamental. Because of this he expresses himself in rather childish ways, which may involve a little cruelty and attention-seeking. A lot of Ivan's actions are muddled by his complicated feelings as well, as its stated that his true emotions and intentions are difficult to grasp. With Till, Ivan wants to save and be saved, hurt and heal him, keep him and set him free. Live for him and die for him. He criticizes Sua on the ethics of self-sacrifice and then goes on to do the same himself. With Ivan, everything contradicts.

He tries desperately to be the cure that Till needs, but due to his incredibly complex nature that "healing" will never be just healing. It may come with more pain and confusion despite his best efforts.

I don't think Till refused to give Ivan attention because he wasn't gentle enough, rather I think it's because everything was so complicated whenever Ivan was involved. Ivan is there for him in his times of need and causes a fair bit of trouble during the rest. He's strange and hard to grasp, but he's familiar. Calling each other "friends" seemed like such an inadequate label because they're simultaneously too close and not close enough. Ivan does wish he was kinder, though. Not only to Till, but to Sua and most likely a few other people as well. There's a lot of aspects in which Ivan wishes he were different, and it's tragic to hear how he deprecates himself in his final moments for it.

There's the second half of QMENG's statement as well, "vice versa". Till cannot provide what Ivan needs either, but Ivan desperately desires it anyway.

Ivan views Till as his cure. He wants to not only "heal" Till, but to be healed by him as well. This desire can be seen in the lyrics of Cure:

Notice my pain

And mend me right now

To quiet my fears

I'll drown in you

(The wish for "healing" is stated.)

In your gaze, where I’m seen

Consume me, yes, me, oh, oh

(Ivan urges Till to "consume" him like medicine, he wishes to be what Till needs.)

Ivan lacks something, and he believes that Till can make up for that lack which is why he's so fascinated by him. If Ivan is a black abyss, Till is a supernova, bringing life to an empty void. Unfortunately, Till is explosive and rather inept at handling his own extreme emotions, which causes him to either lash out violently or retreat further inward and push Ivan away. He's also a thoroughly destructive and hurt individual, seeking his own cure in another form. He cannot provide what Ivan needs.

Both Ivan and Till are incredibly volatile. That's not to say they don't have their gentler sides, but overall they've been doomed from the start. Ultimately it's no fault of theirs, they did what they could with their complicated feelings and fought through their own respective hells.

In the end, Ivan had to come to terms with the fact that he couldn't get the "healing" he needed and could never be what Till needed, either. That's why he finally acted on his impulses and let his complicated feelings win over, resulting in his death. Despite all the heartache, his final thoughts are a statement of gratitude. Truly a tragedy.

[stayconnecteed]

hiii beloved 🫶🏻 how about 💓 with hyunjin? i would pass away fr, ik you're gonna make me lose my mind

　　　　　‎‎‎‎‎( 𝒉𝒉𝒋. ) 𝖺 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝗃𝖺𝗐𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖺𝗋𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖾.

━━━━━　　　　𝒂bout.

hihii my pretty deni!! i really really hope you like this because i'm full invested in the cruel prince universe and i couldn't think of another scenario. i love this type of narrative, i love fantasy and i love fae hyune. i'm super nervous about how this is going to reach the readers, so please please be kind 🤍

Hyunjin slides his vicious gaze over your skin, and a nymph behind you sighs. You squirm uncomfortably, barefoot on the smooth tiles leading to the throne room, expecting Seungmin to appear at any moment and drag you away. After all, the fae prince has taken a fancy to you, and while your best friend's mistake may translate into a night of inebriation and blurred dreams, for the moment everything that has happened has been quite real... and all too intoxicating.

You can taste the violence of the room even before the doors open before you, the floor covered in dry leaves and dirt, but nothing prepares you for the sight of a feeric feast at its peak.

The fairies intertwine their accelerated dances under the vault of tangled roots in the ceiling, slipping between the sweaty, half-naked bodies of others, flooding the room in a mélange of frosty velvety gowns and warm silk dresses, their long sleeves swirling around them. It is the aristocracy of the magical world, entwining crusts in their corsets and their sweet wine-soaked tongues in stolen kisses. There are giants devouring the delicacies prepared and displayed on the wide wooden tables that are no taller than the pale Doric columns that support the ceiling, and unruly nixes chasing each other among the crystal chandeliers that shed their light upon all the guests.

The thunderous rhythm of the nimble violins ceases at Hyunjin's presence, and you cower behind him as everyone turns to you. Looks of curiosity and disbelief turn into dark disdain as the guests notice how round your ears are at the tip, and you have to make an effort not to run away.

‘Don't scream,’ you whisper, and you don't see the way Hyunjin's lips tingle beneath an disguised smile. ‘Don't scream,’ you repeat, pleading, because if you start, you don't think you can stop.

The room is still deathly silent as the prince raises his hand, stretching his long fingers out in front of you, filled with silvery, intricate rings, and his ink-black pupils urge you to take it. You do not hesitate, knowing that magical beings take rejection as the worst offence, and you accept. His validation, his hospitality, his skin beneath yours. Your breath catches, the overwhelming scent of ripe fruit cloying your senses, his delicate fingertips caressing the palm of your hand, his nose brushing the back like the flutter of a shy butterfly.

You understand, the beating of your heart a roar comparable to that which devoted violinists tear from their strings once they continue to play, intertwined notes that sound too wrong and too right at the same time, that his intention is to dance with you. And you shudder, because you know you risk never ceasing.

More than once you have heard, from whispered comments and hasty warnings, that you should never trust a fairy. Their delectable delicacies make you lose your mind, their sweet words have the power to make you dance until you faint. They will convince you of the impossible, twisting the truth until you are unable to discern what is real and what is not. Hyunjin has not uttered a sound since he found you in the forest and swore he would never hurt you, and if you followed him it was because telling him no would have saddened him.

The prince did not have a face destined for sadness, though the tears sliding down his cheeks would have brought out his beauty.

You followed him and believed him, because fairies cannot lie, because deep down you wanted to, even if you knew you should not. And now you take his hand, disobeying Seungmin and everything he once taught you, resting your fingers on his palm, his thumb brushing your knuckles, and let him lead you to the centre of the room. He barely greets those fairies who try to steal his attention, his eyes fixed on you, and your chest warms with the pride of a swollen ego.

You may have been the centre of someone's attention before, but it doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't compare to the tingle that shivers across your skin when Hyunjin looks into your eyes. The blush that adorns your cheeks when he smiles at you, the sleeve of his dark suit coat brushing against your arm, the toxicity in his voice when he calls your name. The way your knees almost give way under your weight when his soft hand finds its place in the folds of your dress, which certainly seems too coy, its fabric doing nothing to conceal the way his palm digs its electrifying heat into your body.

It's addictive and absurd, the horrible satisfaction of being the only one the prince has allowed to be close, the only one who has accepted by his side, the only one who can slip your arms around his firm shoulders, feeling him shudder beside you. Knowing that you hold in your hands what so many want, for love and for war, for his blood and his power, and that it was him who chose you. Being mortal, being a faded petal next to the eternal beauty of the ones that surround you, knowing that so many hate you in that instant. It's dangerous, but you bask in the adrenaline that melts in your stomach.

Hyunjin presses you against his chest, leading the dance, and you let yourself go. You never bothered to listen when your mother insisted on teaching you to dance - after all, you were convinced you'd never need to, and you're not about to start learning now. It takes you a few moments to understand the order of the prince's steps, and then you simply follow them, as if it were as easy as breathing. You wonder if that ease, the way your head is clear and your feet light, is what it feels like to be enchanted.

But Hyunjin calls your name, and the thoughts vanish like dust in the air. You lift your chin, losing yourself in the depths of his dark almond-shaped eyes, and curve your lips in reverence. When the prince spoke, everyone fell silent. Seungmin had told you so. Your lips seal, and his heartbeat flutters beneath the palm of your hand, planted on his chest. You listen, you smile. You can afford to pretend to be one of them for the night.

“I want you to have an unforgettable night,” he pronounces, his voice chanting the sentence as the command that lies beneath every syllable, accustomed to living among servants.

“Yes, my prince,” you reply, your throat quivering, your gaze serene.

You are malleable in his presence, turning to clay under his touch. And he seems willing to stain his hands. His eyelashes stutter as you stand on your tiptoes, you see the way his Adam's apple quivers as he feels your breath collide against his parted lips, and before anyone can react, you kiss him.

It's brief, fleeting, barely a brush of your mouth on his. You don't have time to process the softness of his pillowy lips, or the way they linger on yours as you pull away. You open your eyes, and your breath catches as you see him smiling lazily, blushing up to his ears, as if he finds it amusing that you dared to make such a risky move, but irremediably wants more.

And that same breath you exhale against his lips as he returns his mouth to yours, burning, yearning, digging his fingers into your skin. He presses your body to his until you fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and you slide your hands up his shoulders, to the back of his neck, threading them through the strands of his silky hair. You sigh, frowning in delight as he parts your lips with his wet tongue, and your head spins, drunk on him.

You stand in the middle of the room, losing yourself in each other as the fairies dance around you, but you can only focus on Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin... You can't help but tug at his hair as you feel him breathing heavily against your skin, sliding his mouth down your jaw to your throat, leaving open, slow, sensual kisses, following the quickening rhythm of your heart to your collarbone. Your mind is clouded by his lips, and you gasp as he bites your shoulder.

Seungmin once warned you to wear his berry amulet around your neck at all times, some kind of twisted repellent. You can remember the tenderness blushing his face as he spoke each word, the worry shining in his brown eyes, in case something happened to you and he wasn't there to protect you. But you've forgotten why. You only see the prince, his warm breath on your skin, his hands clinging into you, and the juice of the blackberries sliding down his sharp chin as he bites into your necklace.

You know someone had once said something, but it doesn't matter anymore. Only Hyunjin, his toxic lips, and the sweet berry liquor you lick from his mouth until you can only taste him.

ㅤㅤ© stayconnecteed 2024 ★ do not copy, translate, repost or share this work as yours on other platforms ! consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

[marble-anime]

Consume

Pairing: Ken Kaneki x Reader, mentions of Ayato Kirishima and Tatara x Reader

Summary: After being captured by the Aogiri Tree, Kaneki learns just how cruel ghouls can be. When whispers of what the higher ups kept you around for reach his ears, he offers you a moment of release in an attempt to ease your pain.

Disclaimer: Minors DNI, This follows the plot in the manga

Warnings: mentions of violence, slavery, use of aphrodisiacs, implied noncon, dubcon, unprotected sex, gentle sex, creampie, emotions

Word Count: 2.6k

Kaneki fought the urge to tear his eyes away from the ungodly sight of his blood-soaked hands tangled in a fresh corpse’s organs. He should’ve expected something like this when members of the Aogiri Tree broke into Anteiku and beat him to a pulp. But even after he’d been captured, he was still naive enough to think that he’d be able to find some type of common ground with them. Or at least be given a little mercy, considering one of his captures was none other than his best friend's brother.

It was all just wishful thinking. Touka’s brother was just as deranged as every other Aogiri member despite the fact that he considered himself to be ‘soft’ in comparison. Of course, Kaneki knew that whatever they had planned for him wouldn’t be pleasant, but he didn’t think it would be this bad. Grime built under his nails as he tore apart flesh and muscle, staining his own skin burgundy in the process. The unfortunate victim’s insides turning to sludge between his fingers with the slightest squeeze.

He felt like he was going to vomit. Although the horribly gory sight was enough to make anyone faint, the worst part was the hunger stirring inside him. He’d spent so much time starving himself, trying not to feast on human flesh, that the smell was almost inviting. He clutched onto his morals tightly, the endless string of bodies that he and his fellow captives were expected to pick apart did a good job of reminding him that this was no blessing in disguise but instead the worst imaginable torture for a prisoner of the Aogiri Tree. Unbeknownst to him, the worst was yet to come.

He pulled his gaze away to stop his head from spinning and caught a glimpse of you outside the doorway. You were following closely behind Ayato. Just the sight of you filled him with an immense amount of pity as he recalled his previous conversation with Banjou. When the anti-Aogiri group welcomed him with open arms, Banjou had filled him in on what they knew about each of the higher ups and their schedules. They were planning an escape and Kaneki was in on it from the moment they revealed their strategy.

But you had plagued his mind. You often brought him food just as you did for the other prisoners. A tiny slab of meat was all the Aogiri would allow each of them, it was just enough to keep them alive. You had always been kind to him but it was obvious to anyone that you were miserable. You never spoke unless you were spoken to and even then it seemed as if you were devoid of any personality. There were dark bags under your eyes and you were always shaking, Kaneki couldn’t tell if it was from the weather or malnourishment. Honestly, it might’ve been both. Even in the winter, all you wore was a thin night dress that stopped not even halfway down your thighs. And he doubted that you were being fed any more than the other captives.

He brought you up during one of the meetings thinking that you’d love nothing more than to escape. He hadn’t even known your name at the time but the others knew exactly who he was talking about. Even though he’d truly had the best intentions in mind, the grim expressions on his fellow prisoners’ faces made him think that he’d said something wrong. Banjou told him that even if you did want to escape, it would be almost impossible.

And from there on he explained everything. Your name was Y/N and the reason it would cause so much trouble to try and include you in their escape was because you were nearly always being watched by one of the higher ups. Kaneki remembered Banjou’s exact words, “When Ayato caught Tatara’s eye he was reluctant to join the Aogiri and the chaos he caused among the wards was too much for Tatara to contain so he offered up Y/N as a welcoming gift. He uses her as a pawn to keep Ayato in check.” The implications of what role you played in this organization made his stomach drop, his worries were only confirmed when Banjou added, “They give her regular aphrodisiacs so she can’t resist him. It’s sick.”

Allegedly, you were originally Tatara’s personal plaything before he’d given you to Ayato. Rumors said that even now whenever Ayato left the Aogiri’s base, Tatara would take the time to relieve the needs that the drugs caused you. If anyone was caught gossiping about your connection to Tatara, they would be killed faster than they could even say your name, which confirmed two things. One, that the rumors were more than likely true. And two, that Ayato probably had no idea.

Kaneki sat on the floor by himself as he waited for you to bring him his rations for the day. The manual labor from earlier that day left his arms sore and his stomach hollow. Your footsteps echoed down the hall until you entered the empty room to find Kaneki sitting with his back against the wall. You kneeled beside him and handed him the small chunk of meat wrapped in a cloth.

When he unwrapped his food he felt sick to his stomach. Flashes of how he’d been forced to tear apart lifeless bodies plagued his brain as he wondered which one of the corpses the meat belonged to. For all he knew it could’ve been from one of the bodies that he stripped down to the bone. No matter how hungry he was he couldn’t bring himself to eat something that came from an innocent civilian that was murdered in cold blood.

He looked at you as you were still kneeling beside him. He took in your appearance, your whole body was quivering, your hands were planted on the ground with your thighs tightly pressing themselves together around your forearms, shaky breaths escaped your lips and your pupils were blown wide. You were clearly under the influence of the aphrodisiac but you seemed worse than he had ever seen you before.

Today had been Ayato’s day to leave the stronghold but he was almost sure that the rumors of Tatara having you in Ayato’s absence were true. Perhaps Tatara was too busy to pay you any mind or maybe he was simply denying your needs as a punishment. The thought sent shivers down Kaneki’s spine. What they were doing to you was cruel, scratch that, it was so much worse than cruel. Out of all the prisoners of the Aogiri Tree, you were the one who was suffering the most. They were pumping you full of drugs so they could bend you to their will but when you were left with desires that weren’t even your own to begin with, they didn’t feel like they owed you any type of relief.

He held the meat out to you as he offered, “You can have it if you’re hungry.”

You frantically shook your head and pushed it back toward him, looking almost fearful. He set it on the ground and reached a hand out once again. This time he tucked your hair behind your ear, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb, trying to offer you some type of comfort. You closed your eyes and nuzzled into his hand. The words had stumbled out of his mouth before he had the chance to actually think about what he was saying, “I can help you.”

Your eyes quickly reopened, you were probably shocked by his offer. You stared at him as you thought about what he said. Your unsure gaze was making Kaneki believe that he’d crossed the line. But before he could apologize you leaned in close and softly pressed your lips against his. The kiss was as light as a feather as if the both of you were hesitant and timid.

You pulled away first and laid on your back, flinching at the feeling of the cold floor below you. The end of your nightgown pooled at your waist as you spread your legs, exposing your soaked panties. Kaneki blushed at the sight before he noticed you shivering. He pulled off his shirt and laid it over top of you, it wasn’t much but at least it was something. You were unfamiliar with being shown this kind of genuine consideration but you welcomed it nonetheless, tucking your arms under the shirt and pulling it up to your chin in an attempt to keep yourself warm.

He hooked his fingers along the sides of your panties and pulled them down your legs, your slick sticking to the fabric. You watched as he unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out. To your surprise, he was still soft. Usually, your partners, if you could even call them that, were always painfully hard and raring to go. He pumped his cock until he was fully erect and climbed on top of you. He balanced himself on his forearm, his face now inches away from yours. You could tell that he wasn’t sure what to do next so you reached between your bodies and grasped his cock, lining it up with your entrance.

He hesitated, “Are you sure?”

The look of concern on his face made your stomach flutter accompanied by a pleasant feeling you’d long forgotten since being dragged into the Aogiri. You nodded and he pushed into you carefully, although he wasn’t experienced himself he at least knew that the woman usually needed a moment to adjust. What he didn’t know was that with your day-to-day activities, the pain upon entry no longer bothered you. He filled you up perfectly. Your pussy clenched around him as you finally spoke to him for the first time that night, “You can move now.”

However, Kaneki kept his hips still as he was buried balls deep inside you. His cock felt so snug inside you, he had to resist the urge to cum right then. This was supposed to be all about helping you but he hadn’t expected it to feel so good. When he began thrusting into you, he took his time to ensure that he wouldn’t finish before he was able to relieve you. He hid his face in your neck, guilt consuming him for enjoying this so much. Banjou’s words echoed in his head, ‘It’s sick’. He knew it was fucking sick but he couldn’t help it. The overwhelming pleasure he felt rutting into you caused his mind to construe his own good intentions as being aligned with that of the perverted Aogiri that had taken advantage of you. When he let out a strangled moan you ran your fingers through his hair, sweetly shushing him to keep you two from being caught.

Goosebumps littered Kaneki’s arms from the cold air but between the friction of your bodies and Kaneki’s baggy shirt, you were nice and warm. Ironically, you felt more comfortable being fucked by a stranger on the cold floor than you had in either of your captor's beds. He was so much more gentle and caring than Ayato and Tatara had been. The only sound in the room was the quiet whimpers and hushed pants shared between the two of you.

Suddenly, it felt as if you were having some kind of out of body experience. You saw yourself laying on the ground with Kaneki on top of you, his hips moving in a slow broken rhythm. Your face was clouded with pleasure, you wondered if you always wore that fucked out expression when you had sex. You doubted it. Especially since half the time your face was being shoved into the pillow and the other half your features were scrunched up in pain. The soft stroke of Kaneki’s cock against your walls was such a nice change from the rough pounding you were usually given.

Watching him pleasure you with care and kindness left you mesmerized. This was what it was like to truly enjoy intimacy with another person. To relish in every touch, squeeze, thrust, kiss, and stroke. It wasn’t just meaningless sex to reach your orgasm, you were honestly loving every minute of this. You wouldn’t mind it if this was what you did every day. As you watched Kaneki tend to your needs you wondered if you’d ever be able to do this again, to decide what you wanted to do with your body and when you wanted to do it. You wondered if you’d ever be free.

You were brought back into your own body as a wave of euphoria crashed into you, leaving your body quivering just as it had before but this time in release rather than need. Your shaky legs wrapped around Kaneki’s waist, trapping his hips against you. He picked up on what your reaction meant and finally let himself go, your pussy milked his cock dry of all his warm cum.

As Kaneki tried to catch his breath, you held his shirt out to him, “Thank you.”

From then on whenever you brought Kaneki his rations for the day, he would tell you about the escape plan he and the others had. And when he met with the anti-Aogiri group he’d relay any messages you had for them. You had been able to open up to him and he felt responsible for your wellbeing. It was only a matter of time before you two would be able to escape, he’d take you back to Anteiku where you would make friends and be protected. If only the escape had gone down the way you’d all hoped

It started out pretty smoothly, you had been able to make it out of the stronghold with the anti-Aogiri. What no one had expected was the Bin brothers’ ambush. You should’ve seen it coming. Tatara was able to read you like a book, of course, he would suspect something was up when he began to see a glimmer of hope in your eyes. You were thrown into a cell with the rest of the escapees, except for Kaneki who’d been taken by Yamori.

Although your suffering was at the hands of Ayato and Tatara, you knew that whatever would happen to Kaneki would be far worse than anything any of you had experienced. It didn’t take a genius to know that Yamori was a sadist. He’d put Kaneki through the worst kind of torture imaginable and there was a pretty big chance that he’d die in the process. Your stomach turned and you were riddled with guilt. He’d been so kind to you, you should’ve just left him be. Maybe then he wouldn’t be in this position.

Suddenly, the cell wall was kicked in. Through the smoke, all you could see was the outline of a person with white hair. Tatara. You curled up in a ball and tears ran down your cheeks, he was surely here to punish you. When the smoke cleared you were met with the sight of the last person you expected. It was Kaneki, not Tatara. His hair was white instead of black. Your heart dropped at the overly cheerful expression on his face as he greeted you all.

“How-?” you began.

Your words were cut off when he wrapped his arms around you. “It’s okay.” Fear coursed through you as his hold tightened. His sense of responsibility for you twisting and contorting into something sinister. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

Of course. You’d been able to escape the arms of your captors and were thrust into the arms of a newfound monster that they’d created. There really was no escape from the Aogiri.

[seravphs]

beating hearts promised to bared teeth — part one: “The God Finds A Familiar” 

KITSUNE! GOJO x GOD! FEM READER; KAMISAMA HAJIMEMASHITA AU

When a kind stranger offers you his home because your gambling addict of a father can’t pay rent, you’re left in charge of a shrine - with a catch. Once you arrive at your new home, you learn a crucial fact that he conveniently left out. You’re the new god in charge, and his familiar, who now belongs to you, does not like you. What’s a new god to do, especially when she finds herself slowly falling for the fox spirit?

wc — 10k

tags — enemies to lovers, shoujo manga heroine type reader, Japanese mythology/yokai, age gap (1000 year old fox and high school girl), slowburn, cameo from Sukuna, Toji, and Nanami, cameo from original Kamisama Hajimemashita cast

part two — “The God Finds A Husband” (coming soon)

shoujo series masterlist

If your stomach growls any louder, you’ll scare off the squirrels fighting over the end of a baguette loaf by the park bench you’re sitting on. 

You’re currently in the middle of what others might describe as very hard times. To be honest, your very hard times have been going on for a while now - they just culminated at this specific moment. Regardless, these days are only temporary. You’ve promised yourself that one day, you’ll be able to smile from the bottom of your heart. 

It’s just that it was easier said than done when you weren’t homeless. Your father has never been the most reliable of men. You had to take over the household finances by the time you were eight, so you’ve always been accustomed to his lack of responsibility, but today really solidified his status in your mind as an absolutely useless, no good man. It’s unfathomable cruelty to have left his only daughter with no money, no relatives, and no home. 

You don’t want to call it cruel. For all of his faults, you still love your father. And it’s because you love him that you know this wasn’t a cruel act. Cruelty is intentional. It’s malicious. It comes from a desire to hurt. Your father has never wanted to hurt you. It’s just a byproduct of his gambling addiction. You’re collateral damage in his quest for the jackpot that would solve all his problems. 

You double over in agony at the renewed complaints from your stomach. At least you’ve gone from scaring mere squirrels to scaring passersby. That’s an upgrade, right? 

One woman clutches her purse closer as she walks past you as briskly as possible. You get it, you look bad. 

But there’s no use being resentful. Your father has been barely one step above a deadbeat all your life. At the very least, you’re used to fending for yourself. Your stomach growls again, but you’re determined to ignore it. You need a plan of action. One step after another, you’ll make it out of these troublesome times. 

Before you can start to plot, a loud cry for help catches your attention. It sounds like someone else is in even more dire straits than you are, which is saying a lot. 

The squirrels have long since scattered, run off not by the scary noises coming from your famished stomach, but a pack of dogs. Somehow, a man has climbed several feet into the tree next to the trash can, and now perched precariously in its branches. Below him, curious dogs tilt their heads and give cautious barks. 

“Aw, hello there, cuties,” you coo, rubbing behind their ears. They yip at you enthusiastically. One sets to chasing his own tail around the tree. They seem friendly enough, but you suppose one can’t help their phobias. A little regretfully, you chase them off. 

“Go on now,” you tell the last one, leading him away. He whines, but does as you say. What a good boy. 

“Thank you,” says the stranger stranded in the tree. He slides down the trunk, face slowly regaining color. “I owe you my life.” 

“It was nothing!” You smile, but he won’t let you brush off your good deed. 

“You’re a good kid,” he nods approvingly. “Gotta reward that. Is there anything you want?” 

A home. 

Not just the house you shared with your father, but somewhere warm to return to. A person who waits to see you safely inside the threshold. 

But you know a stranger can’t give you that, so you shake your head and smile. “Really, it was nothing. You don’t owe me anything.” 

As if he had heard your inner monologue, the stranger raises an eyebrow. “A home, hm? I might be able to help with that.” 

Before you can react, he leans in and kisses your forehead. Where his lips touched your skin feels faintly warm and tingly, almost like the sensation of your leg going numb, before you recoil from him in shock. 

He presses a map into your hand and tells you, “Go to this address. Tell them Yaga sent you, and you’ll be welcomed with open arms.” 

With that, he runs off. 

What a strange man. 

Well, you’ve had a strange life, taking care of your hopeless father and all. Perhaps these things really did happen. It wasn’t so impossible for strangers to appear out of nowhere and reward you for good deeds. Maybe all the fairytales your father had read to you back when he hadn’t been so terrible were true. 

Or maybe that was the wishful thinking of an optimistically delusional girl who needed somewhere to stay desperately.

The address is located on the outskirts of town. Pushing deeper into foliage and closer to forest than civilization, you find the location you had been sent to. 

It’s a shrine. 

A run-down shrine, of all places. 

Are you on a comedy show? Should you start checking for cameras? 

Against your will, you feel your eyes grow hot. That was a cruel trick to play. He had gotten your hopes up for nothing. 

It’s not just your eyes. Your entire body starts to feel warm. The world around you erupts into blue flame. Heat licks at your shins as you scramble towards safety, closer to the center of the circle that has formed around you. 

When the flames suddenly leap, as if they’ll consume the entire sky, you scream and drop to your knees, covering your head like it’s a bomb threat. Two childish voices ring in your head, as clear and crisp as bells. 

Welcome home, Yaga-sama. 

It’s a shrine. There’s only one logical conclusion. 

This is a haunting. 

There’s only one safe path out of the ring of fire, and it’s towards the building you’ve now concluded is the site of paranormal activity. Between being actively burned alive or facing spirits though, you know which one you’ll choose. 

Your frantic fingers fumble over the latch on the shrine’s red doors as the fire inches closer and closer until you can feel its heat on your back. Finally, you throw open the doors and all but launch yourself inside. The heat recedes, but the voices do not. 

“Back already, Yaga?” A male voice drawls. “I thought your pilgrimage would’ve taken longer. After leaving me to maintain the shrine by myself for sixty years -“

You shriek as an enormous, clawed hand comes down towards your face. Your eyes squeeze shut, waiting for the end. 

“I’m not Yaga,” you wail, hoping it will save you. 

“You have a lot of nerve?” The voice finishes, more uncertainly than before. When you deem it safe to open your eyes once more, what stands before is a young man dressed in all white. White hair and blue eyes make for a staring constraint, but his coloring isn’t what’s strange about him. 

It’s his clawed hands and the equally white fox tail behind him. 

“Megumi, Tsumiki,” he says authoritatively. “This isn’t Yaga.” 

A shining ball of fire comes forward, speaking in the little girl’s voice you heard earlier. “That can’t be right! Look, she has the mark of the god on her forehead.” 

You touch your forehead, remembering the warm tingly sensation you had felt when that man kissed you. Feeling slightly delirious, you start to laugh, only to grow alarmed when you find you can’t stop. You’re growing out of breath from your near hysterical laughing, tears streaming out of the corners of your eyes. 

“Oh, great,” says the fox spirit. “She’s crazy.” 

“She’s the one with the mark,” the other ball of fire, Megumi, says. “That means she’s the god whether you like it or not, Gojo.” 

Tsumiki darts over to you, but halfway through her journey, she goes from fire to a little child just under 2 feet tall. She’s wearing a mask and plain blue yukata. 

“We have to celebrate!” She claps her hands together in excitement. “Our god has finally returned!”

Gojo looks dismissively down on you. Your laughing fit is finally starting to die down, but he doesn’t seem impressed regardless. “What god? I won’t accept a little human girl as my master. She couldn’t handle the strength of a familiar like me.”  

His condescension only makes you giggle harder. You can’t help it. Something about the fluffy fox ears protruding out of his head makes it hard to take him seriously. 

“What strength?” You laugh in his face. “This shrine is so dilapidated, I doubt you’re anything special.” 

Gojo looks away. “If she stays, I’m leaving. I won’t serve this kind of pathetic god.”

He disappears in a cloud of white smoke before Tsumiki can finish saying, “Don’t be like that!”

The will-o-wisp children introduce themselves to you as shrine spirits who look after the building. It takes a while, but by the time they kindly show you to the room where you’ll be staying, you can distinguish Tsumiki from Megumi by the differences in the masks they never take off. 

Your room is simple and threadbare. The walls are paneled bamboo and the only furnishing is an old futon. Still, you’re grateful. It’s leagues better than sleeping in the woods, which is what you started this day fearing you would have to resort to. You’ve never been the type to complain, and you won’t start now, no matter how strange your life has gotten. 

Fox spirits and will-o-wisp children don’t exist. They’re the stuff of myths. Maybe you’re just seeing things because you’re tired, you muse as you drift off to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning after a nice, long rest. The events of today will feel so far away, and you’ll be able to start over. 

Or maybe you’re dead already, and you’re wandering in the Netherworld. Perhaps the reason you can see spirits is because you’re currently residing in their land. Your entire body seizes up as you jolt yourself back to wakefulness. 

“Kamisama,” Tsumiki has crept back into your room. “Are you alright?” 

You tell her to call you by her name. Calling you god just doesn’t feel right. 

Gently, she nestles down by your pillow and puts her cold little hands on your forehead. Rather than shocking to your senses, it feels pleasant. When you were a little girl and got sick, your father used to let you stay home from school. He’d pack a towel with ice cubes and place it on your overheated forehead, staying up with you all night just to chat. It’s a good memory. 

“It’ll be alright,” Tsumiki tells you in her gentle voice. “You’ll see.” 

For spirits that supposedly take care of the shrine, you have a suspicion that Tsumiki and Megumi are pushing their work onto you when they brief you on your chores the next morning. It turns out godhood is a lot less summoning storms and a lot more doing yard work. 

Tsumiki insists that keeping the shrine pure is important for keeping evil spirits away. For some reason, that means cleaning. When you ask about calling lightning or summoning lions, Megumi laughs at you. 

“That’s Getou-sama’s job,” he says. “Your specialty is marriage. Yaga was very good at tying peoples’ fates together. You will be, too.”

He has more faith than you do in that regard. When it comes to chores, however, you’re more certain of your abilities. Busy work keeps the absurdity of your situation from sinking in, and you’re good at running the household from years of dealing with your father. You’re grateful for something to do. If you think about the past day too hard, you might break down into shocked laughter and never get back up. 

Besides, even if you don’t feel particularly ready to be a god, Tsumiki and Megumi are letting you stay in the shrine. You have to earn your keep. Soon, you settle into the process of cleaning, letting the methodical, rhythmic nature of your movements erase any doubts in your mind. You think of nothing but the cooling sensation of the water when you dip your rag into the bucket and the clean, woody scent of the shrine as you scrub the wood. 

“Ooh,” Tsumiki says approvingly when she appears. “It looks better already! Can you do the lawn next?” 

Plucking weeds is notably less soothing than cleaning. With no gloves, you’re careful to avoid hurting yourself as you tug on spiky vines and knotted twigs, but it’s no use. Eventually, you lose focus and a sharp sting graces your finger. Blood drips down your hand. You hiss in pain. 

A hand with white claws instead of nails grabs your wrist. You yelp in shock as Gojo brings your finger to his mouth and laps at the blood. It stains his lips slightly red. He worries at the cut with his tongue, making your wound ache. You try to pull back, but he holds on. 

To your amazement, the cut closes before your eyes. You’re just about to thank him when he ruins the moment. 

“You really are useless,” he says. “You can’t even pluck grass?”

You yank your hand out of his grip as hard as you can, sending yourself tumbling back against the grass. You hate how it must make yourself seem even more human in his eyes, a weak, fragile thing. 

“Give up,” he says, and it’s almost gentle, the way his claws graze your chin as he holds your face in one hand. “You’re not suited to be a god.” 

You turn away, unwilling to let him see any more of your vulnerability. “You don’t know anything about me.” 

“Suit yourself,” he says with a noise of annoyance. “Brats who run away from home aren’t my problem.” 

“I didn’t run away!” You snap, whirling on him. “My dad was the one who ran! I don’t have anywhere else to go!” 

But he’s gone.

At least Megumi and Tsumiki are nice to you. Megumi takes the bucket of weeds you deposit at the front door and whisks it somewhere out of your sight, while Tsumiki prepares a nice, hot bath for you. Exhausted, you collapse onto the bamboo floor spread eagle. 

God, a voice murmurs in your head.

Not again. You don’t want any more spirits to deal with. When you raise your head, instead of another yokai, there’s an old woman standing in front of the shrine. Her head is bowed and her hands are clasped in prayer. 

Please bless my daughter’s marriage so that she will enjoy a long and fruitful life with her partner. 

Her voice is coming from some place inside your head. It resonates like a bell, ringing crisp and clear. You stretch out your hands wonderingly. You don’t look any different. 

“You see?” Tsumiki says approvingly. “You’re a god.”’ 

But you don’t feel like one. You feel just like a normal person. 

“A god needs a familiar.” You can’t see Megumi’s face behind his mask as he speaks, but you can imagine the solemn little boy he must be. “You need to bind Gojo to you.”

“How do I do that?” 

“You have to kiss him.” 

You wait for them to tell you they’re joking. 

“What? I can’t kiss him! Is there-” 

Megumi cuts in. “It’s just the traditional way to seal the contract. Don’t think too much of it.” 

The fact that neither of them are bothered makes you feel like the ridiculous one for being off put by this, but you’re sure you’re not. Still, if you’re a god now, you have to put all of your mortal sensibilities aside. It’s like another culture, you tell yourself. Like how Europeans kiss each other on the cheek to say hello. Even if you can’t convince yourself, Megumi and Tsumiki are insistent. 

You were so fired up just a second ago, but now your head is filled with doubts. If such a simple matter can sway you, are you really meant to be a god after all? Maybe Gojo is right. Maybe you should just leave. 

“Please,” Tsumiki says. She looks distraught. “Don’t abandon us. Please don’t leave.” 

Megumi doesn’t say anything, but his silence is enough. 

“Okay,” you say, feeling defeated. “I’ll give it a shot.” 

You’ve always been good at chores. If taming Gojo is just another part of your new job, it sounds like it's time to get serious. 

“Take me to him.” 

Megumi and Tsumiki balk. 

“Right now?”

“Why not? The sooner I get it over with, the better, right?”

“He’s...indisposed at the moment,” Tsumiki says carefully. 

“Indisposed? Is he sick?” 

“Not quite,” Megumi says. He’s very expressive for a spirit. You can practically imagine him grimacing. 

“Then it’s fine!” 

You would soon come to regret your words. 

Megumi and Tsumiki lead you out of the shrine. They show you where to find the path that can lead you to the land of spirits and demons. Your entire body rebels at the feeling of being in this other world, but at the same time, you feel at home here. The god and the girl that coexist inside of you are mutually repelled by and attracted to this place. 

Even though you know Megumi and Tsumiki aren’t really children, or at least children in the way mortals think of them, you’re still concerned about letting them traipse around this dangerous place. However, they seem more used to this world than you are. That energy is better devoted to fending for yourself. 

They lead you under bridges where the running water smells like flowers and women’s voices hiss in the babble of the current. Tree leaves rustle with hands that disappear into darkness. You follow them through dark alleyways lined with red paper blessings, and doorsteps encircled with salt. Eyes follow you, leaving your skin crawling. 

You’re so focused on keeping your head down and staying out of danger that you almost don’t notice when they stop. You nearly run Megumi over. 

“He’s inside here,” Tsumiki says. 

Is it just you, or does she seem nervous? 

The lanterns inside this establishment are turned down to a dimness that barely illuminates the corridors. Sweet smelling smoke writhes around your feet from some unknown source as you head deeper and deeper into the maze of hallways, following the pair of shrine spirits. You pass women wearing fox masks, dressed in luxurious kimonos. Their hair towers over their head in elaborate updos, held in place with beautiful pins inlaid with chartreuse and gold. 

Megumi stops before a folding screen door. Like all things within this building, it’s beautiful. The silk screen is painted with images of flowers and more gruesome scenes as well, but somehow, it’s still breath-taking. A little like Gojo, in that regard. 

You hear the voices of women behind the screen, flattering Gojo. The light of a single candle illuminates the dim room, imprinting his silhouette against it, as well as that of the two women with him. They’re draped over him, hands roaming his body as they purr their compliments. Your face burns with embarrassment. 

“What are you doing?” Megumi demands of Gojo. “How can you parade around the red-light district like this? You’re the familiar of a god, not some common demon! If Yaga knew, it’d break his poor heart.” 

Behind the screen, Gojo merely brushes him off. “Yaga’s been replaced by some little human worm. Why should I care what he thinks now?”

“What about the shrine? Don’t you care about that, at least?” Tsumiki's voice is thick with reproach. 

“Now that you mention it, I don’t think I do,” he says. “Ha! You know what? Maybe I should thank that girl. Now that I’m free, I can do whatever I want.” 

“Gojo-“ 

“I’ll can indulge in every little vice Yaga never allowed me to touch before. Who would want to be a familiar when I can have all of this?” 

“Gojo, our god is here.” 

“What?” 

He leaps up and pushes the screen aside, coming face to face with you. He looks startled to see you, though you don’t see why he should care, since he so desires to lead a life of sin. 

You look upon him with disgust. You might want a familiar, but you’re not so desperate you’d stoop as low as this. Gojo cares so little for anyone but himself. If you’re going to be a god, you’re going to do it right. You’ll pick a good familiar, one who will genuinely love the shrine as much as it deserves. 

You turn and leave as he, half-clothed, frantically starts pulling on the outer layers of his kimono. 

“Wait,” he calls after you. “Tsumiki! Megumi! Why would you bring her here?”

“She wanted to see you,” Megumi retorts. 

“This isn’t the place for a human,” he says. “She’s going to get eaten!” 

The faster Gojo follows you, the faster you run from him. By the time you’re out of what you’ve come to realize is a brothel, you’re sprinting. Your legs carry you right into someone else as your face slams against a broad, muscled chest. 

“Oh,” says a voice above your head. “How pretty.” 

A hand caresses your face. This spirit has tattoo marks across his face and body. More interestingly, he has multiple arms. 

You’re frozen in place by fear as he brings his mouth closer and closer to your face. He’s close enough to kiss, but this is a spirit, which means he’s more likely to eat you. 

“Be good for me now,” he purrs in your ear. “Fear makes flesh all the sweeter.” 

Three of his six arms are consumed by fire. He pushes you away from him in favor of batting out the flame. 

Gojo pulls you towards him, hiding you in the folds of his billowing kimono. You press your face against his shoulder, swallowing back the tears of fear from nearly being eaten. Somehow, he feels safe, even though he’s been nothing but antagonistic towards you. He feels almost protective as he shields your body with his, securing you under one arm. 

“Scram,” he tells the other demon. “She’s mine, Sukuna.” 

Sukuna rolls his pairs of eyes. “You weren’t with her when I caught her. She’s fair game.” 

Fox fire flickers in Gojo’s hand. His white talons seem to elongate before your eyes. 

“If you want to fight over her, then by all means,” he says with a dangerous smile. “But we both know I’d win.” 

“Maybe later then,” Sukuna says, lazily as if Gojo isn’t threatening him. “Once I’ve eaten my fill.” 

He stalks off into the night in search of more prey. 

“This is why I told you to wait,” Gojo says, running his hand over his face. “You’re practically bait in this world. Come on, I’ll take you home.” 

You nod, not trusting your voice, but he catches on anyways. 

“Don’t cry,” he says, his face twisted in a grimace. “I won’t know what to do if you cry. Look, this is just your life now, okay? You’ll have to get used to it.” 

On impulse, you press your face into his shoulder again, still sniffling. You want to be comforted, even though you know he won’t give it to you. 

“Ugh,” he says, true to form. “Quit that.” 

By the time you’ve calmed down, Gojo has already escorted you back to the shrine. 

“Don’t come back,” he tells you. 

Of course, you can’t listen to him. On your second night in the land of the dead and monsters, not only do you have to hide from beasts who would devour you the moment they found out what you were, you also have to hide from Gojo. You’re wearing a disguise, courtesy of Tsumiki and Megumi. 

In your defense, it’s not like you want to be here. You need a familiar, and it’s clearly not going to be Gojo. 

According to Tsumiki, Gojo’s the strongest, but there are other familiars who would be willing to serve you. They’re all in the Netherworld, however, and you have to find them before you can contract them. 

You pull the curtain of the hat shielding your face a little closer around you as you peer at the faces surrounding you, trying to gauge who looks friendly. None of them do. You’ve been wandering around for hours, but not a single spirit has stood out to you. 

In the end, you don’t find him. He finds you. 

“A human god?” A hand grasps your wrist loosely. “That’s rare. Don’t you know it’s dangerous to be here?” 

The man in front of you looks normal by any standards - but you know better than to trust your gut in the netherworld. Still, he’s the closest thing to a human you’ve seen in a while. Surrounded by a maelstrom of monsters, he feels like the eye of the storm. There’s a quiet and a calm surrounding him, even as you walk among noderabo with withered, leathery skin and scaly yajo. 

It’s not like he’s in his own little pocket of the world, you realize. He is. Everyone is purposefully giving him a wide berth. 

“Who are you?”  

“I asked first,” he says. 

“You know who I am! You just said so - I’m the human god.” 

His eyes rake over you. “So you are. But what are you doing here, girl?” 

You throw his words back in his face obstinately. “You first.”

“I’m Toji.” That doesn’t tell you anything, but he’s clearly unwilling to divulge more. “Your turn.”

“I’m looking for a familiar.” 

“What about your familiar? I heard that Gojo-sama isn’t keen on sharing.” 

Somehow, the way he says Gojo-sama sounds derisive, even with the respectful honorific. 

“He doesn’t want to be my familiar.” 

The rejection stings coming out of your own mouth. 

“Sounds like him. Haughty bastard, he couldn’t stand to serve a human girl, could he?” 

“Yeah! He’s an asshole,” you say, feeling validated. 

When Toji laughs, the scar over his lip tugs one side of his mouth down. You kind of like it. And he must be strong, just looking at him. He’s well muscled and covered in scars. Of course, there’s the little matter of the reverence everyone around you is offering him. Tsumiki and Megumi had told you to just go out and find one. Could it be that easy?

“Are you interested?” 

He gives you a look of barely concealed amusement. “You’re funny, girl. I don’t think Gojo would like that very much, though.” 

“I don’t care what Gojo thinks.” 

“Oh, here he comes now. Don’t go running too far - you’ll worry him,” he says, slow and easy. His confidence is absurd - it reminds you of Gojo, actually. He must be strong. “If you’re really serious about wanting me as a familiar, why don’t you meet me here again in three days?”

“What are you doing?” Gojo snarls at you. His teeth match the rest of his fox physique. With wonder, you realize that his pearly canines are pointed beyond what’s normal. “I told you not to come back!” 

“But- He-” You turn around to point Toji out, but he’s gone. 

“Who?” Gojo says. 

“He was right there!” 

“You’re so annoying,” Gojo bites out. “I don’t care what happens to you, but if you die, Megumi and Tsumiki will cry, so stop wandering off on your own. You’re lucky you didn’t get devoured on the spot.” 

He’s starting to get really irritating. You shove his hands off. 

“You know it’s actually your fault I’m here, right? If you didn’t reject me, I wouldn’t have to scour the Netherworld for a familiar.” 

Gojo scoffs. “My fault? Maybe you should take a look at yourself. If you were less weak, I wouldn’t have a problem serving you!” 

“That’s- You’re impossible!” You splutter. “I can’t help being weak! I was born this way! Not everyone is so lucky to be born a kitsune, oh-so-great-Gojo-sama.” 

“Enough,” he sighs. Taking you by your wrist, he forcibly drags you through the streets back in the direction you came. 

“Ow! You’re hurting me!” 

“Gojo!” Megumi’s reproving voice breaks the argument up before it can begin again. 

He lets go of you almost guiltily, if you thought he could feel guilt. 

“I’ll take her home,” Megumi says. 

Gojo’s tail lashes behind him angrily, but Megumi doesn’t spare him a second glance as he ushers you away. 

“Thank you,” you tell him in relief. “What are you doing here?” 

“You were taking a long time,” he says. “Tsumiki and I were getting worried. Did you find anyone?” 

You think of Toji. “No,” you say. “No one.” 

The next day, while Megumi and Tsumiki dress you for your trip through the Netherworld again, Megumi presses three slips of white paper into your hands. 

“We should’ve taught you this sooner,” he says. “One of the powers of a god is to transform objects. Whatever you write on this charm will become true - within the scope of your power. Be safe.”  

Armed with your paper slips, you feel like a real god. Tsumiki pushes you out the door with a prayer for good luck, though you’re not sure you can grant prayers to yourself for yourself.

Outside the door, something whines by your feet.

“Gojo?” 

Or is that a regular white fox? 

It snaps its teeth at you. 

Definitely Gojo.

“I don’t need an escort,” you tell him, making shooing motions at him with your hands. “Go away!” 

He rolls over and yips at you, his tail wagging. 

“I can’t understand you like this!” 

“I said,” a cloud of smoke reveals him, mostly humanoid once again, except for his ears and tail. “I don’t want to do this either. It’s for Megumi and Tsumiki.” 

Toji doesn’t seem to like him, so you don’t want to risk bringing him with you. Despite your best attempts to shake him, Gojo follows you as you retrace your steps back into the spirit world. You’re just starting to despair when you spot a bigger reason to be upset. 

“Hello, delicious,” Sukuna says. “Ready for round two?” 

Why does he look even more terrifying? Did he get bigger? 

“Leave her alone,” Gojo says, almost bored. “It’s pathetic. You can only bully things weaker than you, huh?” 

“I’m not afraid to fight you,” Sukuna tells him. 

You’re panicking. They both look serious. You don’t want to be caught between these two forces of nature. 

“You should be,” Gojo says, and steps in front of you. Over his shoulder, he tells you, “Run. You’re in my way.” 

This is the chance you were waiting for. 

Toji’s dressed differently when you find him again. Last night, he was wearing a casual black kimono. Tonight, he’s dressed in a tight fitting black shirt and loose white pants. 

“You look nice,” you tell him, feeling anxious. Your mind keeps going back to Gojo. You’re sure he can hold his own, but you’re still worried for him. As you are, however, you’re of no help to him. The only way you’d be able to rescue him if he actually was in danger is by making a contract with a powerful familiar. 

“It’s for work,” he says. “Follow me.” 

“We can’t do it here?” 

“Do you want to kiss me in front of everyone?” He shrugs and reaches for you. “I mean, I’m down if you are, but I figured-” 

“No,” you squeak and dart away. “Privacy is good!” 

He laughs. “You’re as funny as ever, huh? C’mere.” 

Toji leads you off the beaten path and further into the woods. The only thing that keeps you from feeling more nervous is the moon shining overhead, illuminating your path. It feels almost like a friend is with you.

“Here is good,” Toji says, stopping at a clearing. 

“It’s so pretty,” you breathe out, dazzled. This deep into the woods, fireflies are lighting your way. Beneath your feet, a springy bed of flowers and moss covers the floor. 

“What can I say? I’m a romantic.” 

“Yeah, right,” you laugh at him, but you draw closer. You think you could trust him. You think you could be partners with him. 

Then Toji grabs you by the shoulders and dangles you off the edge of the clearing, over a steep drop you hadn’t noticed. The sharp cut off had been hidden by flowers, danger painted over with beauty. 

“Sorry, kid,” Toji says. “No hard feelings, right?” 

“Why?” You whisper. Gojo had been right. 

“There’s a bounty on your head,” he says. “Getou has offered to grant the wish of anyone who kills you.”

His eyes turn wistful. “I have a kid. Haven’t seen him in years. You understand, right? It’s not personal.” 

The fall is brutal. The wind whips tears into your eyes, if you weren’t already crying from the fear of falling to your death. You have to do something, anything. Above your head, something white flutters. 

A dove? 

Then another. 

It’s one of the paper ofuda Megumi had given you before you left, caught in the updraft of you rushing down to earth. You snatch it out of the air. You can’t reach the pen in your pocket. With increasing desperation, you bite down on your finger hard enough to draw blood and trace the characters for a tree branch onto it. Holding it aloft, you pray. 

Between your hands, wood solidifies. You’re clinging to a scrap of a twig sprouting from the rocky cliffside. Megumi’s words echo in your head - only within the scope of your power. 

So this is it, huh?

That’s all there is of your godly strength. 

“Looks like you’re in trouble,” Gojo says. He has no problem balancing on the sheer cliff. His appearance is impeccable, completely unscathed from his fight with Sukuna. He perches like a bird, as comfortable as if he were standing on solid ground. “Do you need help?”

Thank god. He’s here to save you! You nod, turning teary eyes on him. You were wrong about him. Gojo really is a good guy, deep down. 

“If you say, ‘Please save me, Gojo-sama, I was stupid.’ I’ll help you. Throw in some crying and begging, too.” 

Your eyes dry up instantly. He’s a total bastard. You clutch onto the branch tighter. There’s no way you’ll give him the satisfaction of groveling for help. 

Your resolve weakens when you hear the first snap. 

“Time’s ticking,” Gojo calls in a sing-song voice. “What will it be?” 

The harder you hold on, the more your flimsy branch breaks. 

“Come on,” Gojo says. “It’s not that hard. It’s just seven little words. Isn’t that worth your life?”

“Go fuck yourself,” you tell him, and the branch finally snaps. 

Falling for the second time is just as bad as the first time. The icy wind snatches at you like claws, tearing at your clothes. 

To your surprise, Gojo leaps after you. He makes free-fall look elegant - surely a far cry from whatever you’re doing. 

“Just say it,” he yells, within arm’s reach. He’s so close he could snag you by the shirt and haul you to safety, but you know he won’t. Not without getting what he wants. “Would you rather die than just apologize?” 

You have an answer prepared. 

His eyes widen in shock when you press your palms to his cheek, pull him closer, and kiss him. 

You barely have time to register the taste of him, sake and something sweet, before the reality of falling to your death rushes in again. 

“Gojo, save me!” 

As if his body is piloted by someone else, Gojo catches you. For him, it’s a short leap back up to the top of the clearing, where Toji has disappeared. 

You climb down from his hold once you’re certain you’re safe. You never thought you’d miss the feeling of solid ground beneath your feet this much, but at the moment, you’re willing to kiss the earth. 

Gojo seems much worse off. He’s frozen in shock, muttering the same refrain to himself under his breath. “Me? Bound to her? Impossible.” 

“Let’s go home,” you tell him. He doesn’t seem to get it until you tug him towards the path, and then he leads the way wordlessly. . 

You wake to Megumi and Tsumiki weeping over you. 

“I’m alright!”

They freeze, then burst into fresh tears. 

“We thought you would never wake up! Your first time using ofuda must have been too much for you,” Megumi gets out through his sobs. 

You feel sore all over. You can barely recall the events of the previous night, only that you kissed- 

“Finally up?” 

Gojo’s tapping his foot as he waits for you to get up. He looks furious. There’s an unmistakeable tick in his jaw that spells trouble for you. 

It’s too early to deal with him. You duck back under the covers. 

“Oh no you don’t,” he growls out as he seizes your wrist and bodily hauls you out of your warm cocoon of blankets. “You wanted to be a god, you’re going to be a god. It’s time for some training.” 

You shiver pathetically in the cold morning air. If you had known helping a stranger would lead to be harassed by a fox spirit, you would’ve never done it in the first place. 

“Try harder,” Gojo says at your sixth failed attempt to turn water into wine. 

“It smells alcoholic,” Megumi offers loyally. 

“I am trying!” You insist. 

“Harder,” Gojo snarls. 

The seventh attempt doesn’t change. Gojo throws up his arms and stalks out of the shrine, declaring the need to cool his head. Tsumiki frantically trails him, not trusting him to not attempt to run away again. 

Megumi tries to assure you that you’re doing well, but honestly, you need to leave too. The shrine feels too stuffy. A change of scenery will do you good. Sitting alone in the woods just behind the shrine, you try to focus. Slowly, stacks of ofuda disappear from your hands as you paste them to trees, willing them to blossom. Wilt. Do anything, anything at all. 

You’re out cold when Gojo finds you. 

“Divine power takes time,” he says as he prepares dinner. “Use too many talismans at once and you’ll pass out.” 

You drink a spoonful of soup morosely. “How do I get stronger?” 

“You’ll get stronger if you grant prayers.” 

Tsumiki perks up. “One just came in!” 

“I already looked at it,” Gojo says dismissively. “Not that one.” 

“Everyone’s wishes deserve to be looked at,” you argue. 

Gojo scoffs, “Not this one.” 

“Don’t be rude! A god can’t pick and choose.” 

He tosses the prayer at you. 

Morimoto Rika’s request touches your heart. She’s the spirit of a nearby lake - not just any spirit, as Megumi helpfully clarifies, but another owner of a shrine. A human boy visits her waters nightly. By the light of the moonlight, she fell in love with him, but she can’t meet him because they live in two separate worlds. 

And to think that you would’ve never known to help her if Gojo had continued keeping this from you. 

“This sounds like the perfect job for me,” you argue. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Yokai can’t fall in love with humans.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Aren’t you bound to do as I say? Take me to her.” 

Against his will, Gojo summons what’s called a ‘night fog coach’. Only operable at night, as the name suggests, it’s a tall black carriage truly made for a god. You’re just wondering how Gojo expects you to climb aboard when he effortlessly lifts you by the waist. 

“You’re the one who wanted to go meet her,” he sneers. “Chop-chop.” 

Your supplicant looks like a fish if it were a girl. She has pale green skin and large, black eyes, with overly large teeth for her mouth. Black hair frames a heart shaped face. She’s cute, in her own monstrous way. And she’s desperately in love with a human boy. 

Gojo helps you transform her into a human body and make her over into a normal teenage girl. For a prayer granted, it feels like nothing more than dressing your friend up for a date. 

You’re even as nosy as you would be in that situation. It’s the first prayer you’ve ever granted. You know you shouldn’t, but you and Gojo watch the burgeoning romance from a distance. Of course, he’s completely disapproving, but you have high hopes for them - until Rika pulls out a ring. 

Aren’t they moving a little too fast? 

It only gets worse when Rika confesses that she’s been stalking him - sort of. Keeping tabs on him for his safety by following him around town is a little too close to the other, for your liking. Your head drops into your hands. 

But Yuta takes it surprisingly well. A little too well, in fact. It only seems to infatuate him even more. You knew there were certain types of men out there who loved crazy, but you had never seen it in real life - until now. 

Could this even be counted as a success? 

You’re happy for Rika and Yuta, as happy as you can be for their twisted little union, but you’re just waiting for Gojo to bite your head off for bringing a (real) monster and a human together as soon as you get back home. At least they’re happy, you think ruefully. Worse things could happen. Your first union as a marriage god didn’t fail. In fact, of all people, Yuta seemed the most likely in the world to accept Rika as she was, human or not. 

To your surprise, returning to the shrine, Gojo begrudgingly says, “You did well.” 

Any warm feelings you have for him the next day are replaced when he barges into your room and demands you strip. 

“You have guests,” he says. “Messengers from Toji-sama, the god of the wind.” 

Your eyes grow wide. You hadn’t known Toji was a god. Come to think of it, did Gojo even know the reason why you had been falling from that cliff? You weren’t sure if he had come in time to see who had pushed you. 

“What are you worried about? I’ll be at your side the whole time.” 

You’ll tell him later. Right now, you have a serious matter to prepare for. 

You tried not to discriminate on the basis of his master, but it’s not that at all. Toji’s familiar, Naoya, is simply annoying on his own terms. 

“So you’re the new god of this ramshackle little shrine,” he sniffs. “God, it’s disgusting. How poor are you?” 

“You must be the thirteenth familiar Toji’s owned. He goes through you like toys, doesn’t he? Of course you wouldn’t know that he used to live in worse conditions before. Deplorable.” Gojo laughs in his face. 

Naoya grits his teeth. “I’m surprised your little human dared to show her face. I thought she’d be terrified after what Toji did to her. They’re such weak little things.” 

Gojo looks at the other demon with a calm that worries you. As human as he is, there are moments when you can catch the monster lurking within. He’s like the sea, deceptively calm until you remember the threat of an unseen riptide. 

“If you insult my master again,” he says carefully, enunciating every word like he’s stabbing at them with a knife, “I will take your head and deliver it to your master as a present.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re happy to be serving a mortal girl,” Naoya laughs. “Not someone like you, Satoru. How the mighty have fallen.” 

Gojo looks at him for a long moment, then he ignores him completely and walks to your side. The most painful part of Naoya’s digs at you is knowing he’s right. Gojo doesn’t like this. How could he? He went from being the strongest to being commanded by some powerless girl. Still, Gojo gazes at you with his inscrutable eyes. You can’t read him at all. 

Slowly, he sinks to his knees next to you. 

With a gentleness you can hardly bear, he lays his head in your lap, as gentle and docile as a puppy. His neck is bared as if for an executioner’s axe, the delicate pulse of his heart open to you. He closes his eyes. His breath is shallow. He stays there, and says no more. 

“Oh, Satoru,” Naoya says in delight. “You really have become a tamed thing.” 

With an uncertainty you’re trying to hide, you lift your hands to Gojo’s head. His hair is sinfully soft. You’re almost scared he’ll try to take your hands off for it, but when you start to gently pet his hair, he almost purrs. His eyes close, half-lidded in pleasure. 

“I serve who I want to serve,” Gojo says. His tail lashes behind him. “Who are you to tell me my master is unworthy?” 

Naoya shrugs, clearly disbelieving. “Sure, Satoru. Keep telling yourself that. I’m just here to deliver a gift.” 

He tosses you a package wrapped carefully in beautiful, ornate wrapping paper. You’re sure it’s not Toji’s doing. He’s not the type. 

As soon as he leaves, Gojo pushes himself away from you. It leaves you a little sorrowful, the speed with which he tries to get away. He only did it for your sake, you know. He wanted to protect your honor in front of Naoya because you’re his master. But it must have disgusted him, to get on his knees for a human, if he recoiled so fast. 

“What did he mean, what Toji did to you?” Gojo asks over dinner. 

You know instantly that you’ll only draw his ire if you try to play dumb. 

“Toji pushed me off that cliff the day you found me.” 

Gojo’s eyes darken. The next time Naoya returns, he promises you, he’d set his tail on fire. No one besmirches his master’s honor like that. 

It’s about honor, of course. You’d be a fool to think otherwise. 

Alone in your chambers, you unwrap the package Naoya gave you. It’s an incense burner, beautiful and silver. As apology presents go, it’s a decent one. You set it aside for use at a later time. 

Naoya’s visit only makes Gojo’s training worse, but these days, you’ve grown used to him and his harsh words. The more that he yells at you for being weak, the more you can brush it off as Gojo just being Gojo. That only irritates him more, of course. 

But nothing pisses him off as much as you claiming that you’re returning to school. Gojo thinks that you have no need for school as a god. There’s nothing the humans can teach you that he can’t. 

In your eyes, Gojo is a kitsune. That means he’ll never understand a teenage girl’s heart. School isn’t about learning, it’s about the experience! You’ll never be in high school again - there are so many things you still haven’t experienced, like school trips. You only have one youth - you have to seize it in the moment! 

Gojo isn’t convinced. 

Like an overbearing parent, he nags you all day and night until finally, you strike a deal. He’ll let you go to school, but only as long as you cover up the god-mark on your head. Gojo is never one to make things easy for you. The hat he bestows you with is an ugly grandma print with faux fox ears. You’ll be the laughingstock of the school!

“It’s dangerous,” he says. “Who knows what wild beasts will be lurking about?” 

“You’re the wild beast,” you say. “I can’t wear that!” 

“I guess you can’t go to school then,” he sighs. “What a pity.” 

It’s all for show, of course. You know what he’s really like. There’s no use in arguing - either you agree to his compromise or you stay here, stuck in the temple for the rest of your life. You’ll miss out on all the joys of youth, never growing old in your cloistered shrine. The thought is unbearable. 

You snatch the hat from him in indignation. Putting it on before you leave the next day makes you cringe, but as long as you avoid mirrors, you can almost forget that it’s there - if not for your classmates staring at you. You can feel their judging eyes everywhere you go, and the whispers. 

You can’t even say you don’t care - you do care. You only have one high school life, and Gojo is ruining it. During lunch, you escape into the bathroom to mope and avoid all of your classmates. 

“Are you getting bullied?” Gojo’s voice is too bright and cheery for your dark mood right now. You can’t promise to remain calm if he stays here. 

“This is the girl’s bathroom, Gojo.” 

“Don’t be like that. I’m just worried about my master,” he says. “Well? How is it? Do you want to go home now?” 

He’s lying. You know he’s not worried about you at all, but you should be used to it. You don’t know why it stings as much as it does. 

You’re hurt even though you know this is just how Gojo is. Of course he’d be happy to see you miserable - he hadn’t even wanted you for a god in the first place. He’s bound to you by obligation, and nothing more. You had known from the start that he didn’t care about you, so why does it hurt that he won’t comfort you? It’s just like those nights in the demon world that seem so long ago now. He hasn’t changed at all. 

Gojo isn’t as shocked by your outburst as he is by the tears slowly welling up in your eyes. He stands stunned as you rush out of him and back into the hallway. 

Tsumiki appears next to him out of thin air, completely unimpressed. 

“You did a terrible job on that one, Gojo.” 

As if in a daze, he lifts his hand, where the crystal of one teardrop shines. He’d tried to reach for you at the last moment, but you were already gone. “I made her cry...” 

Megumi appears next to Tsumiki, his face red. “What’s taking so long? Hurry up and leave! We’re in the girl’s bathroom!” 

“Gojo was bullying our master,” Tsumiki announces. 

“I wasn’t bullying her!” 

“He made her cry.” 

Gojo winces. “Okay, yeah. I did do that.”

Megumi kicks him in the leg, which amounts to almost nothing. “Take responsibility, then!” 

When you return home, Gojo is waiting by the shrine door with an almost offensively polite smile on his face. “Let me take your coat, master.” 

Him being kind gives you the creeps. You can’t help but feel like he’s planning something, especially when he shows you the lavish dinner he prepared for you with all of your favorites. 

“What’s with the look?” He says, annoyed at your accusing eyes peering at him over your bowl. “I do something nice for you and this is how you treat me?” 

“This is really just for me? No ulterior motives?” 

“None,” he promises. 

The smile that breaks over your face is like the sun through rain clouds - sudden, dramatic, and almost painfully bright after a period of gray skies. 

“Thanks, Gojo!” 

The look in his eyes is unreadable as he reaches to spoon more food onto your plate. 

You don’t have anyone else in this world. Besides the shrine spirits, Gojo might be the only person in the world who will take care of you. For some reason, the thought doesn’t sting as much as it did this morning. 

The second day of school starts with pouring rain, as if it’s a direct reaction to your foul mood earlier. Gojo pulls you back when you try to leave. 

“It’s a bad omen,” he says. “Stay home with me today. I’ll worry about you if you go.” 

Normally, such sweet words might bring a blush to your face, but you can read between the lines. 

Stay home with me today so I can keep you out of trouble, you brat. 

I’ll worry about you if you go because you’re weaker than a worm. 

“Stop trying to keep me from going to school! I thought we got over this yesterday,” you huff. “I’m going to be late for the bus!” 

You leave Gojo with a handful of air as you dart under his outstretched arm and out the door. 

In school, all your classmates are listless. 

You’ve never been so unhappy to not be the subject of attention. What is wrong with everyone? Even the teacher doesn’t reprimand anyone for sleeping in class, half-asleep herself. You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to be caught in this spell of drowsiness, which insinuates paranormal origins. 

As you’re sweeping the classroom after class, one of your classmates lets out a disgruntled noise. 

“It’s a snake,” she says, not at all with the intonation of someone who’s just discovered a snake. Ami’s the type to go apoplectic at the sight of a fly, much less an actual snake, so you don’t pay much mind until you hear Kurama go, “Huh, she wasn’t kidding.” 

There’s a little yellow snake in the classroom. In their stupor, none of your classmates seem to care all that much about it. They just continue going about their chores. You feel bad for it. It’s such a small, fragile little creature. In their state, they might accidentally end up crushing it. 

With gentle murmurs of encouragement, you coax it into your hand. It’s surprisingly docile and twines itself readily around your wrist before you set it outside the window to be set free. 

Gojo doesn’t praise you for your act of heroism on the behalf of his fellow yokai, as you remind him. You saved his compatriots! Where’s the gratitude? 

He calls you a stupid little girl. “I don’t care about them, I care about you!” 

Your face warms with embarrassment against your will even though you know he doesn’t mean it like that. Time and time again, Gojo has stressed that he will never see yokai and humans as even remotely on the same playing field, much less capable of being romantic partners. 

“You’re my master,” he says. There’s your call back to reality. “Look at this mark on your wrist.” 

It appears like a normal bruise to you, though you’re not sure how it could’ve happened. Your new snake friend was very gentle when he was coiled around your wrist. He must have been someone’s escaped pet. You hope he found his way back home. 

Gojo’s mad. He’s enunciating every word. 

“This is exactly why I have to keep such a close eye on you. That’s no ordinary bruise. That is an engagement mark. Care to explain to me how I left you alone for one second and you got yourself engaged to a divine beast?” 

Your face pales. “Excuse me?” 

“That snake is going to come and claim you as his bride.” 

“As a bride?” Your head spins and you have to sit down. You’re too young to get married. You look up at Gojo, teary-eyed. You don’t want this. 

“Stop making that face,” he snaps, pushing a hand over your face to hide it. “As if I would let that happen. The master of the Yaga shrine, my master, could never be wed to a mere snake.” 

If Gojo says he won’t let it happen, you can put your faith in him. You breathe a little easier. As mean as he can be, Megumi and Tsumiki weren’t lying when they called him the best familiar. He’s the strongest and most capable person or rather, yokai, that you know. There’s not a single task you set for him that he hasn’t been able to complete. 

It’s still raining when you go outside to practice your talisman making. 

You find the weather quite pleasant, even though it’s a little damp. The chill in the air cuts through the muggy feeling of summer, and the raindrops cool your cheeks. When you turn your face up to the sky, you can taste ozone in the little drops that pelt your face. 

“You’re very beautiful, kamisama,” says a voice. 

There's a man waiting just outside the red gates. A supplicant? In this weather? You better get him inside in a hurry. You dash over to him. 

“What are you doing? Come inside, you’ll get wet!” 

Just as you reach him, he lifts his face. He looks like a statue, with high cheekbones, and solemn eyes. His hair is the same pale yellow as the snake you saw earlier that day-

“Gojo!” 

But it’s too late. 

The snake has a hold on your wrist, right above the engagement mark. He takes you away. 

One moment, you’re standing in your own backyard, the next, you’re surrounded by almost-familiar bamboo walls. It looks like your shrine but for little distinguishing touches. That makes you uncomfortable. 

“This is Haibara shrine,” the snake says. “I’m Nanami, the familiar of Haibara-sama. I’ve taken you away to marry you.” 

There’s a curtain over the center of the room. Haibara presumably rests behind it, but something strikes you as off about the whole scenario. That’s not what’s foremost on your mind, however. 

“I don’t want to marry you! You kidnapped me!” 

He tilts his head at you. “I couldn’t have kidnapped you. We’re engaged, you see?” He traces the mark on your wrist with one slim finger. “We’re going to be very happy together.” 

“You’re being creepy,” you push him away. 

At your rejection, something dark crosses over his features - not danger, but pain. He has some nerve feeling upset when you’re the one who should be upset here! 

“That’s alright,” he says, trying to stroke your hair. You won’t let him touch you. “I know it can take some getting used to. Here, let me show you to your room.” 

Nanami has clearly put a lot of thought into decorating for you. It’s beautifully furnished, with rich silk sheets and the fragrant smell of plum blossoms permeating the air. Here, there’s not a single thing you could want but- 

Gojo. 

You miss Gojo and you miss your shrine. 

When Nanami leaves you in your room, it feels like a tomb in the silence. You bury your face in your expensive, hateful sheets and try to resist the urge to sob. You want Gojo to come get you. You want to go home. 

Hours pass, but Gojo doesn’t come. 

Nothing but the sound of your breathing changes, passing from frantic to deeper, slower, steadier. As your head clears, you notice the window. It’s a beautifully ornate design, a red knot of luck. The center is just big enough for a girl to squeeze through, if you try hard. 

Resolve grips you. 

You’re not going to wait for Gojo to rescue you. You’re going to get out of here yourself, find him, and scold him for not coming to get you earlier. Aren’t you his most beloved master, as he so professes? You’re going to make him kneel for at least three hours practicing his apologies! 

Filled with renewed conviction, you hoist yourself onto the window sill and begin the tedious task of shimmying yourself out. Just when you’re nearly there, the sharp edge of the metal scrapes your shin, leaving a long, thin cut. 

The smell of salt replaces the plums immediately. 

“God?” Comes Nanami’s voice. “I smell blood. Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine!” You panic. If he discovers your escape attempt now, he might try to put you in a more secure room, and then you’ll really never see Gojo again. 

The adjacent wall caves in. 

Gojo stands in the rubble, seething, each hand wreathed in blue flame. He doesn’t even notice you, his attention wholly focused on Nanami. “You drew her blood? Are you prepared to face the consequences of hurting my master, snake?” 

You grab his arm just before he attacks. “He didn’t! I hurt myself on the window- oof!” 

Gojo’s so much bigger than you are. When he folds you into his arms, his entire body surrounds you. His chin tucks itself over your head, his large arms wrap around your body. You’ve never felt more secure than you are here, now. “I thought you’d be crying.”

His voice is hoarse. 

You’ve never heard that before. 

“You came,” you whimper, burying your face into his shoulder.  

Nanami’s face is crestfallen. “Are you going to leave me?” 

You grab Gojo’s arm and duck into the other room, where Haibara’s curtain is. 

“Don’t!” Nanami cries. 

When you pull it back, there’s nothing but an old, dusty kimono. 

You were right. 

This place is godless. 

“You’re no familiar,” Gojo snarls, turning on Nanami. “Don’t even think to call yourself that. The difference between you and me is as clear as day, you vile beast. You’ll pay for your insolence with the loss of your shrine.” 

Nanami’s misery is written all over his face. You’ve realized what’s wrong with this shrine. It’s too quiet, as if no one has prayed here for generations. Haibara has been dead for a long, long time.

Nanami must have been lonely. 

“Don’t,” you tell Gojo.

He stares at you, incredulous. “Are you out of your mind?” 

You tug yourself out of Gojo’s arms. Nanami’s crouched on the ground, trying to shield Haibara’s old kimono from Gojo’s foxfire. You kneel to his level. 

“I’m sorry you’ve been lonely for all this time, Nanami. I can’t stay with you, but if you come to my shrine, we can play again.” 

Nanami weeps and reaches for your hand. The mark of the snake dissolves. 

Gojo doesn’t talk to you on the way back to the shrine.

“Don’t be mad,” you say, tugging on the sleeves of his kimono. He gives you a deadpan stare. “Come on! I only did it because-” 

You can’t finish your sentence. 

Of course, that piques Gojo’s interest. He can never resist bullying you. 

“Because? Go on,” he goads you. 

You say it so quietly he can’t hear you, even with his fox ears. He spins around, grabs you by the waist, and hoists you up so you’re face to face. You yelp and scramble to grab onto his shoulders for balance. 

“Louder,” he demands. “I can’t hear you.” 

“I was thinking about what would happen if I died and you were all alone again. I couldn’t leave him alone because I was thinking of you,” you tell him. Thinking of Gojo watching after an empty shrine all alone like Mizuki makes your heart ache for reasons you can’t explain. 

He stiffens. “What a strange thing to worry about. I wouldn’t care.” 

“Ugh,” you smack him in the shoulder. You shouldn't have tried to be kind to him. 

He doesn’t put you down, shifting you into an easier hold. “You’re hurt,” he admonishes when you try to squirm. 

Just before you enter the shrine gates, he has a confession of his own to make. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You got hurt because I wasn’t protecting you.” 

You rub his ears, an indulgence you’re not sure he would’ve allowed if he wasn’t in such a mood. “It’s not your fault!” 

“I’ve never had a human master,” he says. “I have to be careful not to break you. You’re so easily hurt.” 

“You don’t have to say it like that,” you say, and then the shrine spirits are there to welcome you home. 

You hadn’t realized you thought of the shrine as home until today. 

Even though Nanami’s mood isn’t affecting the weather anymore, it’s still raining. Gojo tells you not to mind the weather, even though you’re certain that it’s not from natural causes, which means it is your job. Ever since you came back from Haibara’s shrine, Gojo has been extra protective of you. 

You hadn’t thought Gojo had needed to be protected too, not until the thunder god came. 

The god of storms and lightning is called Getou Suguru. He carries a mallet in one hand that can transform whoever it touches into their younger forms, and he used to be Gojo’s best and only friend. He’s also the one who called a bounty on your head.

[yardsards]

it's so fucked up the way so many adults brag about and revel in hurting children and this is just... normalized by our society.

a bit ago, my mother was proudly telling me this story about how my niece was misbehaving so my mother spanked her hard in the middle of church. like beating a 4 year old was a badge of strength and honour. (my dad rolled his eyes and said my mother was exaggerating to make herself look tough; it was one swat with a rolled-up pamphlet. which... her exaggerating as though it would be *more* impressive to beat a preschooler *harder* certainly Says Something).

it's all over the internet, too. people who don't have kids yet boasting about how when they have kids, they're gonna spank them. parents proudly posting videos of them dishing out cruel punishments, as though this is something cool and impressive. videos of naughty kids where the comments are full of "if that were my kid, i'd beat them black and blue!" type sentiments, practically salivating at the thought of hitting this child they've never even met.

when defending their actions, parents will say that these "punishments" are not done with cruel intentions, and are only carried out as an unpleasant but necessary duty of parenthood.

but then the tone in which they proceed to brag and fantasize about hurting children is wayyy different than the way a parent would talk about other unpleasant but necessary parenting duties (like changing diapers or going to doctors appointments), but are instead spoken about as impressive displays of strength and dominance.

it's fucked up.

[ddarker-dreams]

If you have any more chrollo ideas you‘d like to share with us, please do so,,, the one with him cutting himself was magnificent!!!! Imagine if he actually did cut himself but like it‘s only a little scratch,,, reader would be so disappointed lol

another dealer's choice??????????? 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

-

"You're too stiff, darling."

"And you're too close."

Unlike most of your hyperbolic complaints, this is objectively true. Chrollo's palm is on the small of your back, while the other takes your right hand captive. Through some typical carrot and stick cajoling, you've ended up slow dancing with the devil, but instead of hell as your backdrop, it's a superfluously ornate suite.

Crackling flames sound more becoming than eggshell-colored cabinets, Carrara marble flooring, and sterile modern interior design which upholds the grayscale palette like scripture.

"I'm maintaining a respectable distance."

"There is not a respectable bone in your body," you grumble. "What possessed you to subject me to this, anyway? Do you just have a dartboard with cruel and unusual punishments, or is it a wheel of misfortune?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a way with words?" he asks, amusement evident.

"Yes. I prefer when it's coming from anyone who isn't you, though."

His hand on your back creeps down dangerously low; svelte fingers as unwelcome as a spider crawling on your skin. The accompanying track he picked for this excursion — either Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin — skips a beat, the needle meeting resistance in the record's worn grooves.

"Anyone is capable of paying you lip service. However, when it comes to truly appreciating you," his lips hover by your ear, as if he's whispering sweet nothings, "I'd dare say I'm unmatched."

"There's treatment for delusions of grandeur, if you ever want to look into tha— eep!"

The bastard dips you without any forewarning. You're a victim to gravity's will, dangling awkwardly and clinging to him for some stability. His eyes shine with rapacious intent. Thieves are many things, but they are not the type to share.

His smile, handsome as it may be, is far from kind. "It's truly a wonder how easy it is to bend your body however I wish."

You just purse your lips and glare at him.

He takes his time helping you back up, relishing in your close proximity. When you're finally standing on your own two feet, he begins lifting your arms, giving you no chance to regain your balance.

"Let's see... how about a spin next?"

[pennyserenade]

wish you were here.

chapter five - fade into you | ao3 link | previous chapter

pairing: javier peña x female oc, javier peña x named female oc (mariella) rating: t (teen) tags/warnings: angst, brief mention of infidelity, alcohol word count: 2.1k summary: Mariella and Javier continue to feel their way through a friendship. a/n: sorry this is taking me so long to write. love you

A tattered floral scrapbook of Mariella’s sits, face up, on the table. She stands in the corner of her kitchen, looking at it as though it has wronged her in some way. And in some ways, it has. 

In one hand she holds a glass of water and in the other, her telephone. Henry Rath’s number has been typed in, and her fingers hesitate to dial it. The trip down memory lane has proved to be a bitter one. So much of her life had been documented in that scrapbook, from graduations to weddings to the first house, to the very last birthdays she and Henry would spend as a couple together. It was hard to ignore him when he was all there—a little piece of him merged forever with a little piece of her. 

She knew it wasn’t fair, what she did to him. Or rather, what she’s doing to him. In the past three months, he’s left a handful of voicemails she’s deleted before even finishing. She screens most of her calls, just on the offhand chance that it might be him, and each time it makes her feel wrong. At first, it started off with good intention—she wanted to leave him alone, to let him go back to his life. But eventually, the more she thought about what they had done, the more ignoring him became less altruistic. Every time she hears the phone ring, she thinks of him in that hotel room and that little girl that hung on his hip, and she wants as far from it as possible. 

She places the telephone back in its cradle. The excuses are endless: it is Tuesday and she works tomorrow, so she shouldn’t start something she doesn’t know she can’t stop; he probably isn’t home from work yet; he’s likely forgotten about it and to call and remind him now would be cruel; his wife could pick up; closure isn’t the sort of thing either of them are particularly good at. 

Mariella picks up the telephone again. She waits patiently as it rings. 

“Hello?” Chucho answers. 

She leans back onto the counter, swirling the water in her cup. “Hey, Chucho. I was wondering if Javi’s home.”

“Javi?” he asks, sounding surprised. 

“Yeah, Javi. I never thanked him for helping me with my classroom last month and I’d like to.”

There’s a beat of silence before Chucho speaks again. “Javi’s always home, just never know where,” the man laughs. “Would it be alright if I had him call you back? I gotta go find him.”

Mariella glances over at the scrapbook on the table. “That’d be lovely, Chucho. Thank you.” 

When he hangs up, she moves over and closes the book shut. If she wasn’t so goddamn sentimental, she might throw the whole thing away but she is, so she can’t. Instead she tucks it away in the cupboards over her oven, where she’s stored a lone bottle of tequila for about two years now, and then she sits back, waiting. The phone rings a few moments later and she doesn’t hesitate to answer it. “Hello,” she picks up. 

“Mariella?” Javier asks. His voice is low, almost a whisper. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t called you sooner. I wanted to thank you for the classroom. I’ve been using it for about a week now, and it looks wonderful.”

On the other end, she can hear him shift with the phone. “It was no problem,” he replies softly. Then, after a pause, he says, “How are you, Mari?” 

“I’m good, Javier.”

“That’s, uh, that’s good.”

“How about you?” 

More movement. “I’m good too.” 

“My dad says he hasn’t seen you in the movie store as of late,” she says. Javier coughs awkwardly. 

“No? I guess I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy avoiding me? ‘Cause if so, I assure you that’s a safe zone. I don’t work there during the school year, remember?” It’s meant to come out teasing, but, at the current moment, she lacks the exact humor needed to pull off the weight of that sentence. She punctuates it with a laugh that is more of a huff than anything.

He protests. “I—That’s not why.”

“No?” she asks simply. 

“No, not really. There’s just been a lot to do around here. We got new horses. There’s a fence that needs to be built. Chucho just needs me more than the television does.” He attempts to laugh, but it sounds forced. She doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Think you could spare an hour or two to go get dinner with me?” 

“You want to get dinner?” he sounds in disbelief. 

She can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. One of my new student’s parents owns the bar downtown. They gave me two coupons for a free dinner.”

“Oh,” he replies. “Well, I’ll have to get cleaned up. Can you wait?”

“Sure.”

“Alright. I’ll meet you there at, uh—“ Another pause, “—how about seven?”

“Sounds good.”

“Alright, see you then,” he replies. 

“Yeah, bye,” she adds awkwardly, hanging up. 

Slumping her shoulders, she lets out a deep sigh. Why must everything feel so fucking hard lately?

—-

“Thought you didn’t go to bars,” Javier says, bringing his beer to his mouth. He’s teasing, she can tell: that slanted brow, the pursued lips working hard not to press into a comely grin. She takes a sip of her own drink, and shrugs her shoulders. 

“I don’t,” she hums in response. 

The dinner crowd at the bar is surprisingly large, but conversation is easy to have. It’s nicer, really, in a place like this - too busy to have to worry if the table next to you is listening in. Not that she and Javier have ventured to any topics unsafe for public consumption. They’ve been good, drinking their beers, making small talk the way one might with a friend they’ve grown apart with. It’s got an intimate air to it, but it’s stilted for a strange, heartbreaking reason. 

They don’t talk about all that happened weeks ago, or why they’re sitting here now. Mariella doesn’t mind, really. This is the thing she enjoys about Javier, what she has seen in him since the beginning: he isn’t interested in brewing in the past. If she were a better woman, this might worry her, but luckily enough she isn’t. She understands all too well the temptation to look forward and never backward. 

The beer is making her feel warm and pleasantly buzzed. In the corner, there is a jukebox playing soft country songs and some people are dancing slowly in the middle. She and Javi watch them curiously, resting back in their chairs. 

“How’s the teaching going?” He looks back over at her. 

“It’s going well. The kid’s are as brilliant and witty as ever,” she smiles softly. “How’s the farm?”

Javier shrugs his shoulders. “It’s work. For the first time in months, I’m finally getting a full night’s rest, though, so I won’t complain too much.”

“I’ve always loved that piece of land,” Mariella says, looking back at the dancing patrons. “Miles upon miles of greenery. And the horses! I love driving up and watching them run.”

This makes Javier smile. “Chucho is proud of it and he should be, I suppose. I certainly appreciate it more now than I used to. In Colombia, it was like that—beautiful, I mean. And so green. Standing out in the fields sometimes reminds me of being back there.”

“Do you miss it?” she asks, before she finds the sense to know better. 

Javier’s eyes rake over the crowd, too. He watches a young couple in the corner for a bit, smiling as the boy’s hand gradually works its way lower on the girl’s back. Before he touches her ass, Javi looks back to Mariella, his smile faint but present. “Sometimes,” he answers. 

“I’d love to go someday.”

“You should,” he encourages. “It’s magnificent, really, unlike anything else. That shit they say in the news—it’s true, but not nearly that bad. Not for regular people with clean hands.”

Mariella shakes her head. “Just when I thought you had me sold, you had and go say that.”

“What, your hands dirty?” he narrows his eyes. 

She holds her palms out. “Red,” she nods, though they aren’t. He breathes out a quiet laugh. 

“I think you’d be alright—but go to Mexico first.” 

“You sound like my mother,” she laughs too. 

Looking over at Javi, Mariella debates whether to ask him if he wants to dance or not. The beer has made her feel a little more relaxed, but she’s not without her reason. She remembers the first day they met - really met - and how he said he didn’t know how to dance anymore. She also remembers the kitchen, and the incident that has driven them apart for a month. 

Before she’s given the chance, a woman stops in front of the table. She’s pretty — big blue eyes, an endearing grin — the kind of woman for whom the country accent was made to be spoken by. “Javi,” she says, someplace between shocked and amazed. 

Mariella feels bad at first, thinking this is going to be another one of those small town run-ins he hates, but when she looks over at him, she can tell it’s not. Something softer takes hold of him, something almost tender.  Mariella feels almost like an intruder as he says, “Hey, Lorraine.”

Lorraine’s eyes meet Mariella’s, and then go back to Javi’s. Javi understands. “Mariella, this is Lorraine. She’s my—“

“His old friend,” she finishes for him, extending her hand for Mariella to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve known about you for years. You’re all your Daddy talks about on Sundays sometimes.”

Lorraine can’t be much older than she is—maybe five or six years—and yet she seems so much more mature. She looks like what Mariella feels she’s been trying to attain her whole life: this perfect, well-rounded, soft-spoken girl who says words like ‘Daddy’ and manages not only to sound sincere, but sweet. 

Mariella shakes her head and smiles politely. “It’s nice to meet you too.” 

Lorraine glances over her shoulder, holding her finger up to a man standing by the entrance. “My husband,” she supplies, looking back at them both. “Listen, I better get going but I just wanted to say it’s nice to see you out and about, Javi. A lot of people here missed you.” Lorraine looks over to Mariella. “And really, it’s lovely to meet you, Mariella. I wish I had more time to sit and chat, because so many people have been telling us about your school. I’ve got a little one about school going age, and I’d love to put her in it.”

“Oh,” Mariella says, “Well, I can give you my number if you’d like.”

“Could you?” Lorraine smiles. “Oh, that’d be lovely.”

Mariella reaches into her purse and rummages around for a pen. When she finds it, she takes one of the napkins from the table and quickly jots down her information. “I wrote down my home number and the school’s. I wouldn’t mind answering any questions you have, but if you’re interested in enrollment information, the office number will be most helpful.”

Lorraine nods. Her hair bounces with her head, and Mariella can’t help but feel like she’s encountered a real life Barbie of sorts. She can imagine that she and Javier must’ve been real good friends, but it doesn’t do anything more than amuse her. 

“Bye, Javi,” Lorraine says, throwing up a hand. She pats Mariella on the shoulder on the way out, “Thank you again,” she says softly. 

Mariella rushes out an “Oh, you’re welcome” and Javier offers a wordless smile. They both watch her return to her husband, but Mariella returns her eyes to Javier long before he does to her. She watches the way a frown takes over his lips. 

Javier brings his beer back to his lips, seemingly shaking the encounter off. The tenderness is replaced by whatever was there before. It’s no less kind, but certainly not as intense. 

“She was my fiancée, once upon a time,” he explains. Mariella wouldn’t have asked, but she’s happy he’s willing to give her that information freely. She nods her head, not saying anything in reply. 

Her eyes return to the crowd, and they both settle into an introspective silence. Mariella forgets she ever wanted to ask him to dance in the first place. For a little bit, she even forgets her own troubles, too. 

She didn’t entirely know why she had called for Javier like she had earlier. He’d been on her mind, sure, but no more than Henry. In fact, a lot less than Henry. Something inside of her had told her to do it, so she had. She’s happy she did, now. 

Misery loves company they say, and she thinks she might’ve found herself a companion in one Javier Peña. 

[gettingfrilly]

Let's talk about Eddy and empathy

Okay, so. Hand-me-down Ed.

Lotta people talk about this episode. Lotta them have the take that the boomerang unleashed Eddy's repressed nurturing side. This is a very valid interpretation when you consider the abuse Eddy has endured and all the reasons he has to repress any nurture-type feelings. But here is the thing that I think. Or don't think. I don't think Eddy represses a secret nurturing side. I think it got repressed by outside forces when he was young and squishy and moldable, and now there's not really a whole lot of nurturing in there left for him to repress himself. I truly believe the intent of the episode was to show the Eds being the opposite of who they truly are. And Eddy, truly, in my opinion, is an incredibly traumatized kid with some really unfortunate learned behaviors and underdeveloped empathy muscles that just aren't gonna fully recover.

There are two episodes I wanna talk about to back up my claim.

Ah, Dueling Eds. Who doesn't like Dueling Eds? I certainly consider it one of my favorite episodes. It's a surprisingly serious episode with a genuine look at how Eddy navigates the consequences of hurting someone. That long silence in the van with Double D? His continuing insistence that he didn't do anything? Continually asking throughout the whole episode what the hell is even going on? Mwah. Chef's kiss. I've seen a few different theories for what's going on with Eddy in this episode, but I've always felt that he genuinely has no idea what he did, why everyone's acting the way they are, and is incredibly fucking frustrated by how little sense the whole situation is makes. He knows it has to do with the fishball; he even brings it up himself when he's talking about the incident with Double D later. But he doesn't understand why that was wrong. He doesn't get how something so inconsequential in his own mind could be so hurtful to Rolf, and he is either incapable of, or refuses to acknowledge, that just because it wasn't a big deal to him, doesn't mean it can't be a big deal to someone else. (We call this ~theory of mind~ btw and it's a big component of empathy.)

Another favorite of mine, Little Ed Blue. I've talked about this scene before because I love it for a lot of reasons, and one of those reasons is the insight we get into how Eddy's emotions have probably been addressed by those around him in the past. I mean, jeez, this is Ed! He's one of Eddy's most important people! A true and dear friend he's had since he was a toddler and one of the few people in the world who outwardly likes him and gets along with him. And what does he do when Ed's having a bad day? Calls him a wuss, laughs at him, invalidates his feelings, and tells him to get over himself. This is some grade fucking A asshole behavior, even for Eddy. And yet he does it easily without a shred of guilt, convinced this is the correct way to address a friend who's in the throes of misery. I mean, just look at this face.

Has Ed ever made a face like that? His feelings got fucking hurt man. (also, as a sibling, I can say that this is categorically the most Sibling moment between Eddy and Ed in the entire show.)

IMO, someone with a repressed nurturing side wouldn't be that baffled by how Rolf is reacting or be that cruel to their own best friend. This looks more like someone who genuinely has a low amount of empathy. So what's actually going on? Do I think Eddy is just some cold, uncaring asshole? Of course not! He's a traumatized 12 year old kid who's endured intense physical abuse. Cruelty was normalized for Eddy at a very young age. Why should Rolf be so upset about a fishball? It's not like Eddy beat him or something. And what's Ed got to be so miserable about? Men shouldn't act like wusses. Men are supposed to just get over it. And how could Eddy be wrong for thinking these things? It's what he was taught, after all. He learned these behaviors from his hero, after all. This is all he knows. This is what makes sense to him. It's Rolf and Ed who are being ridiculous.

That kind of stunted growth to someone's empathy isn't something so easily fixed. This is why I don't headcanon or write a more grown up Eddy as someone who learns he doesn't have to repress his nurturing side anymore; I see him as someone who's learned that nurturing and empathy are part of the whole "having friends" deal. He's learned that nurturing and empathy are what's considered normal, learned that it's what's expected of any decent human being, man or not. He's also learned, a la BPS, that you have to be a good friend to have good friends. It doesn't come naturally to him. It's gonna take a lot of hard work and growth on his part. But even if Eddy doesn't always understand why he needs to be gentler, needs to just listen, needs to offer a shoulder to cry on, that doesn't mean he won't do it for the sake of his friends. Because even if empathy ain't his strong suit, even if being empathetic is hard fucking work, he still genuinely and wholeheartedly cares about his friends and cares about doing right by them.

[eoieopda]

FORCE QUIT // EPISODE II: THE PROFESSOR

until now, hyunjin's never met a problem that subterfuge and violence couldn't solve.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader | series masterlist (2/4) | prev. episode | next episode series summary: it's 2077, and life's a fucking nightmare. corporate titans ate the state and shat it back out, leaving citizens of the new republic to fall in line or fall to their knees. a reckoning is coming — where will you fall? au: series — dystopian, cyberpunk; episode — secret relationship, star-crossed lovers ➢insp. by: cyberpunk 2077 + the true lives of the fabulous killjoys genre: angst + smut word count: 10.6k rating: 18+ — minors do not have my consent to interact. series warnings: violence (hand-to-hand, firearms, explosives), depictions of injuries (blood/bruising/burns), some characters have cybernetic modifications, class conflict + poverty, surprise - corporations are bad!, unethical medical/tech experimentation, self-indulgent references to non-skz idols, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns. episode warnings: above + recon!hyunjin, corporate defector!reader, hyunjin’s pov, minor time skips, hyunjin is a Charmer™️, reader is a fugitive, shower sex, brief nipple play + fingering, implied unprotected p in v penetration. reader notes: afab & uses she/her pronouns; has had cybernetic modifications (similar to plastic surgery + prosthesis) to change her appearance; current and prior hair/eye colors are described but they’re artificial(!!); reader is shorter than hyunjin and can be/is lifted by him. ➢ notes added/expanded upon during 8/6/24 inclusivity review. a/n 1: each episode features a different member x reader pairing, but the plot is linear, so you'd need to read them (in order) to get the full picture! you can sign up for the taglist to be notified of the next uploads. thank you to my beloved @sailoryooons for beta'ing this and @jihopesjoint for being my emotional support internet wife even though she doesn't stan skz. ily both endlessly! a/n 2: the smut isn’t long or particularly explicit because the plot is more important, sorry!

One of Hyunjin’s earliest memories is of his halmoni looking him dead in the face and calling him a phantom. 

Cruel as it may have been, the superstition was justified. Even as a kid, Hyunjin existed in blind spots, floating through walls and picking up on all the whispers he was never supposed to hear. Never seen or spoken to, he was ever-present, nonetheless; and worse than that, he was seemingly omniscient, too. 

Who the fuck wouldn’t be afraid of him?

Funnily enough, his halmoni is now the one haunting him. Careening into his late twenties, Hyunjin can still hear the slight rasp of her voice echoing in his ears, reminding him that he’s still stuck beyond some fucking veil. He may have the same beating heart and a pair of operable lungs he’s always had, but biology doesn’t change the facts.

For all intents and purposes, Hwang Hyunjin is a ghost.

As is usually the case, Hyunjin stands unnoticed in the doorway of the Hub with his expectant arms crossed. His gaze alternates between the face of his watch and that of Bang Chan, who sits completely unaware at his desk on the opposite side of the room. This game is one that Hyunjin’s been playing for years now, as sad as that is.

How long can he exist in plain sight without anybody plainly seeing him?

At least twelve minutes and seven seconds, according to his watch. 

In all the time that his reconnaissance man’s been standing there, anticipating a reason for being summoned in the first place, Chan hasn’t looked up once. Whatever he’s preoccupied with involves furiously typing away at the screen in front of him and continuing to ignore the untouched coffee near his elbow. Like this meeting, that room-temperature Americano seems to be on the list of things Chan can’t find space for in his short-term memory. 

It’s for the best, really. 

Chan’s stress is baked into his hunched posture, and it’s so palpable that Hyunjin can feel it from the doorway. Adding caffeine to his system now may make him implode, setting off some cataclysm that can’t be stopped. That’s not a loss the Black Screen is capable of surviving, now or ever. And frankly, Hyunjin is maxed out on hauntings as it is.

Speaking of…

He glances down at his watch again, confirming that two more minutes have slipped by in silence. Though he’d love to see an organic end to his game, Hyunjin doesn’t have all night. With a forlorn sigh, he frowns and quips, “Maybe I should wear a bell.”

The Black Screen’s de facto leader all but jumps out of his skin, which is a reaction Hyunjin may never get tired of. There are a million practical benefits to his incomparable stealth, but this is far and away the best of them: scaring the piss out of people simply because he can.

To his credit, Chan doesn’t get angry the way most people do when they’re caught off-guard. His panic leaves him quickly, giving way to the patient smile he always manages to find. That expression is a wonder, as far as Hyunjin is concerned, given the massive burden Chan has undertaken at such a young age. It’s the sort of demeanor that Hyunjin’s only ever seen on overworked single fathers and, in a way, Chan is. 

Except instead of adoring kids, he’s got a battalion of strays with a collective death wish, a severe caffeine dependency, and prematurely grey hairs popping up at his temples.

Pity.

“That’d kind of defeat the point, wouldn’t it?” Chan rubs his hand sheepishly over the nape of his neck to cover his embarrassment. As he does, he chuckles, “You’re an asset because you’re so fucking difficult to keep track of.”

Hyunjin appreciates the acknowledgment — he is an asset — but he’s never been good at accepting praise, so he merely shrugs and removes his frame from the door’s.

Crossing now to the disaster Chan calls a workspace, Hyunjin can’t help but marvel at the changes the room has undergone in just a few short years. It’s still hideous, having been a foreman’s office in a past life, but their low-rent war room is finally starting to live up to its name. 

The Hub.

Mitochondria of their haphazard little cell.

Along the southernmost wall, the hastily boarded-up windows have since been formally blown out and built over by people actually qualified to handle the task — not by teenage anarchists wielding hammers, as was the case with the first attempt. In their place, various monitors take up the bulk of the surface area. Each one emits enough light to make the overhead fluorescents redundant, leaving them to go unused.

Hyunjin has to smother a laugh every time he glances between the two corners of that wall. One contains a station so immaculate that it feels illegal to glance at it with an unclear head. A fucking miracle, considering that it belongs to the most scatter-brained netrunner he’s ever met. Her various gadgets are meticulously stored and labeled, nary a wire out of place. 

Maybe, he thinks, Spider is compensating for all that internal chaos with external organization. 

The polar opposite occupies the other corner: Bang Chan’s stable mind and the goddamn mess of everything that feeds it. A fucking disaster belonging to the one person best equipped to prevent them.

If Hyunjin didn’t know to expect him there, he wouldn’t have seen Chan’s head peeking out from the certifiable mountain range of files. Schematics, dossiers, and maps clutter every surface to a suffocating degree, and yet there sits Chan, still breathing. Still typing away, as if the conversation they just had has already been deleted from his brain.

“You the only one keeping office hours these days?” Hyunjin wonders, gesturing vaguely to the quiet that threatens to swallow them.

Bang Chan’s scoff is the only indication Hyunjin gets that he was heard at all. It’s enough for him; the sound seems twice as loud without the others around to drown it out. To fill the void, he hums to himself, biding his time until he gets what he came for.

Wandering aimlessly around the room, his eyes trail over what little scenery he has left to take in — what would’ve constituted work stations, if the people they belonged to cared to use them. 

Next to Spider’s vast assortment of equipment sits Minho’s desk, although the only thing on said desk are his knife-carved initials, an empty bottle of soju, and a broken pair of brass knuckles. Directly across from his anarchy, there used to be stations for the Black Screens’ weapon-smith, Seungmin, and mechanic, Jeongin — but both scrapped their respective shit for spare parts, to no one’s surprise. The only hint of their former presence there is carpeting that’s been ripped to shit and a few screws, too stripped to be of any use.

Hyunjin picks up one of them as he passes, firing it off with his non-dominant hand towards the trash can several meters away. It lands with a thunk against the existing garbage. He glances again at Chan, who has swapped out typing for massaging his temples. As usual, Hyunjin’s scores go unseen.

“Been at it long?” Hyunjin asks. 

Chan actually looks up at him this time, blinking slowly while his brain catches up to the conversation. 

“That eye strain doesn’t normally hit you until the six-hour mark.”

Chan nods. There’s a small smile on his lips that looks appreciative —  like he’s grateful to be known so well. He gestures to the table at the center of the room and says, “Almost finished, man. You can sit if you want to.”

Table is a bit of a reach, Hyunjin thinks as he approaches it. That Formica monstrosity is held together by duct tape and sheer force of will. It’ll buckle if anyone around it blinks too forcefully. 

Despite how truly heinous it is, he has a soft spot for everything that broken piece of furniture represents: all-nighters spent huddled over plans to un-fuck a state they had no part in destroying, long-forgotten family meals — at tables far nicer than this — sacrificed for a calling that beckoned them to leave home and never look back. 

His own bed may be a stranger to him, but there’s a permanent imprint of his ass in his designated folding chair. It’s likely the closest thing to a home that he’ll ever know. When he lowers himself into it now, it groans under his weight despite him not weighing much at all. His arms cross nonchalantly and his legs do, too. 

If he’s going to keep waiting, he’s going to be comfortable.

And he does wait.

And waits, and waits, and waits —

“Sorry about that,” Chan states abruptly, several minutes later. 

Unlike Chan, Hyunjin isn’t easily surprised. He doesn’t flinch at the sudden sound of Chan’s voice. He waves dismissively instead, knowing full well that the leader wouldn’t waste his time on purpose. With a quick nod towards the chair at the head of the table, he invites Chan to join him; but Chan shakes his head, opting to stand nearby as he stretches his arms overhead. 

Yawning through his words, he attempts to explain, “Been sitting all fucking day. My back is killing me.”

“Did you eat?” Hyunjin asks, catching the eldest off-guard once again. 

The only response he gets is a grimace, so he reaches into the pocket of his jacket for the dalgona he managed to get his hands on. It only breaks his heart a little bit to toss it over to Chan, who lights up like a roman candle the second he sees it.

It’s always the little reminders of home that hit the hardest, isn’t it?

Chan rips open the packet the moment he catches it and freezes when the plastic wrapping no longer obstructs his view. There’s no humor to be found in his dry laugh, and Hyunjin understands why that is as soon as Chan holds up the snack. Dead center, there’s an outline of an umbrella pressed into the toffee. 

“Speaking of Ulsan…” Chan sighs, all joy extinguished. Snapping it clean in half, he tosses a portion back to Hyunjin, who’s eager to sink his teeth into it for more reasons than one. Through his own mouthful, Chan mumbles, “Have you picked up any intel on this trial they’re running? I can’t even find a name —”

Hyunjin interrupts with a nod. “The Bliss Beta.”

His tone is casual because this shit is old news by now. More than that, he doesn’t want Chan to burn energy he doesn’t have on a spiral he doesn’t need to make. Someday, people will finally realize that Hyunjin is ten steps ahead of them. 

Today, unfortunately, is not that day.

Chan simply gawks at him.

“I swung by Scraps’ apartment building last week to grab her shit, and I heard some drunks talking about it on the sidewalk outside,” Hyunjin states with a shrug. “I nicked a flier from one of their pockets on my way back here.”

“You know, you could’ve just talked to them,” Chan frowns disapprovingly. “You catch more flies with honey, or whatever.”

Leave it to Bang Chan to whine about prosocial behavior when he’s barely left the factory at any point in the ten years they’ve been holed up inside it. 

Effectively a recluse, the only two people he’s spoken to outside of the Black Screen — Felix, a decade ago, and Changbin, most recently — were mere seconds away from joining up. And if that isn’t enough to disqualify his hot take, Hyunjin would like to note for the record that Chan founded — and actively leads — what’s been deemed a “terrorist organization” by the general public. 

That has fuck all to do with honey — just subterfuge, violence, and a dream.

Hyunjin rolls his eyes but keeps the bulk of his exasperation to himself. After all, calling Chan a hypocrite won’t make him get to the point any faster. 

“Eavesdropping got me nowhere. I’m not sure what I could’ve possibly gained from inhaling that liquor off their breath beyond a drunk and disorderly of my own.” 

Before Chan can get a word in, Hyunjin continues his report. 

“They’re marketing this beta exclusively in low-income neighborhoods, but there’s no indication of what these people are signing up for — only the amount of cash they’ll get if they consent to participate in the R&D.”

“So, we still don’t know what we’re dealing with,” Chan mutters dejectedly. 

He stares off to the side as the gears in his brain turn; however, he doesn’t stay stuck for long. In a matter of moments, he begins to pace the length of the table, getting more worked up with every step. “Spider said their tech is a brick wall. It’s going to take a while for her to break through, if she even can.”

Hyunjin means it, so he says it with his whole chest: “She can.”

In the time he’s known her, Spider hasn’t met a code she can’t break. No person has ever been successful in keeping her out — up to and including Lee Minho, who has a cement-lined sarcophagus where his heart should be. If she doesn’t find a crack to slip through, she’ll fucking make one. She always does.

Trust like this is hard to come by in the life they’ve all chosen, but she’s earned Hyunjin’s. 

She deserves Chan’s, too.

Brow furrowed, Chan looks back at Hyunjin. There’s something in his expression that he’s attempting to keep to himself — something he’s not allowing himself to say. Whatever he’s withholding, the fact that he’s concealing anything makes the hair on the back of Hyunjin’s neck stand up. A long, tense pause fills the space between them. 

Hyunjin knows it’s hypocritical, getting frustrated by someone else’s refusal to open up. Someone who plays everything close to the chest shouldn’t be allowed to hate it when others do the same around him; but he does, and he’s seconds away from demanding that Chan spit it out already.

Chan must see it coming, so he intervenes to keep the younger man’s annoyance from boiling over. Gently lowering the temperature, he asks, “Hyunjin, do you have any contacts on the inside?”

The fact that Chan’s asking at all tells Hyunjin that the answer is already known. 

Still, the head of reconnaissance looks his leader dead in the eye and responds flatly, without hesitation.

“No.”

Hyunjin is only ever able to make his way to you in the dead of night. 

Though the location frequently changes, the preparation never does. He lays awake until he knows for sure that the rest of the compound is down for the night. When all he hears is snoring, he drags himself out of the bed he can never seem to sleep in. 

Once he’s on his feet, whatever he’s wearing is quickly replaced with something that won’t stick out: nondescript black clothing, shoes with the tread and size label worn down beyond recognition, hood up, mask on.

You once joked that he looked like a jewel thief, all shrouded in darkness, and you were sort of right. Unfortunately for Hyunjin, there’s a fatal flaw in that comparison. He has to leave his prize behind every single time, doomed to return home empty-handed.

Tonight won’t be any different.

The front door rattles too loudly for his liking, creates a risk of questions being asked that he doesn’t want to answer, so Hyunjin utilizes the fire escape that abuts the westernmost wall of the factory. The late October air has left the metal rungs of that ladder so cold that they circle back to burning, but it doesn’t slow him down. Nothing ever does when it comes to you. 

If anything, the pain drives him to pick up the pace. Him and his stinging palms make short work of the obstacle. Just as quickly, he hits the ground running towards the freestanding garage that sits to the east of the factory. Once he reaches it, panting slightly, he sets to work, going through the same old motions.

It doesn’t take long for Hyunjin to swap out his motorcycle’s license plate. He’s done it so many times by now that the task no longer requires conscious thought; just muscle memory and the desperation he feels to move as quickly as possible in order to reach you faster. The old plate hits the floor with a clang that’s still ringing out when he finishes affixing the new series of numbers to the back of his bike.

All these precautions are tedious bullshit, but failing to go through the motions is a surefire way to get the attention of private police. Simply put, Hyunjin doesn’t have the spare energy it would take to kill and bury whichever poor fucker attempts to cite him; nor does he have the heart to keep you waiting even longer than you have been.

Fuck. 

How long has it been?

Suddenly rushing, he slings one, lean leg over the side of his bike and grabs the handlebars.

Too long.

The terrain is a thousand times harder to navigate in the dark, all divots and ditches along the winding side roads. Still, the threat of losing control of his ride is far less severe than that of betraying the compound’s location; or worse, the Black Screen’s presence anywhere, at all.

So, like always, Hyunjin stomachs the barely-sufferable thrashing and keeps the headlamp off until he makes it to the main road. Even then, he flies a kilometer or so into pitch black before he feels comfortable enough to light the way.

He doesn’t know how many kilometers he’s driven in total just to keep you, but if he had to guess, he’s cracked quadruple digits.

Worth it.

You can’t stay in one place for long enough to put down roots. The time you do stay put varies, never following a pattern. Daegu for eight weeks, then to Anyang for three, Namyangju for five…

Busan, he thinks to himself as he reaches the expressway. 

Busan was the last place he held you, a month or so ago. Some shitty little apartment near the docks, where the ceiling leaked over your bed and made a fucking mess of things. Nothing could be done to fix it without calling too much attention to you, but it didn’t matter; he fucked you on the living room floor, and you slept like a baby against his chest, bed be damned.

He hasn’t felt rested since.

The drive from Changwon to Busan takes thirty-five minutes, if Hyunjin recalls correctly — he always does — and it burns him up to know that the trip would take half that time if he could drive as fast as his heart races. 

But he can’t. 

He won’t, not when a traffic stop could ruin both your lives. It feels like crawling, abiding by limits. 

And fuck, he’s sick to death of those.

As he drives, the rubble eventually gives way to a proper cityscape. The neon signs of Busan bleed out into the dark, so hazy in the smog that the words themselves are lost. It’s only color — sharp reds and blues — not substance that offsets the inky black. The massive buildings that those signs are affixed to stab upwards into the sky until their tops disappear, like they don’t ever stop at all. 

Still, despite the seemingly endless interiors around him, Hyunjin sees houseless people everywhere he looks. It’d be more comfortable to look away as he winds down side streets to your last known location, but he doesn’t. Even though he has nothing else to give them, he can spare the courtesy of acknowledging that they exist. 

Nobody else does.

Every time he raises a hand off the handlebars to wave at someone, they wave right back. Just for a second, he forgets that the city isn’t always unkind. It’s a feeling he’d bottle if he could, the little glimmer of hope.

When Hyunjin reaches the docks, he parks his bike behind a boat house and heads on foot from there. Up the sidewalk, around the block to the back entrance to your apartment. The rational half of his brain knows you won’t still be there; the lovesick half doesn’t care. It signals his heart to beat faster with every step, damn close to breaking through his chest when he picks the lock and pushes the door open.

The four flights of stairs between him and your place are taken two steps at a time, not only due to his eagerness but the shitty construction. Even the steps he deems safe enough to touch creak beneath his weight, like they’re screaming at him for the intrusion. He ignores it, and soon enough, he’s outside your door.

This time, Hyunjin doesn’t need to pick the lock. Your door is open. Everything that used to be behind it is gone.

He presses his palm against the center of his chest, glances down, and mutters, “Told you so.”

With you and your few earthly possessions absent, he’s left to a scavenger hunt — finding some hint of where you’ve gone next. You’re far more creative than he is, which makes this part even harder. 

As bitter as the necessity makes him, he’s thankful for the amount of times he’s had to do it. Practice has made him the tiniest bit smarter. Now, he spots the empty bottle sitting on a windowsill, and he doesn’t immediately assume that it’s trash. 

Hyunjin jogs over to it and picks it up, grinning instantly. 

“Gyeongju beopju,” he murmurs as reads the label aloud. Then, knowing full fucking well that you can’t hear him, he says it anyway, “You beautiful genius.”

Only one question remains, and it’s the hardest one to solve: where in Gyeongju?

For good reason, you can’t leave an address floating around. That fact doesn’t appease the frustration creeping up from his stomach, transforming into a groan on its way out of his mouth. With an exasperated breath, he lets his hand drop, though he maintains his grip on the bottle. It’s damn near inaudible, but there’s a muffled sound within it as it jostles in his grip.

The fuck?

Seeing no other option, Hyunjin screws off the cap. On the inner part of that metal, he finds a strip of double-sided tape and nothing else; whatever you stuck to it must’ve been shaken loose. 

Beautiful, perfect genius. 

He tilts the bottle upside down with his free hand ready to catch what falls: a ripped-up piece of paper, rolled up like a scroll. There, written in your neat script, is a lead — 8793 & 2441, which he assumes designates the street address and apartment number. Directly below those, you’ve written “red”, which he doesn’t know what the fuck to make of.

One way or another, he’ll figure it out.

The race to Gyeongju swallowed another hour of his time. Midway through the second leg of his never-ending journey, the sky opened up. Rain came down in sheets so strong that he almost gave up, which isn’t a decision he would’ve made lightly. He didn’t — thank god — because the downpour started to peter out around the time he crossed the city limits.

Now, idling off to the side of the road in the city’s center, he’s soaked and thoroughly chilled to the bone, but at least he can see. 

Capitalizing on his newly unobstructed vision, Hyunjin fishes his mobile out from the zippered pocket of his jacket. The leather glove adorning his right hand is shoved back into that empty space. He rapidly thumbs through applications, eyes scanning just as fast until he locates the navigation. To avoid any unwanted attention, he keeps the screen confined to the glass, rather than projecting it into the space in front of him.

A quick search through the city’s most recent map gives him three locations with “8793” as the street number. One possibility is ruled out immediately when he zooms in on the satellite image and finds a vacant lot. The two remaining results both appear to be high-rise apartment buildings, both of which could be this month’s pit stop. Notably, neither building is red, nor does the color feature in either of the street names.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself. 

Once again, he swaps his mobile and glove, then hastily stuffs his fingers back into the latter. With a sigh, he sinks back down onto his bike and makes to leave for the nearest of the two possibilities. It’s not until he reaches the intersection that the realization hits him.

You live your life on the outskirts. 

There’s simply no way that you’d pick a place so close to downtown.

Disregarding the blaring horns and shouted obscenities, he makes an illegal turn to reposition himself on the opposite side of the road. It’s for the best that no one he cut off can hear him laughing over the roar of his engine. All their rage is drowned out by the screech of his tires as he peels the fuck out of there.

Five more minutes slip away while he speeds off to the northeast side of town. Thankfully, when he locates what he presumes is your building, your final hint begins to make some fucking sense. 

Around the block sits a bar with boarded up windows, tiny fragments of glass still littering the sidewalk where a break-in must’ve occurred at some point in the recent past. On a hunch, Hyunjin looks up at the street lights framing the exterior of The Red Door. His suspicion is confirmed immediately.

The CCTV cameras covering the area were smashed to shit, along with the bar’s windows.

You were giving him a safe place to park. Damn near throwing his bike down in the process, he stumbles off to your building, muttering as he goes, “Beautiful, perfect, considerate genius.”

Hyunjin ages forty years in the time it takes the elevator to drag him up to the twenty-fourth floor. 

When he finally steps out and the doors close again behind him, force of habit checks for any people or cameras that may have eyes on him. Finding none, he whirls back around to face the closed, metal doors behind him. Frozen fingers tug at the black, cloth mask that sits over his mouth and nose until his face is fully visible. 

It’s reckless and melodramatic — he’ll openly admit to being both of those things — but he needs to see it to believe that he still looks as young as he did when he entered the car in the first place. Oh, thank god. Drenched and windswept as he may be, he finds some amount of solace in the absence of wrinkles.

With the mask secured again over his features, he heads off in the direction of apartment 2441, praying to anyone listening that he didn’t fuck this all up along the way. His brain can’t hold a candle to yours; and this certainly wouldn’t be the first time that he got so caught up in thinking like you that he missed the mark completely.

After wandering down a hallway far fucking longer than it seems, he reaches the door he’s been seeking. Despite the anxious fluttering in his stomach, Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate; he immediately lifts his arm to grab hold of the knob. It pulls away before he can even wrap his hand around it, leaving him frozen on the doorstep with his pulse hammering in his ears.

Transfixed, he watches the splinter of light on the floor grow wider until his curiosity wins out. A quick glance upward reveals an occupant he’s never laid eyes on before, but he doesn’t have the opportunity to study them fully. Through the narrow gap, fingers far warmer than his own encircle his wrist and pull him through the opening. Behind him, the door closes again so quietly that his stumbling drowns out the sound.

Opting to ignore his surroundings for the time being, Hyunjin tilts his head curiously to the side and stares straight ahead. No matter how many times his gaze sweeps over the person in front of him, he finds absolutely nothing familiar. 

Not the irises, not the hair, not even the bone structure.

He arches an eyebrow. “Impressive timing, opening the door before anyone even knocks.”

“Were you planning on knocking?” His expression is reflected right back at him. “Since when is that a thing you do?”

Grinning wolfishly, he turns his wrist to capture the hand still holding onto him. All it takes is a gentle tug to eliminate the distance. As if it’s a reflex, two hands reach up to the mask obscuring the lower half of his face, carefully ushering the fabric down until it pools around his neck.

“How’d you know it was me?” He asks, genuinely curious. 

Nobody manages to notice him when he’s standing in the same room, let alone through a door with no peephole. His measured steps never make a sound, either, which makes it all the more insane that his presence was sensed before he intentionally gave himself away.

Arms loop around his neck and pull him closer as feet push up on tiptoe. 

“I could ask you the same question.”

Hyunjin’s answer — that he would know you anywhere, that he could find you in the dark with touch alone — is eerily close to the one he receives.

“A sixth sense,” you chirp. 

Though everything else about you has changed since he last saw you, that voice is the common denominator. It strikes a chord deep in his chest, plucking his heartstrings masterfully in a way only you can. The sound is so much better when it’s not looping hopelessly in his head; when it slips through lips finally close enough to kiss.

So, that’s exactly what he does.

There’s no word Hyunjin can think of to describe the desperation behind his movements — at least, not in any language he’s ever heard. He lifts and you jump, and your fingers are threading through his hair with an identical, insatiable need to be closer before your body even settles fully in his arms. Like your legs around his waist, your mouth opens up for him, sighing softly into his when your lips crash together.

He can hardly catch his breath, but he doesn’t give a shit. Air in his lungs isn’t worth half as much as your tongue licking into his mouth. Gripping the soft flesh of your thighs and letting your weight warm his palms is more than enough to keep him alive. Hyunjin clings to you, and it hits him then — so forceful and sudden that it almost knocks a tear loose:

He’s not a ghost when he’s with you.

Clinging to him as closely as you are, you notice the way he shivers. Every article of clothing on him is rain-drenched and chilled to the touch; his eagerness doesn’t make him tremble any less.

You break the kiss. A concerned frown takes his place on your lips. “Cold?”

He nods, bumping the tip of his nose against yours affectionately in the process, silently begging for you to kiss him again. You lean away and leave him no choice but to frown, too, albeit much less cutely than you.

You’re quick to soothe. You glance over your right shoulder towards a hallway he can’t see the end of. When you turn your head back around to him, a coy smile lights up the dark.

“A hot shower might help,” you suggest. You tilt your head to the side, as if there’s anything either of you really need to consider here. “What do you think?”

Hyunjin thinks carrying you off towards the bathroom answers your question well enough.

With how feverishly you kiss him, he’s effectively flying blind, moving as quickly as he can while trying not to stumble. He has to keep one arm off you, extended, to prevent a collision; but he eventually reaches his destination. A measured kick opens the half-closed door far enough to move your bodies through it.

The same arm that guided him to the bathroom swipes uselessly over the wall in an attempt to find the light switch without turning his head. You seem to sense his struggle, pulling away kiss-bitten to handle the task yourself.

It’s then that Hyunjin truly gets to drink in the sight of you, radiant despite the flickering fluorescent overhead. 

It’s then that his heart truly starts hammering away in his chest, pumping so eagerly that he finds it hard to hear you say, “You need to let me go.”

He knows you’re referring to his hold on you now, which keeps you from reaching down to the shower handle. Those words sting, nonetheless.

“We’ve got a good thirty minutes’ worth of hot water.” You slip through his hands and immediately push up onto your toes to kiss him again, like you know exactly where his train of thought has gone. “Then, I’ve got a warm bed under a leak-free ceiling.”

For how long, though?

Hyunjin shakes his head to knock those thoughts out of the way. He refuses to spend another second thinking about anything else. For now, he’s here. 

He’s with you — beautiful, considerate, genius you — and you’re glancing over your shoulder at him as you check the water’s temperature on the back of your hand, smiling with your eyes alone. With a built-in fondness that never changes, even if the eyes themselves do.

“Coming?” You chirp. You flick water at him to wake him from the trance he’d fallen into while watching you.

Hyunjin raises his eyebrows quickly then drops them, eyes sweeping over your body and making you shiver on instinct. “At least once.”

You want to roll your eyes — he knows you do — but you’re too flustered. You’re always so easy to play with. So shy that you pinch your bottom lip between your teeth when you reach out to help him shrug his jacket off his shoulders. 

With a muffled thud, wet leather hits dry tile. Shirts, shoes, and all the rest of the tangible barriers between you fall by the wayside. The two of you resettle within the steam of the shower, and his hands revel in your softness the second they can. 

He kisses an apology into your bare shoulder for the shock his cold fingers press into your waist. Yours, perfectly warm, thread through his already wet hair. 

Somehow, it’s your touch that sparks a shiver.

“Missed you.” Your eyes flutter shut as his lips travel nearer to your neck. “I still do,” you amend, breathless by the time his mouth reaches your pulse point. How a heartbeat can feel like home, he’ll never know. “I’m never not missing you.”

Hyunjin’s palms follow the curves of your waist down to your hips, grip solid as he pulls you flush against his chest, kissing up the column of your neck until your head tips back. You’re in the perfect position to gaze up at him when your eyelids finally find the strength to stay open.

“Have I ever told you what I think about?” He murmurs. His hands dip further down to caress your perfect ass, massaging the flesh with both hands until he works a quiet whine out of you. “When I want you but can’t have you?”

Your pupils dilate so fast that it’s almost comical. Hyunjin lets a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He lets his eyes drift, too, so he can watch rivulets of warm water streak down your chest. Halfway to hypnotized, he speaks in a low, reverent tone:

“Think about holding you so close that I can feel your nipples start to peak.”

Experimentally, he raises his hand and flicks his thumb over one. It glides easily — slippery when wet — and you love the sensation, judging by the way you gasp.

When he moves towards you, you seem to anticipate where he’s headed next. You inch backwards until your spine rests against the shower wall, shivering slightly against the chill.

“I picture you writhing in my arms, pinned to a wall just like this one.” Left palm flat against the tile near your head, he cages you in, tilting his head down so that his forehead touches yours. “Your fingernails pressing crescents into my shoulders, your legs wrapped around me.”

You whimper, right on cue, when his right hand drops.

“Spilling all those sweet little sounds of yours right into my ear.”

The knuckle of his index finger traces a straight line down, down, down your stomach. Your breath catches in your throat because he keeps going, finds you with his fingertips, wet and wanting.

“Hyunjin,” you plead, voice barely loud enough to overpower the drum of water landing at your feet.

He ducks his head, lips now close enough to your ear that they touch while he whispers, “Will you let me?”

You gasp when Hyunjin’s middle finger begins to swirl over your clit.

“Can I show you?”

Though he’s better at hiding it than you, his ministrations have him fucked up, too. His cock hangs heavy in the minimal space between you; his whole body begs for yours and yet, when you nod, he limits himself to one digit. Your arousal coats that finger like gloss in the second before it slips inside of you.

You’re boneless, but you manage to wobble off from the bathroom towards your bedroom, nonetheless. As you do, you pull your half-damp hair up into a crooked knot at the top of your head, unintentionally leaving tendrils behind. They cling to the wetness of your shoulders, not budging a millimeter despite your movement.

Hyunjin pads along behind you, and he can’t help but smirk. You clung to his shoulders the exact same way, only letting go when the hot water and your shaking legs gave out simultaneously. 

Like you can sense his smugness, you look back at him. You don’t call him out the way he expects. Instead, you smile sheepishly. “It’s bleeding, isn’t it?”

His eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “It’s what?” Frantically, his wide eyes dart across your exposed skin for some injury he must’ve missed. Something he must’ve caused. There are old scars, sure, but nothing fresh to tip him off. “Is what — ?”

“The dye!” You amend quickly, gesturing over your shoulder. 

This clears up his panic but not his confusion. 

Chuckling softly, you turn back around with a shake of your head and continue your steps towards the dresser at the far side of your room. Your explanation continues as you go. 

There’s no condescension in your expression or tone  — there never is — but Hyunjin thinks it’d be warranted. You know more than he could ever hope to about a million different things, all of which he’d willingly pay tuition costs to learn about.

It’s simple, it’s sweet, and it’s effective. 

“Hot water opens up the cuticle of the strand and flushes the color out. Red molecules don’t penetrate as deeply — they’re the biggest — so they wash out super easily, unfortunately.”

You frown again and tug open the middle drawer, mumbling about your poor white towels while you root through your limited selection of clothing.

He’s so fond of you that he really might drop dead, so he jokes his way around it, doesn’t speak the quiet part out loud.

“Shit. You spoil me, Professor.” Hyunjin whistles, genuinely impressed and only slightly devilish. The unexpected noise prompts you to look up at him again with startled eyes. “First, the shower sex, now a chemistry lesson —”

He has to cut himself off to catch the sweatpants you hurl at him. The interruption doesn’t wipe the teasing look off his face, though; and it certainly doesn’t distract from the flustered look on yours. You try like hell to hide his effect on you, but it only gets worse when he swaps out the towel hanging low on his hips for the clothes you’ve given him.

After shooting you an impish grin, Hyunjin twirls around, if only for the split second it takes him to drop himself into your bed. And fuck, just like every other time, he wonders how either of you ever manage to leave it. Here in your sheets, it’s all weightless — your joint baggage, the world’s expectations, the thousand things neither one of you can say out loud.

“Must be sore from the drive,” you hum. “Tired, too.”

Hyunjin can’t remember a time when he wasn’t.

The urge he feels to close his eyes and bury his face in pillows that smell like you is overwhelming. That familiar floral perfume of yours calms him so quickly and completely that he could fall asleep in an instant. Really, that’s exactly what he’d do if the clock wasn’t running, but it is, and he knows better than to waste the limited time he gets to spend staring up at you.

So, he just says, “I’ve never felt better,” because all of these things can be true at once.

You’re too focused to notice him watching you, but Hyunjin doesn’t mind. While you rummage around for the shorts that pair with your short-sleeved, button-up pajama top, he commits the current state of you to memory. 

It feels like a moral duty, filling up his brain with as many mental snapshots as possible. After all, this version of you will be gone the next time he sees you. You and all your iterations deserve to be remembered, even if Hyunjin is the only one alive who can do it. Unfortunately, there’s a blank space in his scrapbook. A piece of your story he’ll never be able to speak to, and it comes right at the start of it.

One of fate’s cruelest twists is that he didn’t get to meet you — the original, anyways — before your survival became contingent on reinvention. By the time he stumbled into your life, you’d already done your best to destroy all the evidence of who you used to be; burned up your past with a box of matches until no trace was left. 

And even if photos did still exist of who you used to be, it’d be too dangerous for you to possess them. For over a year now, you’ve been running from your past, hopping from city to city and modifying your appearance with every move.

As physically and mentally taxing as those procedures must be, they’re necessary. A single slip-up would cash in that price on your head. Considering the role you used to occupy, that would be a massive payout. It’s a safe assumption to make that the interest only compounds further with every day you evade them.

To Hyunjin’s knowledge, you’re the only Ulsan defector to last this long on the outside. It’s virtually impossible for ex-employees to escape at all with their memories still intact; even less likely that they’ll evade the bounty hunters that come next. After that, it’s only a matter of time — not if, but when they’re discovered — until Ulsan’s retention team comes calling. Their luck runs out then, if they ever had any to begin with. 

Worse, their subsequent deaths aren’t even a blip on the general public’s radar.

Absolutely nobody bats a fucking eye at deaths by “natural causes”. And thanks to iron-clad non-disclosure agreements, nobody knows that the trail of corpses are connected in the first place. By design, the string that ties their bodies back to a common employer is invisible.

Knowing what life would be like otherwise, most don’t even attempt to flee. Understandably, they give in to the cleanse when their employment is terminated, one way or another. They live the rest of their lives without so much of an echo of their time at Ulsan.

You’ve been slipping him intel about the corporate experience since he met you, but Hyunjin has never asked about yours. Speaking any of it out loud feels like a summoning spell. Like saying that name in the mirror three times will invite your demons in.

“I miss the blue, I think.”

Hyunjin props himself up on his elbow, frowning. You finish buttoning that soft, silk top of yours and shuffle over to join him, melting into his side the second your body slips under the comforter. 

He counters, “The red looks just as good,” and kisses the top of your head to emphasize his point. 

You wiggle enough to look up at him with your nose scrunched thoughtfully. “I thought you liked the black best.”

This time, there’s a tiny bit of crookedness in the bridge of your nose like it’s been broken before and didn’t quite heal right. That attention to detail — creating lived-in features that haven’t actually been lived in — is probably why you’ve lasted this long. Anyone else that goes under the knife as often as you tends to seek perfection, not realism. 

Funny how the choice that sets you apart is what lets you blend in.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, looks you dead in your newly hazel eyes, and he says nothing about the fact that they were most recently green. “I like them all best.”

This, like any compliment, immediately makes you shy. Before he can blink, your face is buried in the crook of his neck, warming him from the outside in. You mumble something against his skin that he can’t quite catch. You must know it, too, because you reposition yourself to free up your mouth.

“You’ve finally stopped shivering,” you note before leaving a solitary, soft kiss on the side of his throat. 

He nods to the best of his ability. “Sufficiently thawed.”

You glance up at him at the same moment that he looks down at you. It’s written all over your face — don’t you dare — but Hyunjin always does, doesn’t he? And he always will, so long as your eyes keep going wide like this.

“Can’t say it was the steam that did it, though. I think you fucked the chill right out of me.”

The tiny groan you let go of gets lost under the playful smack of your hand against his chest. You put no pressure behind it whatsoever — he didn’t feel a thing — but he gasps, nonetheless. His head crashes back against the pillows; his eyes fall shut. And because he’s a little shit before he is anything else, he goes slack-jawed, tongue hanging limply from the corner of his mouth.

“You might be the most dramatic person that’s ever lived. You know that, right?”

His reply comes like a death rattle. It’s automatic, it’s ominous, and there’s no taking it back now:

“Truly unfortunate that you have to be loved by me, of all people.”

That admission has been a long time coming, but Hyunjin has tried to hold it back for the same reason you have. For the same reason you don’t say it back now, even though he feels it seep into every other word. Calling this what it is — love — is a promise neither one of you can keep. 

It’s the worst thing he could’ve said to you because he can’t act on it; and it might be the worst thing you’ve ever heard, so you just return to your spot, nuzzled into his neck.

“Tell me what I’ve missed.” You deflect, lips tickling against the spot just below his ear. “What are you all up to?”

Hyunjin used to wonder why you wanted to know every mundane detail about his and his comrades’ daily lives — boredom with your own or genuine interest? Now, he doesn’t bother splitting hairs. It’s both, and he has no fucking business passing judgment. Without a community of your own, you deserve whatever pieces of his that he can give.

“Well,” Hyunjin sighs, fingertips drawing nonsense shapes on your back. With his prints burned off, they glide especially smoothly over the silky fabric of your pajama top. Yet another bonus. “Got some new blood right after I saw you last. One of them was a childhood friend of Felix’s, and she’s — uhh — a little rough around the edges.”

Your little chuckle makes him shiver.

“He loves her, though — like, truly, madly, deeply loves her — so, I think he’s uniquely capable of refining her enough to be useful.” He pauses for a moment to consider whether or not he wants to say it. In the end, he can’t stop himself. “It’s nice to see him happy. That shit’s so rare, living the way we do. He deserves it.”

“Hyunjin, so do you.”

This time, he doesn’t say what he wants to. 

He doesn't ask you to run away with him, knowing damn well that it’s even more dangerous to try than to stay. Neither of you would willingly leave loose ends, anyway. There’s too much left to be done, and all of it comes before his own happiness. It always has.

He doesn’t ask you to come back with him, either.  As much as he wants to offer up the Black Screen to keep you safe, there’s no guarantee that they could. You’d only turn him down if he tried, remind him that your proximity makes the target on their heads even bigger. Hyunjin suspects that this isn’t your only fear, however. 

Trust is a luxury you can’t afford; and it’d cost a lot of it for an ex-corp to cross the line in the sand. If you did, you’d be walking into a collective hell-bent on destroying the entity you used to associate with — into a factory full of mercenary anarchists, not many of whom make the best listeners. Your story might fall on deaf ears; or worse, breed suspicion about your motives.

It’s all fucked, top to bottom.

After another pause, Hyunjin responds with a truth so unattainable that it feels like a lie. “Someday,” he murmurs. “When this is all over.”

If that time ever comes.

“Are you close?” Your question surprises him because you almost sound hopeful, which isn’t a word he’d ever previously thought to associate with either of you. You mistake his stunned silence for misunderstanding, so you clarify, “To a plan, I guess.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say next, so he takes your hand from where it rests on his stomach and pulls it up to his lips. They brush over your knuckles slowly, a failed attempt to avoid the inevitable.

He’s never — not once — asked you about Ulsan. It’s the last thing he wants to do, tearing away from the limited time he gets to exist with you out of context, but he can’t think of any other way around it now. 

What if this is the only way to someday?

When he stalls, you excavate yourself from his side and prop yourself up on one elbow to assess him. It’s more concern than anything else, the gentle way in which you look at him. If only it didn’t make him feel more guilty. If only it didn’t cause his question to stick in his throat on its way out, forcing him to clear it.

“Have you ever heard of the Bliss Beta?” 

It must stun you to hear it because you freeze solid. 

Fuck. 

He shouldn’t have done this. He shouldn’t have brought it up, should’ve kept his fucking mouth shut, but it only spills out faster:

“Ulsan is running some clandestine clinical trials for something called the Bliss Beta. It’s —”

“— I know what it is,” you interrupt quietly.

“You do?”

You pause. There’s something unreadable in your expression that he’d normally guess after; you don’t give him the opportunity. You state it slowly. Cautiously. “I made it.”

Hyunjin is the frozen one now.

If he could make himself move, he might leave and never look back. But some persistent part of him refuses to run, refuses to accept that you truly had anything to do with the horror show wreaking havoc in neighborhoods just like this one. 

If you did — if Hyunjin can force himself to swallow that truth — then he may as well fall off the grid right here and now. There would be no coming back from that, not for him.

Please tell me you’re still the person I think you are.

“It’s also what made me leave,” you explain softly. “What they wanted to do with it, I mean.” 

Hyunjin’s hand is still limp around yours, so you take yours back into your lap. For a moment, you say nothing, only fidgeting with the rings around your fingers. When you finally do speak, your voice is so quiet that he has to strain to hear it, even sitting as close to you as he is. 

“Ulsan was putting all its resources into cyberware, but none into addressing the side-effects. I was naive enough to think that I could change that.” You shake your head, letting out a humorless laugh. “I applied in the first place because I wanted to find a way to treat cyberpsychosis. All of these people are replacing every single part of their biological bodies with extremely powerful, inorganic materials…”

Your voice trails off at the end as a grimace takes over. Even though your features are different now, that subdued look of utter hopelessness in your eyes is the same. He could pick it out of a lineup if he had to.

“It’s such a slippery slope, Hyunjin.” You exhale, voice tinged with a sadness he can’t fully understand. “When you fuck with a person’s reality to that extent, that recklessly, and add in the kind of omnipotence that comes with all of these modifications... They lose themselves in it.”

The sort of people you’re talking about feature heavily on the news due to the horrendous acts of violence they’re caught committing, but no network dares to show the kind of empathy for them that you currently are. They only show the squads of WraithCo. goons it takes to neutralize them — a sterile, media term for “shot like a dog in the street”. Try as he might, Hyunjin can’t recall a single one of these stories that doesn’t end in state-sanctioned murder.

He looks up from your hands in your lap to your face, seemingly catching you by surprise. To his surprise, your eyes are swimming. 

In all the time he’s known you, you’ve never cried — not about the state of the world or the shitty cards you’ve been dealt, time and time again. Until now, Hyunjin wasn’t sure if you could cry. It always seemed safe to assume that you’d either given up or forgotten how. Modified your way around the process, maybe. Cut the flow to the faucet in the course of your renovations.

Reflexively, he takes your hand back in his and squeezes once to ground you. Maybe it’s stupid, but he prays that some part of you will light up the way it normally does when you have the opportunity to educate him about something new. 

His favorite teacher, the best there is.

“What did you design, Professor?” Hyunjin asks.

Please work.

You crack the world’s tiniest smile at the nickname — one you’ve always rolled your eyes at — and it’s enough for him. There’s a sliver of excitement in your voice again, too. 

Proof of life.

“So…” You suck in a breath, like you’ll miss more than a few as you ramble. “The problem is mechanical, even if it presents as psychiatric, right? You can’t rely on psychotropic medication to soothe a brain that’s gone haywire in a literal sense. The solution is hidden within the problem itself, you know?”

You pause and glance over at him for some confirmation that he’s following. He’s doing his fucking best, but this shit is so far outside of his wheelhouse. You take the borderline grimace he gives you and run with it, gesturing wildly with your free hand while you talk.

“I designed a chip to be inserted here —” You reach over and run your fingertip over the small, titanium datashard slot behind his right ear. 

Most people use this port to store and share data in the same way its distant predecessor — the universal serial bus — was used, generations ago. Having started out as a military exclusive, this tech weaved its way into the corporate sectors following the war. From there, it trickled down to civilian populations, who primarily use it for media consumption.

Of course, the run-off always lands in the gutter. Edge runners and their neighbors in the underbelly swap maps, schematics, and the like, passing intel from person to person without leaving an easily discoverable paper trail. Money, too, that’ll never cross paths with a bank or an audit.

Their more tech-literate counterparts — net runners and back alley doctors, for example — pad their ill-gotten income by peddling programmed datashards. Ones that enhance hacking capabilities or bolster combat prowess, as if the recipient is main-lining skills; no practice necessary. 

Hyunjin, to the contrary, doesn’t use his shard slot at all. He’s never been adept at this tech shit, and he can’t be fucking bothered to learn.

“— with the goal of de-stimulating the frontal lobe.” You move your hand to brush your fingertips gently across his forehead. 

Your touch is gone too soon. 

Pausing for a moment, your shoulders and the corners of your mouth droop downwards. Dejected, you sound almost apologetic when you eventually say, “Not a perfect fix, by any means. I just figured that if you can mute some of the noise that’s overriding these people’s true personalities, you can negate the impulse to —”

“— Peel people apart like perilla leaves,” Hyunjin mutters darkly. He’s nowhere near as tactful as you are, so he sees no use in trying. “And if they’re not not doing that, then it’s less likely that —”

Looking now at him, you chirp, “The last thing they see in this life is their own brain smeared on the sidewalk, yes.”

Hyunjin stares at you with his jaw hanging open, absolutely shaken to his core that something like that, something he would say, just came out of your mouth. Flabbergasted is too weak a word; his whole goddamn world has been upended. And he doesn’t know or care what it says about him as a person that he wants to kiss you more now than he ever has before.

Seemingly unaware of the way you just broke his brain, your gaze shifts back down to your joined hands. You go quiet again, smile slipping away as you fade in real time. He fucking hates it. Hates that reality always finds a way to creep back in, even though it’s never once been welcome here. 

It’s heavy. 

It hurts.

“It could’ve been great.”

Hyunjin knows you’re talking about your project, but that’s not all he hears. 

You could’ve been great if this world wasn’t anything like it is. Instead, your genius is tucked away in one shithole apartment after another. 

You could’ve been great together, but the time and place are all wrong. 

It all could’ve been great, but it isn’t.

He’s at a loss for words now, so he simply nods.

“I don’t know what I expected, signing on to work for Nam Yeongsun,” you admit quietly. “I don’t know why I thought he’d be any different than the rest of them.”

Them, meaning the other fundamentalist, venture capitalists hiding democracy behind a paywall. 

Your assessment is mostly correct. The only thing that sets Ulsan’s Chief Executive Officer apart is his mastery of dog-whistle politics. Charming demagogue that he is, he’s the best at what he does — subtly reinforcing prejudices that dwell below the surface.

“He took what I created and perverted it.” 

Hyunjin’s no stranger to your fiercely passionate side, but he’s never seen a simmering rage quite like this one. 

You spit it out like it’s poison: “Nam is trying to eradicate what he deems to be unproductive traits, as if you can bug fix poverty and addiction.”

A wave of nausea crashes over Hyunjin so forcefully that his palms start to sweat.

The targeted advertisements in low-income areas.  

The promise of cash for participation without any explanation.

Oh, fuck.

“He’s hijacking people,” Hyunjin croaks, struggling to breathe. “That thing you said about the frontal lobe,” he mutters before swallowing hard. “They’re losing themselves, aren’t they?”

“I didn’t think it was possible.” The tears in your eyes threaten to spill over. You clear your throat, but it doesn’t make a difference; your voice still shakes, trembling alongside your hands. “But if they’ve made it all the way to human trials, that means they’ve actually figured out a way to do it.”

Hyunjin is torn between wanting to scream, faint, and vomit. None of them could adequately purge him of the gnawing sense of doom that swirls in his gut; there’s no quick fix, if a fix even exists at all.

But the boulder is already flying downhill at breakneck speed, and he can’t stop it. Throwing his body in front of it won’t make a difference. That feeling of abject helplessness only swells when you glance at him sideways and up the ante.

“Hyunjin, that’s not the worst of it.”

He doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to ask and shoulder the burden of knowing, but refusing to bear witness to the truth is what made this state the way it is. Hyunjin doesn’t have a choice.

“What could possibly be worse than that?”

“Nam’s charge has always been to eradicate societal ills. He wants abstention, whether it’s drugs or antisocial behavior — forced, if it can’t be willful.” Your voice gets weaker, the more you say, but you don’t stop. “If he really found a way to dig his fingers into the brains of undesirable people, he’ll never stop at one form of abstinence.”

“You're talking about eugenics, right?” He struggles to swallow the bile rising in his throat.

“If this beta makes it out of the trial phase, I’m talking about classicide.”

The ride back to the compound breaks Hyunjin’s heart every time he has to make it. With how tight he grips the handlebars now, his fingers might break, too, but he doesn’t give a shit. All he can think about is the small, metal datashard in his pocket, and the look on your face when you’d handed it to him.

“You have to give this to Spider, Hyunjin. Nobody else. Do you understand?”

Every part of that exchange had been a plea. You’d pulled the tech out of a locked box in your nightstand and transferred it to his palm with a desperation in your eyes that he’d never seen before — from anyone. You’d closed his fingers around it and kept your hands over his, holding him tight, and he made the mistake of asking why.

In hindsight, Hyunjin wishes he hadn’t.

“The encryption. If someone doesn’t peel back the security correctly, layer by layer, it’ll flag your location.”

If he’d kept his mouth shut, he wouldn’t have to know why you clung to him the way that you did, looking at him like it was the last time you’d ever get to do it.

“Everything I know about the beta is on that shard — the program, the lab’s coordinates, its security, and its vulnerabilities.” 

Your voice broke then. 

“They’ll know the source of the information as soon as you access it, but they cannot find out where you are when you do.”

When he felt the weight of your words, Hyunjin refused to accept them for what they were: a sacrifice. Ulsan’s retention team, who currently has no idea you’re still in the peninsula — still alive — will tear the New Republic apart to find you, and when they do —

He kept repeating that there had to be another way to prevent this rollout, that he’d find one, he promised; but you touched his cheek, and he knew:

The only way to Ulsan is through you.

On his way out the door, you’d stopped him with one hand around his wrist. Kissed him hard, cheeks tear-stained, and tried your best to get the rest out through a tightening throat.

“Hyunjin,” you’d whispered, then your voice trailed off. 

All the time you’d both spent swallowing it down made it too difficult to vocalize, but Hyunjin still heard it in all that quiet. He took the baton from you then, speaking just as softly, just as sure. “I know,” he promised. “I love you, too.”

And now, as he races back to the compound with your death sentence in his pocket, Hyunjin knows something else for certain:

When you’re gone, you’ll haunt him, too.

while likes are appreciated, comments/tags/reblogs with your thoughts are really what make my brain go brrrtt.

tagging: @saintriots, @mal-lunar-28, @dabiscrustyfeet @ldysmfrst @obeythemasters @moni-logues

wanna be tagged for future uploads? sign up here.

[itsanerdlife]

Wicked Intentions 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader // (Seriously close) Steve Rogers x Reader // Clint Barton x Reader // T’Challa x Reader.

Warning: Violence. Language. Bullying. Girl Fights. Name Calling. Degrading Comments. Angst. Degrade of Woman (to a point). Criminal Life. Illegal Shit. Fights. Alpha Males. Stalking.

Characters: Peter Stark. Howie Stark. Bucky Barnes. Steve Rogers. Clint Barton. TC (T’Challa). Ben Reilly. Cledus Kasady (CK). Brock Rumlow. Gwen Stacy. Wanda Maximoff. Becca Barnes. Amore Lorelei. Kitty Pryde. Frank Castle. George Barnes. Joe Rogers. Winni Barnes. Pepper Stark. Wade Wilson. Eddie Brock. Warner Strucker. Barney Barton. Bobbi Morse. Pietro Maximoff. Logan.

A/N: This is a Bully Romance. High School setting. Mafia Family Life. Woman are on a lower level than males in their world. Just a heads up. This is the third installment of the series. Bad Intentions, Cruel Intentions, and Wicked Intentions.

Credit: Huge shout out to @ml7010 for all the help, pushing, hyping up, putting up with my changes midway through. If it wasn't for this peach, y'all never would have gotten this series or nearly as far as I am now.

It’s a full house, bustling along, a wedding well underway.

“Red.” I hold up a bridesmaid’s dress, in black from the rack my mother pushed me towards.

“Black?” Red lifts a brow at me.

“It’ll be slimming for Gwen.” I grin at her.

Gwen shoves dresses to one side, glaring at me. Wanda and I laugh.

“Fuck you, bitches.”

“We love you.” I laugh, stepping between the legs of the rack, climbing over to her. Wanda follows, Gwen laughs. My hand lands on her small belly she’s growing. “And we love you.” I coo at her belly.

“Kiss ass.” Gwen snorts, Wanda joins in, cooing at our niece or nephew.

“Inherit aunties, right hook.” I whisper.

“Y/N!” Gwen laughs hard.

“Now that would bless by Satan.” We look over to see Clint joining us.

“Packman?” I lift a brow at him. “Joining us for some wedding planning?” Grinning at him.

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Nodding his head slowly. “I was hoping to talk to you, boss.” He shrugs a shoulder, a small smirk on his lips.

Glancing at the girls, they nod.

“We’ll go with the black.” Wanda nods. Gwen agrees with a nod, both moving to leave us.

“Now what could have you coming over here during wedding planning?” Smirking at him as we move to sit on the stairs.

He chuckles softly. “I’d say this is your last chance to trade up.” I laugh, bumping my shoulder into him.

“Thought you were just going to be my fantasy?” I grin at him.

He nods slowly.

“Mmm. I see.” I nod slowly, looking away from Clint, watching the movements of the house. People running, fabrics, planners, glasses, the girls, my mother, Frankie and TC all hurrying about.

“See what?” He swallows.

“You won’t be my fantasy anymore. I’m not your type.” I smile, looking over at him.

He scratches the back of his head. “Nah I’ll always have this love for you.” He sighs.

“Love for me like a sister.” Smiling at him.

He sighs. “Yeah, like the baby sister I didn’t ask for, ever. Didn’t really want. But got anyways.” We laugh.

“I didn’t sign up for two more brothers, you know.” I nudge him in the shoulder with my own.

“You know I’d kill someone over you?” He sighs, smiling at me.

Laughing, I nod. “Think Bucky beat you to that.”

“I’d save you a thousand times over, trade places with your bruised and broken body, to protect you. You know that?” He glances over at me.

“I never said thank you, Packman. For saving me.” I whisper softly.

“Don’t ever do that to me again.” He whispers.

Glancing over at him, I smirk.

He sighs, shaking his head.

“No promises. I’m a wild card.” Winking at him, making him laugh.

“No shit.” He scraps his hand over his mouth.

We sat there in silence for a moment.

“What do you need from me?” I ask quietly.

He smiles at me. “Don’t know why I thought I was going to have to explain anything to you.”

“I know you, Packman.” Shrugging a shoulder.

“Tell me you approve?” There’s a plead in his pretty storm blue eyes.

Nodding slowly. “We both know you don’t need my approval.”

“I do.”

“Packman,”

“I need it. I need your approval. I need to know you agree, think it’s a good match.” He swallows.

“It’ll be a national sad day when you announce it.” Smirking at him.

He softly laughs. “As Satan, as my baby sister, the reason we Saintz do what we do. As queen, taking over the table, boss ass bitch, I need to know it’s right.” Tipping his head he watches me.

“Well you didn’t have to force her to fall in line or worry who you Saintz are.” I laugh, Clint hangs his head, chuckling. “So she’s got that going for her. A little normal, maybe boring, but we can help with that.” I grin at him.

“That girl gang is going to be something out of nightmares.” He shakes his head.

“Bet on it, Packman.” I grin.

“I always bet on you, Sweets.” We grin at each other.

“Okay.” I nod.

He lifts a brow. “Okay?”

“She cheats or looks at another dude and I’m going to bless her.” Cutting my eyes to him. He grins at me.

“With your right hook?”

“And my knee.” Shrugging.

He grins, nodding. “Satan combo.”

“I approve, Packman.”

“Think the table will?” He wonders. “They weren’t keen on us bidding on you.”

Leaning back for a moment, I stood suddenly. “Come on, Packman.”

He stands following me. Passing TC I tip my head indicating for him to follow.

Knocking on the door, I push it open.

“Little Miss?” My father looks up at me stepping in. “Boys.” He nods to the two following me in.

“I need you to call a meeting.” I rest on the arm of a chair.

He looks from me to them. “Any reason?"

“Packman is bidding on Bobbi.” I explain.

“Congrats Barton.” He smiles.

“Thank you, Sir.” Clint nods.

“And you want to make sure it gets approved.” My father looks to me.

Shrugging, I tuck a foot up on the seat, my hands on my knees. “I’m putting my weight behind it, daddy. Bobbi helped save me that night, with Clint.” I nod.

My father swallows hard, leaning back in his chair. “And you want this to be your first movement at the table?”

“My life, for their happiness. I’m sure.”

My father locks eyes with Clint, before nodding.

“I’ll make the call, eight tonight.” He nods, grabbing his phone.

“We’ll be there.” I nod, standing.

“Miss,” my dad calls when I get to the door, looking back to him “you’ll be the first woman at the table, ever.” He swallows hard. A flicker of fear in his eyes.

Lifting my chin “I know daddy, it’s a good thing you helped birth Satan. Some old men don’t scare me. I fight boys, and my father will set anyone afire.” I smirk at him.

“Your soon to be husband kills people for you.” TC smirks.

“Imagine, what my brothers would do.” I smirk, shrugging.

“We’d burn the town down, Sweets. Blood on our hands for you is an easy choice.” Clint chuckles.

Looking at my father, I smile softly at him. “They tried to cut me down, I survived. That was their first mistake daddy.” My father smiles softly, nodding.

I leave the office, TC and Clint following.

--------- Everything Peaches 12/8/22 @mo320 @ml7010 @kmc1989 @joannie95 @coley0823 @rileyloves5 @sexyvixen7 @duckestylez @abschaffer2 @drayshadow @shirukitsune @xoxabs88xox @carostar2020 @rosalynshields @hookslove1592 @royal-sunflower @iwillbeinmynest @bellamy-barnes @geeksareunique @happydeanpotter @fanfic-n-tabulous @steel-blue-eyess @mariekoukie6661 @bless-my-demons @notyourtypicalrose @lets-talk-about-xyz @loving-life-my-way @shinycupcakebaker @also-fangirlinsweden @stupendous-science @daughterofthenight117 @dandelionsmarkthegrave @physically-a-cheesecake @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

Bucky 'Fuck Me Up' Barnes: @nickyl316h @jbbarnesgirl @lets-roggerthat @this-is-mycrisis @kaylaphantomhive

Series tags: @sebastians-love

[danieyells]

Sure Haku can have big balls but we all agree Alan Thoma and Jiro have big dicks? But not like slightly above average but rather 20 minutes foreplay just to loosen up but still be a fair stretch, big as in a fair amount of lube is needed to even slip the head in and might need more to fully thrust inside

You only need that kind of prep if you're a coward!

THEY ARE RATHER LARGE MEN y'know as far as the bishie style goes. It'd be pretty proportionate of them to be well hung and i'm all about sicknasty size difference and distention if you've got a small enough partner--

Fortunately all three of them are. . .idk graceful enough not to be cruel about it.

Alan is definitely inexperienced and he's already so fucking scared of harming his partner he would just. . .whenever they try and get him in bed he just goes "We can't. Sorry." Fortunately he's not the type to, y'know, beat around the bush so if they ask him he'll explain. . .and if they say they wanna try anyway he'll give it a go but he'll be ready to stop the moment they seem uncomfortable or in pain. Which means a lot of reassurances that it's fine, it's fine, keep going. It'll be a lot of convincing, but he'll be as slow and gentle as he can! His partner would probably have to do a lot of leading. . . . Alternatively he'd be all about getting them off and appreciating their body and when they wanna return the favor he hesitates then says they don't have to. He can take care of it himself if they don't want to. And they're like 'why would I not want--oh' when he pulls out this monster.

Tohma has much more experience and is much more confident overall. When things reach that point with his partner he's a little more direct. Maybe he grinds against them to let them get a subtle feel long before the first time they do it, or he just takes their hand and lets them have a feel for themself. "Do you understand? If we take that route, I'm going to need a fair bit of your time. . . ." He knows just how to prepare them, just how to stretch them out, and he makes certain to pleasure them the whole way--and if they're a little limp from the pleasure buildup then. . .that'll just make it easier to put it in at the end. He might hold them up and gently guide them down onto him. . .use them as a little fleshlight once they've gotten used to it enough.

Jiro isn't even fully aware of that he's particularly large. Like, numerically he is, he's studied anatomy before and he's seen Yuri naked and he's a lot smaller(well, Yuri's smaller in every aspect) but it somehow hadn't occurred to him that it could be a problem. Meanwhile the one who knows is Yuri--and when Jiro's partner shows up, Yuri just looks at them in irritation. "Ah, yes, Jiro did say he had plans today after his treatment." And Yuri just thrusts a particularly large, unlabeled jar of gelatinous fluid at them, telling them not to take too much time because they are very busy and Jiro being occupied is a hindrance. And Jiro's like "oh, Yuri said we'd need a lot. I've read that too much can reduce the pleasure, though. I don't care either way, so just use as much as you want." (Not that he can't feel it or anything, he's just. . .indifferent for the most part. It doesn't bother him if he doesn't come, he'll take care of it later if it's a problem.) And of course they understand why they thought they'd need so much when Jiro whips it out. Jiro's very analytical about the whole thing, once he realizes that hm, yes, this won't fit, but with enough elasticity--he's got no problem figuring out what should be done to prepare. The massive jar of lube may or may not be experimental but it does the job with great efficiency. . .turns out it was an experimental gel for anomalous ailments where the afflicted turn to stone or wood with the intention of relaxing muscles and joints and regaining flexibility, but it works great as a lubricant! Jiro's also not very experienced and his tendency to experiment means he might be a little rough just to see how it all works, but he's considerate enough of his partner not to go too hard once he realizes oh that hurts, huh. Kinda antithetical to the evening's plans.

[thesharktanksdriver]

The wanderers tale of Chang’e and Houyi (romantic)

This isn’t canon to these part 1 and part 2

This is a what if scenario, and I might write some more for different characters. None for the Greek pantheon tho for obvious reasons

This was a lot of fun to write, sorry if Qin is out of character but he is fucking whipped in love. Man is literally on his knees

tried adding some historical stuff in this but i'm not the most knowledgable on Chinese history or myth so please take it with grain of salt

For much of his life the concept of love is foreign to Qin let alone that of the romantic kind

Sure, he saw displays of it in small ways on the streets

A couple linking hands or exchanging kisses behind the cover of fans in the midnight hour

But he never thought he’d experience it

For he was hated by everyone including himself for the sins of of his family

For the deaths they caused that now transferred to him by the blood in his veins

It is cruel but for the longest time he accepted he’d never be given love of any kind until Chun Yan showed him he was worthy of it

It is through her he learns familial love

Not romantic love of any sorts but a type of love that leads him to discover and be curious of the other forms of love later on in his life

When he becomes empowered he explores this concept as times goes on

Lust and desire

But never actual connection

Not the love he’d hear in tales or see between young lovers

No, He’d yet to still experience that actual form of romantic connection formed through genuine intimacy

But for awhile he was fine with that

Perhaps even grateful he had not been subjected to such an intense feeling

Something that could bring down entire empires and could shatter men’s spirits like sticks to a boot

And for a long time it remains that way

Until the 3rd year of your friendship with him as his personal historian

It’s hardly something he notices at first

Just the small feeling of wanting to be near you more often than he already was

It was strange but be brushed it off for a long while

Perhaps it was him just missing your presence due to the two faced courtesans he had to deal with on a daily basis

No one was quite as truthful or real as you were

You never had stray intentions with him

Just treating him as a real person

Still respectful but not overly so

It’s a slow process for him

One built on denial and confusion as he tries in his mind to write off his behaviour

He’d never felt this type of love before

It’s foreign and slightly scary to him for several reasons

One of which is cause he’s afraid of loss

The death of Chun Yun had…hurt him a lot

Left himself a shattered visage to be rebuilt into a strong facade

For not only himself but also his people

It is something done due to his duty

A responsibility placed on his shoulders

He takes being a king seriously but in the process he loses a bit of himself

With you though he makes the choice to spend time with you

Listen

Indulge

Talk

When he’s with you warmth blossoms in his chest like a flower in full bloom

Petals opening to reveal something beautiful yet tender

It feels…nice

He feels for once vulnerable

And it’s nice yet scary

But with time he eases into it

Gently placing his heart in your hands

It beats like a drum in your presence much to his pride

But at the same time. He enjoys the sensation

The fact that you make him feel so flustered

It’s honestly amazing that such small acts such as your smile can make the emperor feel light on his feet

He once laughed at the tall tales of men foolishly in love

Now he is that fool

The ones who’d offer the moon and hang the stars in their beloveds name

Chun Yun once talked of love once, hoping he’d one day experience that beautiful emotion

He now understood as to why she spoke so highly of it

But as he finally admits to himself that he’s fallen deeply head first into this endless void

You reveal you must leave soon

Unknown to you his heart cracks

In the months ticking down to your departure he spends as much time with you as he can

He feels now that he’d taken your presence for granted

A luxury that he assumed would stay despite knowing you were a free bird

One who would not stay east forever and eventually travel somewhere else

He feels desperate though

Grasping at strings to reach out and convince you to stay

Pleading with every interaction for you stay

To please stay

in time he realizes it’s a fruitless endeavour

Yet he tries anyways

Because that’s the only thing he can do

Yet he can’t admit his feelings

Especially now that your leaving

Maybe confessing would get you to stay but it feels cruel, a way to guilt you into become a caged bird

Love should not be bound in shackles or a gilded cage

It is free

And he would never take that away from you

So he tries to convince you with deals

With time dwindling down he tries to inch closer

A hand almost touching your own

Eyes staring with lidded looks beneath their gaze

It’s not direct, perhaps the only time the emperor isn’t

He feels himself clam up at the last minute

It’s unbefitting of him but it’s Ying Zheng peaking through the cracks and taking the reigns of his heart

The young boy from the streets who only wanted love

Who’s scared of ruining what’s more than enough for that fragile heart

It’s pathetic that he’s battling with himself over this

A back and forth between two voices in his mind of his head and heart

Yet it endures as the days whittle down

During this time he becomes interested in tales of love

Specifically that of Houyi and Chang’e

A love bound for tragedy

A simple mortal man in love with someone divine

Requited yet torn apart

Yet despite it all he still loves her and still still mourns and waits

In some sense he hopes for something like this

But for now he resonates with the story

So much so he decided to incorporate the story into a parting gift for you

A bracket

One that is beautifully crafted with his finest stones

Intricately crafted to last

One that is made to pair with his own

It’s a sign that you will forever be the emperors closest friend

But also with the double meaning of a reference to Chang’e

To him you are his Chang’e, his love who shall never age and has to leave despite how much he pleads

And he is Houyi, who can only watch and do nothing but shed tears as you go

As you leave on your stead and ponders if this was the worst pain imaginable

Having you gone is a change of pace that leaves him uneven

There are no more talks of travel

Of warrior’s and battles from far off lands

A new courtesan takes your place but it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth

He wonders if your alright

If your ok

You once talked of a loneliness of being immortal

Seeing those you loved dear die from the passage of time

It’s natural yet it hurts

The loss of Chun Yun was one of the worst pains in his life, but knowing you’d always outlive those you’d grown close to must be hell

He doesn’t want to put you though than once more if he can do something to stop it

He anything but a simple man

And he begins trying to at least look for a solution

It is a neigh impossible task but he tries

And tries

And tries

And years tick onwards

When he lays awaken in silk sheets alone at night he stares at the moon

Taking another mercury pill as he stares at the silvers rays of light

A part of him knows that the pills aren’t his ticket to immortality

But he pushes himself to try anyways

Cause he is so desperate to become immortal for you

So he can be by your side without fear of hurting you in the end by dying

If it came down to it he’d leave everything he’s built till now for it

His empire could be transferred to someone else and he’d be completely fine with it

He’d be fine going back to a simple life

Perhaps he’d even prefer it over all the frugality of court life

And it would all be because of you

Beautiful and kind you who had shown him true love

Not fake nor manufactured to manipulate him to certain ideals or sides

Just true and pure love that formed through meaningful conversations and a beautiful friendship

So he swallows down the silver liquid

Ignoring the taste and how he feels his sanity slipping each time he take yet another

Though he bares heirs in the form of sons he never takes an empress or official partner

For in his heart that place is forever filled by you

And as he lays dying as he tours his beautiful land

The land in which you traversed and loved oh so dearly

He can’t help but smile as his tells his guards to let you in

They cast you glances of curiosity that he straightens out with his glare

He asks for privacy and they comply

Leaving you and him alone yet again like those nights long past where you and him would talk

He raises a hand to caress your face

“I think this is my end, I feel myself slipping every moment”

There is no sadness in his voice, just a chuckle as he gazed up at your beautiful face highlighted by glistening tears

They remind him of diamonds or the morning-dew

“I’m sorry I couldn’t visit sooner-“

“Shhh, it’s alright. What matters is now”

At that you have a small smile that makes his heart beat faster than it had in months

For a long while now he knew he was on the brink of death but still pretended (even to himself) that he’d be fine

He was emperor

The king of kings

But now as he lay in his death bed, Alone with the one person who seen him as he is

He was no longer king, he was Ying Zheng

Someone who was utterly human

A man in pursuit of that horridly consuming emotion of love

Requited or not he didn’t care

All that did matter was that he try, try to make you happy

To ease your emotions of utterly loneliness at loosing almost everyone you come to care for

You don’t curse death but he does in your place

How can he not when he shall never see your face again in the afterlife

You may have accepted death as a natural part of life

That it’s alright you will never see your friends again

But he thinks it’s cruel

A awful fate for someone as radiant as yourself

You seem to see his thoughts and silences them with a smile as a gentle hand cradles his face

All this thoughts of cursing death pause

And he focuses on you

The gentle curve of your face that was shaped with skilled hands

Those tear lined eyes that outshine any jewel in his treasury

A smile that outshined the very sun in the sky

Skin softer than the best silk robes he wears as he awaits death

The harsh cold ranking his body fades away and all he feels is warmth

A warm numbness taking over

You say something but he can’t hear it

He says so in a soft voice that comes out as a whisper

You nod

He’s fading by the moment

A part of him has accepted this fate but the other still fights

Still wishes and begs to just push further

Immortality could still be possible

But as you lean closer that voice quieted down

Both did

All he focused on was you giving him something he had wanted for years

Lips connect and he feels a jolt of many emotions

Joy

Sadness

Relief

And Peace

He swears he sees purple sparks flutter around you like petals of soft flowers

This was your goodbye to him

A kiss of goodbye

A kiss of reciprocated feelings between one another

A kiss of star crossed lovers bound to a fate of their love never working

And a kiss of death

“I hope I have a next life where we may meet again so you don’t have to be alone once more”

After so long of the afterlife and it’s pleasant buzz of apathy he’s suddenly confused when he wakes up

Well more like being woken up by yelling and the sound of breaking things as other men around him look just as disoriented and confused as he was

But then a woman appears, one dressed in white with a otherworldly aura

The look in her eyes is determined and simultaneously baring the weight of the world in them

He gets up from laying down in his casket, silken robes swaying as his feet touch the marble ground

He’s alive once more and somehow younger

In his prime again

In that moment he’s tempted to just leave the room and head out to find you once more but waits

He suspects The ethereal woman standing unafraid in front of him and the various other men who seemed to be warriors is the reason behind this

And has a reason as to why she chose very specific people to seemingly bring back from the dead

And not long after he learns that reason

“The gods want to wipe out humanity. I chose you all to participate in Ragnarok, a battle of 13 chosen contestants against the gods to the death. the determiner of humanity’s fate”

Ah, now that makes sense

But then why did she say 13?

There are 12 fighters here and she doesn’t seem as if she’ll be participating

She seems to most likely be the player in this game

Their her pieces to lead into battle so-

Suddenly his eyes dart to the doors across the room

They open and he watches as a familiar person enters

One who’s face was forever ingrained in his mind from restless nights left awake

Someone with the same smile as the day he first had a real conversation with them

It’s you

Before anyone could react he’s already across the room

Silk robes fluttering in the air as he darts past other warriors of different times eras

You have the same beautiful smile on your face

Arms already open wide as the first emperor crashes into your form

Arms wrapped tightly around you as if you’d disappear if he let go

Words in his mother tongue that was now a dead language fall from his mouth

Hushed rambles unbefitting of a king yet he doesn’t give a fuck

Why should he when your here

He was no king in your presence

For he was just a man with his heart on a platter, handing it to your gentle but weathered hands

It would not matter if you crushed it or treasured it

Only that you accept it

The room is completely quiet as you respond back in the same tongue

Almost as if you’d spoken it everyday and not in literal centuries

he holds back tears that will be saved for later when he had an actual private moment with you

With some hesitation he pulls back

Still feeling as if you’d disappear like sand between his fingers if he let go

But when he does he’s simply met once more with your smiling face

It shines radiantly like the sun, moon and stars

You were his sun, moon and stars

“We have a lot to catch up on Qin”

“Yes we do beloved”

“Beloved? Heh, I wish you had called me that much sooner than years after your death”

“I have some time to make up for that don’t I?”

“Not much…but it should be enough for me. I’ve missed you”

“As did I”

Safe to say after a bit of an explanation from the Valkyrie who introduced herself as Brunhilde the other warriors as hounding him for answers

Particularly cause many of them were apparently some past friends of yours

Some before and after his death

It’s interesting meeting the many he heard about in person

But what’s more is the ones that came after him

The fact that you’d apparently mention him

Or someone close to his description who was very dear to you

It’s odd hearing about his legacy but from your words

They spoke of his character and didn’t focus on the achievements

Highlighted the fact he was a human

A man just like any other who had risen from poverty to power

His misdeeds but also a reason as to why such decisions were made

A balanced perspective

Not like he’d except anything else from you

A true historian through and through

Much had changed throughout the years

The world was completely different from his time, as was his empire

It’s to be expected though and he enjoys learning all that had changed

In the quiet moments you talk he finds himself content

Sure, he’s supposed to be facing a god soon who has a good chance of killing him

But at the moment it doesn’t matter

There’s still time before the matches begin

Still town to train with not only his fellow contestants but also you

Something he particularly was excited about since he’d never seen you seriously fight

Well until now

Your true immortality come full purpose

Wound after wound being instantly healed with a few sparks of purple lightning fizzing around your form

Loud strikes echoing in the training grounds as he watches from afar

Gods he feels weak at the sight of your battle determined face

Violet lightning making your form look even more powerful

A few warriors like Lü Bu and Raiden tease him for being whipped for you

But the others seem to enjoy how this prideful king does a 180 the moment your around

It’s fun and nice

Though they had not known him for long they get the sense he’s a guarded man

Someone who had been hurt and vowed to not show that vulnerability once more

But it seems you had changed that

Breaking through that wall around his heart to let his true self deep through the cracks

While alone with you it’s a calm but joyful experience

You lay in his lap, head readying against his thighs covered in soft silky material

You say he doesn’t have to do so, but he insists

Despite loving in indulging in luxuries it seemingly switched when you were around

Him wanting to instead indulge you in the greatest he could offer

You don’t need it but its nice being cared for

Gently held by warm hands that help the tenseness in your shoulders or plays with your hair

once in his presence you allow yourself to enjoy in this indulgence

Small protests going away as soon as you laid down on hundreds of cushions as he worked his metaphorical magic

Conversations here go beyond what had just changed

Often reminiscing of old court life and what you had done or seen over the years

The people you’d met

The places you’d wished you could have taken him to

Outside of his room is an arena where the weight of the world weighs on both your shoulders

But in here it’s just you both catching up on lost time

Affectionately in each others embrace

Old and new nicknames falling from each others lips

Flowery language long abandoned by the world in a dead language brought back

A love not meant to be now brought back from the ashes like a Phoenix

Sometimes he thinks this is a dream he’ll wake up from

Being cruelly ripped from your loving arms and back into that of deaths cold embrace

But as you kiss comforts into his ears the thought melts away

He was in heaven

This was something he’d fight for

A mere mortal like him in the arms of something Divine

Something that would be frowned upon yet neither of you cared

Not when you’d both awaited to reunite despite fate saying naught

“You make me feel alive…human even”

“Who’s to say you aren’t human in the first place?”

“I’m a soulless being, one made of artificial flesh and lightning coursing through my veins. I’d say I’m hardly human”

“Your the most beautiful thing ever created ”

Your father contrary to Qin’s initial beliefs is practically radiating joy when he meets the former king

Hephaestus is jolly, giving a firm handshake despite being a god

It’s a bit jarring at first

But in a good way

It’s no wonder you become the person you are today, especially with such a gruff yet gentle man that had made you with his bare hands

Smouldering smoke wafts up from the man’s singed beard

Embers glowing softly when you embrace him with the same kindness he exudes

He smells of the forge, metal, sweat, ash and fire

It’s a deep contrast to your more earthy toned one

Something that spoke of adventure and travel

Yet despite the glaring differences your both much alike

A father and his child

Different yet more alike than what meets the eyes

Talk with Hephaestus is easy

Eager to hear of how you both met or ramble about his inventions

The way he seems so genuinely engaged with any type of small conversation makes Qin think of himself as a kid

Someone who everyone looked down upon and never gave the light of day

A begging soul pleading for someone to listen

He feels an knot of rage and pain wind up in his soul

This god was caring, more caring than many of the people he encountered in his life

A man who loved his work

His home

His craft

Yet no one listened

No one cared

No one accept his child and now the human contestants of this arena

The two form a deep friendship

Something formed through similar hardships

A kinship made through the unspoken words of “I get it” and “your not alone”

It makes you happy your father found a friend in the one you hold dearest to your heart

As does Qin who becomes more sympathetic as to why Hephaestus was so happy for you finding love in the first place

A marriage that was unhappy from the start

Trying to make the best of it anyways

Continued sorrow

Heartbreak

Betrayal from a brother

Wanting some type of love from anyone

Qin swears to himself if he’d ever encounter those who had made this man’s life hell he’d put them through the same

No one gets away with hurting someone important to the Emperor

Especially not family

“Treat them right and don’t break their heart boy. That’s all I ask of you.”

“You don’t need to say it twice. You have my word as Emperor”

“Heh, I like you. How about we talk business later, I’d hate to see you break that second requirement due to this whole fiasco”

The 7th round steadily approaches much to your anxiety

It’s noticeable to him how scared you are for him

The other can’t tell but he’s been around you enough to know your quirks

The slight tapping of your finger

Small bursts of violet sparks

The way your eyes seem more cloudy

He does his best to show you not to worry

That he’s strong enough to up against whoever is pitted against him

He spars with Kojiro and even is able to get Buddha to give some extra pointers to ease your mind

It doesn’t do much though

He can’t exactly blame you, once before you saw him die peacefully

But now there’s a chance you’ll see it again in a violent manner

He could already imagine how hard that first death was for you

The second would be devastating

Seeing those tear stained eyes was enough for him to promise himself he’d win no matter the Cost

He’d discard an arm or leg if he had to

But he had to win for you

For humanity that you love with a whole heart

This world was worth protecting

With a sigh he reclines back in the red cushioned throne

Soon he’d be out in that arena

Life or death

This VIP section was nice except for the nosey people already there

Though he wondered where you were, you said you’d meet him here?

Maybe you got lost..,he remembers the time you ended up in a different castle by accident

The memory makes him smile

Even as he’s flipping the man who grabbed him into the ground like he’s nothing

These guys need to humble themselves

Their in the presence of an emperor

The king of kings

Despite saying this aloud the big guy doesn’t get the picture

He blabbers on about being a god before Qin once again flips the man onto the stone ground

The other man though seems amused and offers a drink

One that he kindly accepts as he is about to question if the messenger of the gods can find you-

Turns out this “wasn’t” his room

Something of which you gently tell him with a laugh

Brunhilde looked less amused as you did

As did Ares

But Hermes found it seemingly hilarious

Especially since everyone else in the room can’t help but deadpan as he pulls you into the seat with him

Holding you close as you sigh with a small grin and accept his affection

It is a small moment of comfort

One that both of you know wont last forever

Or wont be guaranteed in the future

Despite that he is confident as ever

Something that makes you want to simultaneously bash your head into a wall about and smile at his unwavering spirit

The emperor’s after him roll out a carpet for him to walk down

But before that he pulls you aside

“Don’t die on me again….” The words are choked up in your throat but your able to get them out after a moment “please Qin, I love you too much to loose you again”

“Have some faith in me. I’m an emperor, king of kings, and you’re my divine being. You have me your blessing of love, that enough will get me through this” the tone in which he says this is both confident and gentle. He kneels down, pressing his lip’s against your knuckles. It leaves the onlooking pair of gods and Valkyrie’s agape.

He gets up, standing on the balcony to jump down towards his carpeted walkway. But just before he can you pull him down and press a passionate kiss against his lips. The crowd goes wild in both confusion and shock. “Call this an extra blessing” at that comment he smiles.

You turn to leave the god area with the two Valkyrie sisters, but not before turning to the two gods. “Sorry for the trouble. I can definitely say though that I won’t be pulling something like that for my round” as you say this you look over your shoulder, surveying their reactions. Ares is shock, Hermes like before is amusement and curiosity. You were a contestant, how interesting.

The fight is long and arduous

Armour enchanted and enchanted by both Hephaestus and his Völunder

Hephaestus couldn’t do too much in case of suspicion but he did make it a bit more durable and light

He’s bloodied and bruised

An arm was lost

But despite it all he won

He won for humanity

Won for you

And somehow in the process won the respect of the god he was faced against

Hades, king of the underworld

The only other man he’d call a king, for he in this fight had truly showed he earned that title

Both went into this battle for someone

But he prevailed in the end cause you were still there to fight for

This wasn’t a fight for revenge like Hades gad set out to do

His fight was to sustain you and the rest of the world

To keep you safe and happy

Preserve the world you loved despite its flaws

Qin Shi Haung for a portion of his life had nothing

But now that he had the love of someone he would do his best to keep it intact

To forever keep a smile on your face to keep his sun in the sky

Despite how much he’s in pain from both his injuries and his Mirror Touch Synesthesia he gives his respect to Hades

His foe

His equal as a king

His friend

Alvitr is screaming in his mind to get to the medbay already but he waits a moment as the dust settles

Both sides after cheering from humans and shock from gods quiets down

Alvitr appears at his side just as injured as he is

She almost tumbles to the ground

Before he can catch her someone jumps out from the stands beside Chun Yan and her son

A kasa hat with a veil trailing behind it fluttering in the wind as the warrior wearing it rushes towards the two

It happens within a split second but your at their sides

Grabbing the two inured winners

“Careful, you won and can’t just go dying on me after all that”

He chuckles at that, leaning into your touch as Alvitr gives a small tired thanks

You smile, your own thank you falling from your lips for protecting him

For making sure he got out of this alive

“Don’t attribute that to me. The entire time this prideful king had someone on his mind” she says this in a cheeky tone as you carry them both back to the medbay

A certain pep in your step

The crowd of both sides watches on with curiosity

In the medbay as they both are put into pods you await by their sides

Watching patiently

A hand against the glass encasing him

Your dad was already at work on a prosthetic for both of them

Something you were grateful for

You think back to the fight

It leaves…and unknown taste in your mouth that’s bitter and sweet

Qin had won

But in the process Hades was dead

You didn’t know your “family” well except for the snippets your father told you

Almost all were bad

All used him for their own goals or belittled him for his appearance

But from what you removed Hades was one who was seemingly neutral

Perhaps even somewhat kind to your father

Thanking him for his work done

Glaring at opposers who insulted him

In that sense he earned your respect

But with the battle you saw more if his character

Poseidon you couldn’t care less about but with Hades you felt more conflicted

Sighing you lean back resting yourself against the pod

There’s silence and then you hear something

Looking down you see his eyes cracked slightly open

His now only remaining hand pressing against the glass just like your own

His eyes close once more and you keep your hand atop his own

A pane of glass separating the two of you

Despite not needing sleep you close your eyes

Resting against the glass

Eventually you feel something draped over your shoulders

Turning your head you see Chun Yun and her son

Both with worried expressions but also happiness

His hand pressed against the glass trying to reach to yours is prof enough he’s still fighting

Fighting for you

And your waiting here for him

The woman who became his mother figure and her son pull up seats near your own

You feel a smile cross your face

“I’d wait till the end of time for you to wake up. Take as long as you need, I’ll be there when you wake”

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

I can imagine Darling trying to initiate something sexual with Yves, but due to their inexperience, they fuck up and offend Yves. Yves would have that serious talk with Darling and they would be filled with so much guilt and embarrassment from the rejection and scolding. They apologize and vow that this will never happen again, and begin to over correct themselves, never having their hands make contact with Yves ever again. The only time the two would touch is if Yves is the one initiating it. Even then, Darling's hands are glued to their side, not wanting to make another mistake.

Do not make things sexual with Yves.

Yves knows you better than anyone. Even yourself. If he knows that you tend to beat yourself up repeatedly after being scolded, no matter how mild, he will take on a much more gentle approach.

Immediately after telling you off, receiving a satisfactory apology, and knowing that you're in a very vulnerable state, full of debilitating shame, Yves will soothe the pain by reverting back to being flirty and sensual in nature. Praising how you're such a sweet and good person for recognizing your transgressions and having a strong will to change for him. Intent is also very important, he will make sure you know he deeply appreciates that you find him extremely attractive, making lewd comments and/or touching him inappropriately is just not the way to express it.

He will take you in his arms, and let your hands touch him as long as it doesn't stray too near to his no-no territories. Yves wants you to know that he still yearns and craves for your skinship, he is not at all disgusted at you. He still wants you fully, just not in a way that degrades him.

The talk will be long. It will go to many different places relating to your views on sexuality, consent, and decorum. There will be guilt, there will be embarrassment, yes. But Yves is someone who likes to be clear, and direct and leaves no room for misunderstanding. He will firmly and lovingly lay out his expectations in the future, telling you what is okay and what is not for him. You are free to ask him any hypotheticals and he will answer it precisely without sparing any details.

You are free to tell Yves what you're expecting of him too even if he already knew what you thought of him. If you think that he led you on with his teasing, he will remind you that the nature of his flirting is nowhere as lewd, raunchy, or filthy as you thought it was. Looking back, it is true. It may be sensual, suggestive, exciting, and heart-fluttering, but it was never explicitly, horrendously sexual. What you said or tried to do completely came out of left field. Going through this route will leave you red-faced.

You will have to face some difficult emotions and heaps of awkwardness, you will cringe at yourself and at Yves. But, he will guide you through it all. He will teach you patiently how to navigate through your feelings and let go of any anger or hatred that you hold against yourself for doing something wrong. You will learn that there is nothing to be afraid of when having a conversation about heavy topics like these Most importantly, you will learn how to forgive yourself and move on.

You might think the 'magic' is gone after this chat. Perhaps you may think affection from you or he feels... icky and strange. But, it isn't. You would surprisingly enjoy it much more than before, now knowing what to do. It will be much more comfortable, knowing his boundaries and knowing yours.

Yves isn't cruel. He wouldn't let you marinade in your anguish for offending the man you care about, his goal wasn't to punish or hurt, it was to teach a lesson and rectify unacceptable behavior. He would only do so if you're hostile and defensive, refusing to accept what you did was depraved and blaming Yves for being too sensitive instead.

This lengthy, laborious conversation will occur regardless of your personality type. Because, while Yves may be the closest thing to a mind reader, you are not. But that is quite alright, he isn't afraid to feel, and he isn't afraid of awkwardness.

He loves you and only wishes to see you happy, thriving, and unburdened.

[womendeservehumanity]

So I’ve encountered incel tiktok and it’s reminded me that sympathy for men is futile

So this video shows up on my fyp and it reminds me that I do truly hate men only a fraction as much as they hate women because I actually felt bad for this guy. To sum the video up since tumblr only lets you upload one video, he responds to this comment by saying he was given a horrible set of cards. He’s ugly, short, low iq. And that he’s bound to be working wagie jobs for the rest of his life. I’m thinking that he’s just one of the many members of the working class tired of an existence that seems pointless. But then I look through the comments on this video and he keeps completely dismissing any comments calling him good looking or saying that it gets better as cope. And that’s when I start thinking yeah this guy def is some blackpill woman hating loser

So I see he responded to a comment and this was the video. What a confirmation! This is rhetoric I see blackpillers/incels spew a lot recently because they literally just regurgitate the same shit in their echo chamber. There’s a meme that went viral that was like “women being able to detect autism in a guy vs women being able to detect a man that will abuse her”. It’s actually insane how much contempt males have for abused women because they only see them as potential matches that chose an abuser over them. They see it as some brutal confirmation that nice guys finish last because women would pick an abusive man over them. As if abusive males are coming up to women like “hey bitch I’m gonna beat the shit out of you come suck my dick” and women are like “ok 😍” when in reality they are very covert first opting to charm and love bomb a woman and once the security of a committed relationship is formed, that’s when the abuse happens.

Also these tards obviously don’t understand the psyche of abusers. They don’t enter relationships with the intention of beating women. That’s not their thought process when meeting a woman so acting like there’s a certain type to sniff out is disingenuous. I will say though. A lot of women do ignore red flags in a man because there ARE certain traits that abusers have. But a lot of that is due to women, from childhood, being conditioned to see the good in men despite major flaws and to give them chance after chance. It’s not because the guy is a tall Chad. Which is what they’re saying in the comments and it’s making my blood boil because the idea that the average abuser is this uber attractive, chiseled god is objectively untrue. Just watch the fucking news. But here are some of the replies to this video that genuinely made my stomach turn. Idk why I’m even shocked atp. I know how much men hate women but Jesus

And if you don’t know what total Stacy death means. Stacy = female version of Chad but incels tend to use it interchangeably with all women. And total Stacy death calls for the extermination of all Stacies (most likely women in general). This was originally inspired by white supremacists saying tnd which calls for the extermination of all black people

There were many more come comments but it was too exhausting to screenshot. I thought this guy was trolling because he’s actually not bad looking and literally looks like the average Mexican guy in Cali (who is also short lol) and they have no trouble dating. But I think he’s very off putting and has some type of social disorder. What I found so crazy is that all of the sane people telling this dude to stop being so self depreciating and fucking weird and then maybe he’d find a girl were getting dogpiled onto by his incel simps. That they’re lying and coping for saying he’s good looking. And you know what I’m glad he feels this way. I’m glad he’s given up on pursing women and as cruel as this sounds, I hope he stays true to his plan of k’ing himself in the future. One less danger to women.

But seriously “the blackpill” is some of the most birdbrained shit. It’s like “women want to date people they find attractive” and that’s supposed to be some type of mind blowing matrix-like truth. No fucking shit. Literally almost every human regardless of gender and sexuality operate with that idea. Did you go up to the women you went up to because you thought she had an oh so great personality? No you went up to her because she was attractive. Women are the ones that have to do the actual rejecting the most since they’re approached more often than not. But men literally select women they find attractive and disclude women they don’t. They just don’t have to be blatant about like women do. As someone who goes OUTSIDE and goes to college, most couples are average looking people dating average looking people because most people are average. It’s not a bunch of women with Chad while all the other men are left with no one. Hell if anything I’ve seen many above average women with average and straight up ugly males.

Anyways. It breaks my heart seeing the original video and all the women defending and supporting him. He’ll completely ignore that and focus on anecdotes that feed into his self depreciation and hatred of women. Women please stop extending kindness to males. The sympathy you feel for them is foreign when it comes to you. They’re literally in the comments calling women trying to reason with him that looks aren’t everything gaslighters and liars. There is nothing you can say to these males that will stop them from hating you. There is nothing you can say to them that will change their deluded minds. Instead of trying to “fix” them while they revel in the abuse and death of women, let them wallow away in self pity and pray they contribute to that rate 🙏

And radblr. Pls pls report this sick fuck’s account. I already blocked him but his username shows up in the video.

[overseercrimson]

Friend mentioned watching the fallout show and loving it but followed it up by saying she hated Maximus, to which another friend agreed. He was, as she put it, “a weasel who would stab anyone in the back to get what he wants” and when I asked what he’s done that supported this she stated his panicked lying (honestly fair but I’m of the opinion being truthful from the start would have been bad for him or at least it would seem like it to Maximus all things considered), that he didn’t give Thaddeus enough time to process things before attacking him, (fucking bonkers, that little shit stops being friendly the second he finds out it’s not Titus in the suit and is clearly not going to side with Maximus and even agrees with Maximus that killing him would have been better for him.) and finally that ‘he’s only nice to Lucy because he wants to fuck her’, which absolutely floors me.

Throughout the show we see Maximus trying to be the hero he thinks the brotherhood should be and any of his faults and misdeeds serve that purpose, stealing the armor and being reluctant to return the power core, he is self serving in his desire to be the one being the hero but there is an attempt to do good.

The only exception to this is him being a dick to Thaddeus at first, it shows a vengeful and cruel streak to him but it’s considerably small considering this is the man who started his daily beatings. And I suspect my friend doesn’t hold this against Maximus because she doesn’t bring it up. So it makes me feel like the ‘only nice to Lucy for sec’ take is in bad faith, because he’s been nice to other people when he’s been in the situation to do so and was nice to her when he thought they would be on their separate ways afterwards. Lucy’s the first person who’s been upfront with her intentions with Maximus and has shown him genuine affection where others have only buddied up to his station and it feels like such a shit move to use the feeling he develops because of that to make him out to be an asshole.

Also feel like him going back to the brotherhood to give Lucy a chance of getting away shows he’s not a backing stabbing type because he’s literally giving up what he wants in the moment after going through everything.

I don’t know, I came away from the show considering Maximus a good person who has to unlearn a lot of toxic shit from the brotherhood of steel. What are people’s thoughts? Am I misreading Maximus or is this a bad take from my friend.